The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-11-10
THE STORY OF A HERO.

| fields with a hasty tread recognizable not
only by his blouse and his regulation hat,
but also by the sustained activity of his
movements, because for him the instants are
counted, and he has not the right to slacken
his pace An indefatigable walker, he accom-
plishes his task from the first to the last day
of the year without even resting. No matter
though tropical sun invites all creatures to
become motionless though the cold be Sibe-
rian, though it blow and snow, he must go
to the last village on his route to carry the
letters newspapers and prospectuses which
trade confdes by millions to the care of the
post
The highways are not made for him. Must
he not cross the country, passing through
woods and marshes, to seek the hut lost in
the depths of the solitude, far removed from
any public road?
He travels from eight to ten leagues daily,
making circuits crossing brooks, scaling
rocks, venturing into ravines, and wounding
| himself among the hedges and briars. Loiter-
ing is forbidden to him, for the official hour
of return is fixed; the letters he brings back
must depart by the next mail. They are
| WdllCu lOA dI IuS pOSlOuC0, anu IuO lCdob va
ration of his programme may have grave
consequences.
We cannot without ingratitude forget the
| services of this incorruptible messenger,
| whose probity and zeal are constantly put to
proof. and who brings us at a certain hour
our journals, the news, the expectation OF
| which keeps us full of anxiety; who con-
tributes to soften for US the bitterness of abb
sence and distance. Imagine the void the
disappearance of these humble functionaries
| would leave in our existencel
l knew man who for twenty years filled
this position. A former soldier, thanks to
| irreproaehable records of service, strength
ened by q little influence, he had obtained
the great favor of having placed to his credit
fifty francs per month at the postoffice of the
district.
Pere Martin was not very fond of this brill
liant position, but he perfectly understood
his responsibilities and duties. He never
complained.
Everybody in the district was acquainted
with this little gray-haired man with bronzed
features whose limbs had the phancy and
strength of steel He was highly appreci-
ated, for while scrupulous observer of the
regulation, he never refused to perform
service, provided it did not conflict with his
duties
There was not corner of his route which
he had not passed over, accompanied by his
wolf dog. He knew to a meter the distance
separating lH0 SlndlleSO Adtnt6G from Ju0
chief town of the district, and was familiar
| with all the paths and byways.
To spare himself bali an hours walk he
never would have thrown into a ditch some
silly prospectus or some printed matter
bearing doubtful address; ii he returned
anything to the post Office it was because
its destination could not be found. He was
the slave of his orders as punctual as the
| clock and so discreet as to discourage the
most curious Everybody greeted him kind
ly when he arrived at the village, the chill
dren came to him. and even the dogs barked
joyously at his approach. There was consider
able rivalry as to who should offer him a
glass of cider and slice of bacon. But he
rarely accepted anything. Time passed, and
| he did not like to contract troublesome OBJ
legations.
Hence the notes made concerning him
were excellent, and his chief regretted that
the parsimony of the administration only
permitted them to reward his loyal services
| with contemplate gifts.
One day in the middle of October he de-
parted on his usual round. The weather was
| frightful; it had been raining necessarily for
more than a week. The roads had become
boys and the brooks had been transformed
into torrents. What foliage remained ON the
trees was so impregnated with water that it
could not offer protecting shelter. The
postman, wet to the skin, walked with the
| impassibility of an old soldier who does not
discuss his orders.
He had distributed a portion of his mail,
but his round was far from being finished
when he passed an inn. or rather miserable
| drinking house, situated at the entrance to a
| wood. This place was mainly patronized by
sabot-makers, who found there alcoholic
| drinks and few groceries.
| "Ho, Monsieur, the postman, stop here for
an instant While you are giving me the in
formation need, the violence of the storm
| will abate."
| This in invitation uas addrascad r. hin, bv a
man who, with pipe in his mouth, was
standing upon the threshold of the drink
| ing-house.
The rain was pouring down at that mo-
ment; fierce blast swept it into Pere Mar
| tins face preventing him from walking, and
bent to the ground the stalwart trees
| The postman was little ahead of time
and the demands of the service do not go so
far as to forbid the acceptance Of moment
airy shelter when it offers itself under such
| circumstances.
He therefore went into the house and set
down beside the fire, which cracked on the
| hearth. The man who had invited him 10
! enter threw upon it some dry branches,
which were soon in flames; heavy vapor
arose from Martins soaked garments.
The stranger Intercepted the postman as
to the hours OF departure of the mails, and
asked him host of questions about him
self, his service, and everything concern
ing it,
! You know me, then?' said the postman
'Parbleu Everybody loves and esteems
you here. Pere Martins value is we'll known.
l hope you will not refuse to drink with me-
Ho! Madame Roster, two glasses OF your best
brandy"
A woman waited on them and returned to
her occupation.
what dogs trade YOU follow Pere Mar
tin," said the man. will it take you much
longer to finish your round? You doubtless
| have vet to go to the Lande Grise to Plesss
1 know some one who is impatiently waiting
for You there. l am obliged to pass in the
vicinity. If you wish | will relieve you of
your letters"
THANK you, will deliver them myself"
That's yourself, out and out. After all,