The Indianapolis journal., 1885-04-05
DEATH AND THE SOLDIER.

A soldier. who won imperishable fame on the
battle-felds of his country, was confronted by a
gaunt stranger, clad all in black and wearing an
impenetrable mask.
''Who are you that you dare to block my
wayr' demanded the soldier.
Then the stranger drew aside his mask and
the soldier knew that he was Death.
slave you come for mel" asked the soldier.
IF so, win not 60 with you; so 60 your way
alone.n
But Death held out his bony hand and beck
oned to the soldier.
NO" cried the soldier, resolutely; ''my time
is not come. See, here are the histories am
writing-no hand but mine can finish them-I
will not go till they are donel'
Il have ridden by your side day and night.
said Death; Il have hovered about you a
hundred battle-felds, but no sight of me could
my power Come!"
And with these words Death seized upon the
soldier and strove to bear him hence, but the
soldier struggled so desperately that he pre-
vailed against DEATH and the strange
phantom departed alone. Then, when he
had gone the soldier found upon
his throat the imprint of Deaths
cruel ingers-so fierce had been the struggle.
And nothing could wash away the marks.-nay,
not all the skill in the world could wash them
away, for they were disease-lingering, agoniz-
ing, fatal disease. But with quiet valor the sol
dier returned to his histories, andfor many days
thereafter he toiled upon them as the last and
best work of his noble life.
How pale and thin the soldier Is getting,
said the people. "His hair is whitening and his
eyes are weary. He should not have undertaken
the histories-the labor is killing him."
They did not know of his struggle with Death,
nor had they seen the marks upon the soldiers
throat But the physicians who came to him,
and saw the marks of Deaths cruel fingers, shook
their heads and said the soldier could not live to
complete the work upon which his whole heart
was set. And the soldier knew it, too and
many time he paused in his writing and laid
his pen aside and bowed his head upon
his hands and strove for consolation in the
thought of the great fame he had already won.
But there was no consolation in all this. So,
when Death came, second time he found the
soldier weak and trembling and emaciated
- 'It would be vain of you to struggle with me
now,' said Death. My poison is in your veins,
and, see, my dew is on your brow. But you are
q brave man, and will not bear you with me till
you have asked one favor, which I will grant"
"Give me an hour to ask the favor" said the
soldier '"There are SO many things-my histo-
ries and all-give me an hour that may de-
eide what shall ask"
And as Death tarried, the soldier communed
with himself. Before he closed his eyes forever
what boon should he ask of Death? And the
soldiers thoughts sped back over the years, and
his whole life came to him like lightnng-fash
the ecmpanionship and smiles of kings, the
glories Of government and political power, the
honors of peace, the joys of conquest, the din of
battle, the sweets of quiet home life upon a
Western prairie the gentle devotion of wife,
the elamor of noisy boys and the face Of little
girl-ah, there his thoughts fingered and clung.
Time to complete our work-our books-our
histories" counseled Ambition. ASK Death for
time to do this last and crowning act of our
great life."
But the soldiers ears were deaf to the cries of
ambition; they heard another voice-the voice Of
the soldiers heart-and the voice whispered
''Nellie-Nellie-Nelli That was all--no
other words but those, and the soldier struggled
to his feet and stretched forth his hands and
called to Death; and, hearing him calling, Death
came and stood before him.
II have made my choice, said the soldier
''The books2" asked Death, with scornful
smile
mo, not them," said the soldier, ''but my lit
tie girl-my Nellie! Give me lease of life till
have held her in these arms, and then ncome for
me and will go!"
Then Deaths hideous aspect was changed; his
stern features relaxed and look of pity came
upon them. And Death said "It shall be So"
and saying this he went his way
Now the soldiers child was far away--many,
many leagues from where the soldier lived be-
yond broad, tempestuous ocean. She was not,
as you might suppose, a little child. although
the soldier spoke of her as such. She was a wife
and mother; yet even in her womanhood she
was to the soldiers heart the same little girl
the soldier had held upon his knee many and
many time while his rough hands weaved
prairie flowers in her soft, fair curls And the
soldier called her Nellie now, just as he did thea
when she sat on his knee and prattled of her
dolls. This is the way of the human heart.
1t having been noised about that the soldier
was dying. and that Nellie had been sent for
across the sea, all the people We'd with each
other in soothi ng the last moments of the famous
man, for he was beloved by all and all were
bound to him by bonds of patriotic gratitude,
since he had been so brave soldier upon the
battle-felds of his country. But the soldier did
not heed their words of symp athy; the voice of
fame, which, in the past. had stirred fever in
his blood and fallen most pleasantly upon his
ears, awakened no emotion in his bosom now.
The soldier thought only of Nellie aud he
awaited her coming
An old comrade came and pressed his hand
and talked of the times when they went to the
wars together; and the old comrade told ofsthis
battle and of that, and how such victory was
won and such a city taken But the soldiers
ears heard NO sound of battle now, and his eyes
could see no flash of saber nor smoke of war.
So the people came and spoke words of vener-
alton and love and hope, and so, with quiet forti
tude, nut with hungry heart, the soldier waited
for Nellie, his little girl
She came across the broad, tempestuous ocean.
The gulls flew far out from land and told the
winds, and the winds few further still and said
to the ship: 'Speed on, 0 ship! speed on in thy
swift, straight course for you are bearing a
treasure to a fathers heart!"
Then the ship leapt forward in her pathway.
and the waves were very still, and the winds
kept whispering Speed on, o Ship till at last
the ship was come to port and the little girl was
casped in the soldiers arms.
Then for season the soldier seemed quite
himself again, and people said He will live,'
and they prayed that he might. But their hopes
and prayers were vain. Deaths seal was on tho
soldier and there was no release.
The last days of the soldiers life were the
most beautiful of all-but what mockery of
ambition, and fame, and all the grand preten-
tious things of life they were! They were the
triumph of human heart, and what is better,
or purer, or sweeter than thsl
No thought of the hundred battle-felds upon
which his valor had shown cop snieuar1e ca,na 70