Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, 1889-03-01
THE DESERTER'S STORY.
by A. ID. BAMIE.

by A. ID. BAILIE.
@Good morning, sir I am the chap
lain of Joliet Penetentiary. There is a
convict upon his death bed. He says
he served in your company during the
war, and seems very anxious to see you.
Will you go w..h me to visit the man."
What is his name?" 1 asked, much
surprised at the request Of my aged
visitor.
THAT L cannot tell you now. If you
recognize the man you will know
his name; if not, he must be known to
you, and to all except the authorities,
as A, 1l49-his prison number"
ut was shortly after the war; was
in my native city, recruiting for the
new regiments Of the regular army,
when this strange call was made upon
me-"
Humanity demanded that 1 should
comply with the poor mans prayer, and
curiosity. to tell the truth, urged me on.
went with the chaplain. Soon we
entered the gloomy portals of the prison
house, passed through che warden's
office, out.into long corridor and up
an iron stairway. A keeper opened the
outer wooden door, then the barred
inner-door swung back with harsh
clang, and we were in the little cell
with A, 1149
He begged so hard not to be sent to
the prison hospital, and there was no
hope for him through medical Skill that
as favor he was permitted to remain
in his CELL" This is what the chaplain
had told me.
A, 1l49 lay on his clean, comfortable
iron bed, shadow of man; his voice
was Clear if not strong, and he seemed
to be possessed of that strength that
sometimes comes just at the last
Captain" said, II call you Cap
tain yet; don't you know Edward Wat
son, the worst man you ever had in
your company?"
looked closely. Sure enough, did
recognize the mama desperately wicked
fellow who had caused me infinite
trouble until he deserted, but who, in
battle had always exhibited such utter
disregard of his own life, which seemed
to be charmed against injury, and such
daredevil, reckless bravery, that his
many sins were forgiven him on account
thereof.
Watson, my boy" said, II can for
get your offences, all except your deser-
ton, and remember only your gallantry.
am very, very sorry to see you here,
and in such poor health.
"You always were kind to me, Cap
tain, and tried to help me up, and that
is the reason I asked you to come and see
me. didn't want to die here, with no
one to look on me with friendliness. I
saw in the paper, some time ago, that
you were on recruiting service, and /
asked the chaplain to see if he could
bring you to me. 1 thank you.
sat by his bed side; we talked long,
and he told me the story of his life. ]
shall try to write it.
sMy real name is Edward Barfeld. ]
am the son of the millionaire merchant
of this city. Thirty-two years ago was
born, and am the only child my parents
ever had. My mother was a gentle
timid, little woman. My father-many
think they know him-few do. He
made much of me during my early life
1 was bright, sharp-witted, pretty
boy, whom my mother delighted tt
dress in the finest style, and then my
father would exhibit me with pride.
"At his entertainments, and they were
many, was always present, always fur
nished with wine in sufficient quantity
to enliven me to the utmost, and then
made sport by my precociousness fo1
men and women. Ny mother was never
there.
II grew in size and age; it was still
the same. I was taught no habits O
economy, self-restraint, or business.
was sent to school, but my father
money and the money with which hi
supplied me, gained me almost entire
release from all study or obedience t.
rules.
when went home and was with m,
mother, who worshiped me, her inau
ence affected me for time, but I would
soon tire of it, break from it and plunge
deeper into excess. I was young ane
strong, and could yet bear dissipation
without showing it, and my father
laughed at my wild OATS and gave me
ell the money to have my fling