Morning journal and courier., 1893-03-18

effort during those few weeks in the chs
 psrral. His clothing was in rags, and his
 bare flesh, scared and bloody, showed
 through. His feet were partly bound with
 rags and bark and thongs of the rtbbon-
 tree. He was bare-headed, his hair tan
 glsd and knotty, and In one place a sabsr-
 cut was still open and bleeding. But he
 sat there with his hands clsnched and his
 face like piece of marble begrimed with
 mud.
 Through the windows of the ferry the
 spars, rigging and flags of thousand shIps
 upon the peaceful bay glesmed and eloved
 as we passed. The sun that lighted the
 whole earth with such splendor kissed the
 mountain and made old Moro castle even
 beautiful. The deserter looked at Moro ss
 with an awful fascination. Then, as if
 beyond 1t and what he knew was waiting
 for him there, the poor fellows eyes
 seemed strained to some point far, far
 away. Ah, his frantic soul vAulted the
 hated walls to old Oastile, msyhap to his
 own pleasant home, to the mother, the
 sisters, to @ pesssnt-girrs matched roof
 home by the vineyards, and brave ss he
 was trying to be. his whole frame writhed,
 his breast heaved and surged, and, though
 he clenched his hands tighter and looked
 old Moro squarely in the face, his blue
 eyes filled and filled again with tears that
 scalded their way through the chapsrral
 filth on his face like torrents. A dozen
 schemes for rescue shot through my brain. The sights and thoughts sickened me. I could scarcely remain in that cabin for the pity this man reused in me.
 Having recently suddenly graduated from the editorshp of high-grsde litera- ry periodical of Middle America" my sole helpful possessions In Cuba at that | moment were @ small piece of plug tobac- co and two-dollsr Bank of Havana bill. I quickly had these made in a compact wad. got my knee against his leg. He started
 and looked me full in the face My hand
 was on the low iron division-rsil between the seats, and it touched. God knows 6 soldiers human sympathy to 6 soldier in some subtle way swept from my heart to his in that touch. His clinched hand re. faxed and turned. The palm was next to mine. Our hands clasped and there was a quick pressure. We were born thousands of miles apart. had never met until tha. instant, would never again meet unless in eternity, but we knew more of each other in that ons moment than many lifetime acquaintaRces.
 Soon the ferry boat had bumped against the Havana whsrves.
 Through the chatter, and clsmor and crowds, the deserter was showed and ssber. prodded to the Plaza de Ia San Carlos; hurried into a victoria, alongside which were two mounted guardss, and driven rapidly away. I could not work that day, and wandered along the walls of Ls Punts restless, hesrtsick and with the white face
 of that desperate life ever before me. At four o'clock just across the narrow harbor entrance were heard come ominous drum beats.
 On the little plszs just over the sea on the heights at Moro there were movements of small squads of soldiery. We could see all this plainly from La Punts. | feared what 1t meant, could not bear ii l and hurried away. Just as I reached the old Boquete walls there was & sound oi musketry at Moro. I looked across the channel and saw the smoke from theil pieces we'll nigh enfolding them all. But I saw through and through that cloud one face sealed in eternal rest, when some old | fish-wives on the Boquete walls near, crossing themselves ss if 1t were an old
 habit and for like occasions, lszily nut tered: "El desertarl" "El desertarl" At every little station in Ireland, from Galway or Traiee, eastward; from Dublin or Wexford, westward; and along the lines oonvereiug at or towards hallow, and then to Cork, sad eyed "convoying' parties may be seen waiting for the last embrace, hand pressure or glimpse, Of the departing emigrant for America; and if you were in Ireland and would ride in the "third-class" carriages as do, and could see each little compartment packed witt | from twenty to thirty of these emigranti on their way 10 Cork and Queenstown | you would for the first time in your lift | realize the woe of those who go, to an ex- | tent that you would have more compassion | for those who come.
 And then, at Halfway, as Blsckpool, al | Blarney, on scramble the beggsr crew who eke livelihood from the hysterical, ten | der hearted and simple folk who are found | on every one of theso trains departing. Legless pipers pipe most patriotic airs; | blind fiddlers sst all the breasts hesving and eyes weeping from their tender Irish melodies; while u1instrels roar, "Ths Harp | and the Shamrock of 0uld Ireland.
 Pennies rain into thsir cups and hats like | ''drop ripe" wheat shaken by the wind.
 Through this lugubrious misery all are strainiEg their ear-dimmed sight for a
 last look at the warm wales and nestling homes of Irelsnd's tender south
 Suddenly the din of the heroic minstrel
 music is almost drowned in the thunder of
 the train rushing through the long tunnel | us | time plotted out of sight. The minor chords of the pipes and fiddles are no | match for the resistlees wailings now. | Sobs, mosps, grosns and pitiful exclsms. | tions of endsarment, swell into such ( | touching and grewsome miserere ss youI
 ears never before heard.
 In fash you are in the light again; and
 here, half way up the noble heights of the
 beautiful city of Cork, in B pRndsmoniunl | and hubbub internal, ihe hslt a thousand | tortured souls are shunted out of their vile pens, shunted into other vile pens, | and whirled away to Queenstown, amid | mercilsss robbers snd murderous run | ners," to await packing and prodding into | the great s;eamers' holds, and embarking
 brutalities which aye & cruel blight upon
 the civilization of our time.
 There are two of the sounds of the ear ly English morning which haunt me witt | persistent piteousneEs So long have | hear them and hrooded over their ssd | suggestlvepsss, that iu whatever country
 happen to be wardeIing, and however leaden may bs my slumber, l am certair | to awaken at the honr to hear their grew
 come echoes across ths land CT sea
 These are the clstter, clatter, chatter O
 the hob nailed shoes of thousands of fac
 tory hands on their way to their daily toll
 and the hacking, whistling, coughing O
 hundreds among them In all Englisl
 towns and cities, when biding at any pub
 lic hostelry, you may hear the first of thi
 at four o'clock in the morning. A quick
 sharp ringing of the hob-nails on th
 pavement by one, or two, or group o
 half & dozen, of tbess toilers will form th
 prelude. Then for few moments sll vii
 bs still. Again increased elstter by large
 squads, and more pronounced coughing
 Soon tho beating of their feet will grov