The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1893-03-18

filth on his face like torrents. A dozen
schemes for rescue shot through my
brain. The sights and thoughts sick
ened me. l could scarcely remain in
that cabin for the pity this man reused in
me.
Having recently suddenly graduated
from the editorship of q high grade liter
airy periodical of middle America" my
sole helpful possessions in Cuba at that
moment were a small piece of plug
tobacco and a 81 Bank of Havana bill. l
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
rail between the seats, and it touched his.
God knows soldiers human sympathy
TO soldier in some subtle way swept
from my heart to his in that touch. His
clinched hand relaxed and turned. The
palm was next mine. Our hands clasped,
and there was a quick pressure. We
were born thousands of miles apart, had
never met until that instant, would never
again meet unless in eternity, but we
knew more OF each other in that one mo-
ment than many lifetime acquaintance.
Soon the ferry boat mad bumped against
the Havana wharves.
Through the clatter and clamor and
crowds, the deserter was showed and
saber-prodded to The Plaza de la Carlos,
hurried into a victoria, alongside which
were two mounted guards, and driven
rapidly away. | could not work that day,
aud wandered along the walls of La
Punta restless. heartsick, and with the
white face of that desperate lie ever be-
fore me. AT O'clock, Just across the
narrow entrance, were heard some omi-
nous drum BEATS
On the little plaza, just over the sea on
the nights at Moro, there We're move
ments of small squads of soldiery. We
could see all this plainly from La Punta.
l feared what it meant, could not bear it
ana hurried away. Just as l reached the
old Boquete walls there was a sound of
musketry at Moro. l looked across the
channel and saw the smoke from their
pieces well nigh EMBEDDING them all. But
saw through and through that cloud one
face sealed in eternal rest, when some
old hsh-wives on the BOquete walls near,
crossing themselves as II 1t were an old
habit and for like occasions, lazily NUT
tered "El desertar!" Eel desertar'
At every little station in Ireland, from
Galway or Tralee eastward, from Dublin
or Wexford westward, and along the
lines conVerging at or toward Mallow,
and thence TO Cork, sad-eyed convoy
lng' parties may be seen waiting for the
last embrace, hand pressure or glimpse
OF the departing emlgrant for America;
and If you were III Ireland and would
ride in the "third-classr carriages as [
DO, and could see each little compartment
packed with from twenty to thirty of
these emigrants on their way to Cork and
Queenstown, you would, for the first time
IN your life, realize the woe of those who
go, to an extent that you would have more
compassion for those who come.
And then, at Halfway, at Blackpool, at
Blarney, on scramble the beggar crew
who exc livelihood from the hysterical,
tender-hearted and simple folk who are
found on every one OF these trains de-
parting. Legless pipers pipe most patri-
otlc airs; blind 1iddIers set all the breasts
heavlng and eyes weeping from their
tender Irish melodies, while blind min
strels roar, The Harp and Shamrock of
Ould Ireland" Pennies rain into their
cups and hats like "drop-ripe'' wheat
shaken by the wind. Through this lugu-
brious misery all are straining their tear
dlmmed sight for last look at the warm
wales and nesting homes OF Ireland's
tender south.
Suddenly the din of the heroic minstrel
music is almost drowned in the thunder
Of the train rushing through the long tun-
nell. Ireland, beloved Ireland, is Tor the
first Time blotted out of sight. The minor
chords of the pipes and tiddles are no
match for the resistless wailings now.
SoDs, means, groans and pititul eXclama-
tions OF endearment swell into such a
touching and grewsome DliSerere as your
ears never before heard.
In a flash you are in the light again:
and here, halfway up the noble nights of
the beautiful city OF Cork, in It pandemo-
mum and hubbub internal, the half a
thousand tortured souls are shuuted out
oil their vile pens, shunted into other vile
pens, and whirled away to Queen stown
amid mercllesS robbers and murderous
runners" TO await packing and prod
ding INTO the great steamers holds, and
emDarklng Drutalities which are a cruel
blight upon the civilization OF our time.
There are two of the sounds of the
early English morning which haunt me
with persistent piteousness. So long
have heard them and brooded over their
sad SuggesuVenesS that in whatever
country l happen to be wandering. and
however leaden may be my slumber, |
am certain to awaken at the hour to
hear their grewsome echoes across the
land or sea.
These are the clatter, CHATTER, clatter of
the hobnailed shoes OF thousands of fac
tory hands on their way to their daily
toll, and the hacking, whistling and
coughing OF hundreds among them. In
all English towns and cities, when bid
ing at any public hostelry, you may hear
The first OF this at t o'clock in the morn
ing a quick, sharp ringing of the hob
nails on the pavement by one, or two, or
a group of half dozen, OF these toiiers
Will form the prelude. Then for a few
moments ali will be still. Again in
creased clatter by larger squads and more
pronounced coughing. Soon the beating
OF their feet viii grow into almost roar.
BY o'clock the sound is deatening. An
army IN defeat, over stone road, could
make no greater din.
II you Will listen now you may distin-
guIsh all the majors and minors. There
Is the screechlng of the swinging pals;
the haltlng and stumbling of the feeble:
the popping sound of myriad pipe-put-
nngs; the sodden salute and sententious
reJolnderS OF acq ualntanceS; the shrill
Safeguarding OF VlXens; the liquid tones
OF maldens and children; the shutting
wheeling of the old; the almost barking
coughing OF so many telling that the
term of the slavish life is set; and in and
through all the pitiiul hubbub is the sure
revelation OF the propulslve force of dread
and lear linked with the tagging OF
weakness and want. Out there in the
dank dark or the misty gray OF the early
morning IN these sounds dreadful story
is told. II you love America you will
brood over these sounds as l have done.
and ieryently pray that our towns and
cities are not TO become like these-that
the lew may be rich and glad and the
many Slaylsn and sad.
EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.
For the RECoRD-UNIoN.l
GOOD-BY.