The record-union., 1894-11-03

on?-ughi' he concluded with a fierce
shrug of resentment at his environment
and contempt for my own ignorance of
what had so long ago proven a bitter
finality to this old, old veteran who was
| snoring and fuining before me.
There was an easy way to dispel this
| outburst of feeling, and when it had been
! utilized l led him back over the SUMMER
road OF his fondness for his dead COM
| rade, 10 Il glimpse of his daily life in
! Ward 10, Chelsea Hospital.
| l thus discovered the curious facts that
! Mike had some sixty years before been
! rival for his dead Wife's hand; that
! Uncle Billy had won after a fierce court
! ship, and that the singular human drama
/ OF so many years before had drawn the
! two men together atield; had welded
them IN closer friendship when the bitter
! days of the pensioners life had come;
! and that here they had at last battled
! along together, now in almost irreconcil-
able quarrels, again in firmer and more
pathetic friendships, until Comrade Mike,
! III his falling, imbecile hours, had taken
10 little peculations upon his friends
| scant larder, which had brought about
( an undylng hatred between tho two,
! terminating at last in the pititul scene
L had witnessed in Chelsea Hospital
/ yardI
! l sat beside the old fellow for more than
half of that day. l listened to his brave
tales OF valorous deeds; his objurga tions
! upon the life at Chelsea, an endless repe-
| tltlon OF meanneSs and cunning, petty in
| justice and burning discomfort; his steal
! thy confidence OF other pensioners weak
nesses, braVado and cowardice and his
own WOndrOuS days and ways; and, more
! pitiful than all, his ever-recurring quer-
| ulousness, childishness and helplessneSs,
! now since his last comrade on earth was
! gone.
! AS / sat and listened / built my story
over and over: OF the two old pension
! ers, rivals in youth. comrades in arms,
! still comrades in the touching quest for
| the woman they had loved, comrades in
| the wilder, hercer battles OF their last
! ompanionship, with the final deadly
! hurt which drove them apart until the
! lips of one were forever still, and then
| the old man groveling upon his knees
| beside the coffin and tie pail, Just before
| the saddening cortege moved away, as its
| climax Of hopeless pathos and grief, un-
| til it all moved within me from beginning
! to end with tumultuous and impetuous
| tread.
Then I pressed upon the old fellow
| Some coin for comforting tobacco and ale,
saw him back to the pleasant hospital
grounds, and, bidding him hearty good
! by, started to turn away.
Holding his rough old hand for mo-
ment l was thrilled with a sudden and
convincing thought. 1t took ex Expression
doleful face.
"Uncle Billy, believe something will
| happen TO relieve your loneliness up
there in Ward 10, since Mike has gone
away"
''Only one thing could 'appen now,
sir" he replied with startling groan.
! knew what he meant, but that was not
my thought.
mo, no; it will not be that, Uncle
| Billy. 1t is something better, brighter
than that. You have not shown me yet
your wife is dead. l believe-I know
she will yet be found to take Mixes place
through many sunny daysn
! The old man wrung his hand fiercelv
! out of mine. He staggered back against
/ the stone pillar Of the gateway, and would
! have fallen had not the pensioner sentry
! come to his support
! My last glimpse of him, as I turned
! and almost fled, was picture that viii
never leave my heart. The old pension
er's face had turned from bronze to
| deathly white, and felt that unutterable
maledictions were struggling from his
! lips for the false hopes / had so cruelty
! raised within him.
But in some wild needless, unaccount-
able way, had a stubborn belief in what
! | had felt and said. 1t possessed me over
and above every impulse towards my
| own remOrselesS task.
THAT woman is alive, here in London.
L shall be instrumental in bringing these
! two strife beaten old souls together!''
| come flashing and whirliug in upon me
| again and again as / hastened back to the
city and my work. l did not reason this
out 1t followed me even when | stole
| into the National Gallery, and, for added
! inspiration in my story making, stood
| before Herkomers great painting OF the
| Chelsea pensioners at veSper service.
! Yes, there they all were, grimly and
awfully real aud true. Not very reveren-
tial these old war dogs of other DAYS.
| ou can see they are uneasy as children
in their pews. You almost hear their
feet getting into complications with
wooden legs, canes and crutcnes, and one
! cannot but listen for strange snufilings
| clearing OF throats and hard asthmatic
| breathing. But the mighty master piece
| almost history, in sugEestiveness, of
| Britain's imperial conquests and her
! thanklesS nlggardliness to the broken
lives that had been cast remorselessly
! aside,-doeS not one whit eXaggerate the
| wondrous pathos of their collective and
| individual aspect. The painter has told
| all the wretched, heart breaking story in
| these white heads and battIe-scarred,
! bent frames bowed in groveling, pro-
| festive silence at time of benediction and
prayer.
! In half hour more | was back at my
| desk, my window shutters closely drawn
and hiding the dreary Tapping of a
! ghostly London fog, my fire and light
! burning brightly. and everything in
! readiness for my inspirated task. Then
| one thought flashed over me that a mas
! ter had told iliimitabIy more on canvas
! than could ever be revealed in words.
| But I fought this down, and still essayed
! to write.
Again and again l began, but it seemed
like contemplate plagiarism. yes, almost
| like literary sacrilege, to even tread on
| ground so ineomparably traversed before
| me. The entire fabric of the day began
! to vanish like phantom of the night
/ saw first Herkomer's great painting.
! then the wretched face of the poor old
man l had left fainting at Chelsea Hospi-
| tBl Gate, and then-the face. or outlines
OF face, my dogged persistence in an
apparently hopeless fancy was slowly
conjuring out OF the misty depths of WIS.,
/ iopary clouds.
For hours / sat thus wordless and
I effortless before my desk and papers. /
/ had long before flung my pen from me
/ and it had rebounded from the desk and
| fallen with one end resting across the
/ huge glass inkstand, With nv head
! held tightly in my hands / was gazing
-vacanty at both, seeing neither fairly
from stress of mental excitement and
/ distraction.
Suddenly within the curves, protru-
] sions and indentations of the ornamental