The age-herald., 1898-08-10
SHORT STORIES
 OF THE TOWN

A story of heroism has recently been en- acted in Birmingham. It is a story of a young hero-not battle-scarred to be sure but brave enough to face volley of Span- ish bullets-whose young shoulders have not bent under circumstances that crushed out his hope of victory.
 For weeks he eamped by Mobile Bay, eager, restless, waiting to go forward. Then followed the weary weeks of waiting in Miami, and just when there was a bright prospect of joining the men at the front, there came a letter or a telegram which he was compelled to read several times before he clearly comprehended it's meaning. There was something about his having been honorably discharged from the army-he was under the legal age passes would be forthcoming for his home- ward journey.
 A whiff of Spanish smoke would have been less blinding. The sight of comrades falling about him would have been less appalling. The thirst which men endure on battlefields could not be more intense than the dryness of his own throat. A Spanish bullet near his heart would have been preferable to the dull thing that was throbbing in his breast.
 It was all over. Nothing remained but to say goodbye The path over which his 1.-the young steps had traversed would be familiar one on the homeward jour- ney. He had laughingly said on the way down that it might be for the last time and now he was about to retrace his steps.
 He fell i'll, and the journey was delayed. But the thought of returning remained with him hourly raging fever was enough suffering for one day, but the tor- ture of leaving his comrades was keener than any physical pain. One evening he heard them outside playing ''Tenting On the Old Camp Ground" It sounded like the "Angelus.' and he bowed his head.
 His goodbye to his comrades is some. thing far above cold printers ink, just as his homecoming has been. He did not send telegram, but one evening the fam fly heard the click of little garden gate, a familiar step at the threshold, cherry voice in the hallway.
 Bronzed, tall, loving and bonny he stood once more in the old home that had shell tered him, a hero to the last.
 There is young lawyer in Birmingham who is somewhat unique. When war was declared there was some apprehension
 
 is still pursuing the even tenor of his way. He is not, however, altogether to blame for persisting in what IS very generally regarded as his weakest point. He has very naturally resorted to various meth> ods of advertising. Any new enterprise Is worthy of little private advertising, and this young lawyer in question has gineered his flight into chosen fields with care and precision.
 He wrote not long ago letter to friend out of town, which ran like this:
 My Dear -: As you probably know, I have thrown my shingle to the breeze and am hard at it. I am making a speciality of collecting old debts, and knowing that there are parties here who are in arrears to you. l write to ask you to place the matter in my hands. Yours, -.
 A few days later he received the follow- ing:
 My Dear -: Yours to hand Enclosed please find bill of s21 which is the amount you owe us. It a good thing, push 1t along. If you succeed in collecting it, will give you all business in future. Yours,
 The typical old darSies in the south are now so few in number that the time is not far distant when this type will have entire ly passed away. Their peculiar environ. ments and peculiar temperament have made them picturesque figures for many years. There is an old darlxey in Birming- ham who has been bothering his woolly head over the present war outlook. The apparently vague battles to him have im- pressed him as entirely unnecessary
 During the civil war there were no du- ties entrusted to him more serious than the polishing of the silver and keeping the buffet in order.
 He was discussing the war situation re- gently with his "old master"
 "Rastus," said his master, "you must get up and get. They need you to dig trenches Rastus, unused to battle, was not moved by this clear note of reveille.
 His wrinkled old face assumed a hope less look. now that his old master had bade him go. His faithful service through long years was now considered naught. He looked very old and bent and grave
 'Or Master he said presently. "Tain't no fer me ter go. Dem trenches don need me, an I don need dem. And, fur- ther nor, dat's all dey want wid de nig- gers. De white folks does all de fghtin' and de niggers has ter dig trenches, an dat am uncon' 'stution'l."
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