Greene County herald. (Leakesville, Miss.) 1898-current, 1899-04-06
HOW HE DIED.
An Episode From the Soudan.
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He had lived in an infant village of
Scotland, lying in the bosom Of the
hills, wrapped in green trees, and
soothed by the prattle of a fussy brook
and the weird singiags and sighings
OF nature. He had lived in the peace
of solitude, with the mountains for
his great shaggy playfellows, and he
scrambled among their great boards,
the forests, like little flea. The
bnin was his bath, and he and his
companions would run around it like
young white deer-diving like white
arrows into the water, or framing its
clear mirror like a group of beautiful
nude angels whose wing were at the
washing Here his memory was born,
and the birthplace of memory is it's
shrine for evermore.
Such was his snursery-the humming
OF bees, the singing of birds, the nur-
murine brooks, the tanning OF green
branches-the nursery of life; far
away from the humming of bullets,
the bIare of trumpets, the rolling of
drums-the nursery of death.
Now he was dying. The dying have
good memories. Deaths door is a
mirror. He had worked on the little
farm with his elder brother. His
name was John-no, it was "Jock. J."
He had worked there till he was 20.
He rose at in the morning and yoked
''Bess," the old mare, into the plow.
They plowed together for two hours.
One Of ''Bess'" eyes was blind-the
left one. They had breakfast at s,
and Jock ,ked the blessing: ''We
thank Thee o Father, for giving us
our daily bread" That was all. He
remembered it, every word. He
wondered if Jock asked the blessing
yet. He had letter in his pocket
from his mother and Jock. Neither of
them could write, SO the minister had
written it for them. But his mother
had spoken it all---he knew her in
every word-except that bit at the end
telling how old Tom, the dog, had got
his leg broken in the act of hanging
on to Bess' tail. That was Jocks
contribution. These terrible flies. He
couldn't turn round either. Some
thing wrong with his back. He
ccrldn't feel anything. He seemed
to be resting on air, and the air hurt
him.
He was lying beside a rock. 1t was
black -smooth-hard. 1t cleaned
with the many colors of an opal when
the sun struck it. The sun was going
down. 1t seemed to be hot with its
days work. It buried its red face in
the sand. How silent everything was!
1t was like the kirk on the Sabbath.
How large the rock was when he lay
at its feet! Like life. H had never
thought it so large when he walked
about it four hours ago. Like life
again. He had walked about it on
his feet. How strange to walk on
ones feet!
Where were the soldiers his mates ?
We're they all killed? He was alive,
but dying. His heart throbbed too
fast. How still everything was; no
humming in the air, or yelling of the
black white-clad devils, or oaths, OF
squirtings of blood nothing but
silence. Could he turn his head? He
could, but something like hot water
JIlCAltu ONOl LILO OlOWs ACl % w 40 q
dead black Arab about two yards
away--a CHASTITY bunch of mortality.
How black he was! "Jock" had never
seen black man. His eyes were
staring at him like balls of glass.
What were they staring at him for!
His teeth were clenched, and his
right hand held spear. The spear
point was red. One dark leg was
drawn up. He looked like wax
work figure blown over by the wind.
When did he leave home? 1--we
years ago--two years ago-two years
ago. Something in his ears seemed tt
draw out the words like elastic ane
ring them like bells. What was HI
thinking of? His memory seemed t
faint and then recover. Two year
since then? Was that all?
He remembered that morning YER
hwall A bonnie morning. The bird