The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1900-10-03

Parson'' Somewhat below medium
height and weight, he was put together
like soldier. His keen gray eyes had a
merry twinkle; his face was firm, YET
kind.
He seemed like a man who would enjoy
being at. war with one-half Of the world
II he could be at peace with the other
half. He was indeed typical of the by
gone days when the church was close to
the daily life Of the people.
"Your arm, uncle" exclaimed Fru-
dence. as she greeted him.
Only scratch from British bullet
a few miles down the road-it can wait:
You see, | have come prepared And
he drew Il dozen sheets Of closely written 4
paper from beneath his coat.
but surely you will have something to
eat and drink. uncle?"
"Fighting first, lass-am lighting the
devil today
They went to the little church, which
was already filled-for the most part with
women and old men. Here and there
was Il young man in civilians clothes. y
score of soldiers lOitered in the doorway.
They cheered Justify when the Fighting
Parson" appeared.
He donned the black gown Of the ban
ished rector and presently mounted the
high pulpit to read the sermon ne had
prepared.
His keen eyes wandered around the
church, settling for an instant upon each
high backed pew, apparently seeing into
the utmost recess OF the balcony, where
the bellows boy was preparing Tor a nap.
Again he looked around, this time slow
ly. He seemed to be counting the young
men in civilians dress. Especially did
he gaze upon Rowland just beneath him.
He hurled his sermon upon the floor.
''Thirteen!' he exclaimed. why dOn't
you go with the American army and hght
the BritishT'
Then he waited for reply that came
not. There was no sound save tle chirp
ing OF i bird in the burial ground.
I'm not afraid to go. They can't hurt
me- They can kill me if they like, they
can make a drumhead Of my hide, but
they'll play numy drum, drum, humy.
drum. drum, till the British are scared
out of the country
Then. as if realizing it was a Tory
gown he WORE he threw it off, revealing
his Continental uniform.
Tbs women and children were awed,
the young men hung their heads in shame
even Rowland the old patriots
Joined with the soldiers III cheering the
Fighting Farson."
Having finished his impromptu sermon,
he Brought the service to hasty close;
then announced his desire to eat-'some-
thing good, and plenty of it," he eX-
| planned.
You were preaching at me-" observed
the master of the house, rather humbly
as their guest attacked the dinner.
You and twelve others. Good beef
and corn. Prudence. I'll have more"
| Rowland was about to make his time
worn plea about married men. but he
didn't. Il guess you had better take me
with you, provided Prudence and Gen.
Wayne agree he said.
Prudence nodded a sorrowful assent
1T is your duty, Rowland"
nth, The Fighting Parson' vouGhed for
by the hand. II was afraid you were a
bloody Tory, my boy. If hadn't been
so blamed hungry, I'd have asked first
Rowland rode away with the chaplain
that afternoon, his wife's fearful bless
| ing upon him.
1T is your duty" she said again.
! In a week came the news that Mad
Anthony was advancing westward with
a flying brigade of more than 1000 men
| to harass the rear guard of the Brit
ish.
| One day Rowland, looking more hand
! some than ever in a suit Of borrowed
regimentals, rode up with his command
| der and the chaplain. Behind came the
army of hardy, ill-clad patriots.
| The brave general, who mad been a
| friend Of PrudenceS father. bestowed IL
kiss upon her forehead without dismount-
/ ing.
My sOldier!' exclaimed Prudence ten
| DERBY as she once more babe Rowland
farewell. Il am so proud of yOu!'
! Thus the young husband rode away
with Mad Anthony" and the Fighting
/ Parson." II courage could be given to
a coward, 'twould seem they were the
ones to give it. Love had made Row
land Burgess a coward.
The three rode on at the head of the
brlgade-rOde on into the very Jaws of
death ere they knew it. That night at
PaOli they were hemmed in on every
side. 1t seemed as if all must die or be
captured
Before a hundred bullets had sped a
horse dashed down the hill, the rider dig
glng his spurs into him. It was he whom
love had made a coward.
Mad Anthony" wasted but one word
on nina word that was expressive.
The Fighting Parson'' said more, but
no word quite as STRONG. AS for the
men. they said nothing-they simply
fought the harder.
And so the battle went on-the mas
sacre, it is called in history. Three hun
dred were left dead or wounded upon the
field; half as many more were taken pris-
oners; the rest, under Mad Anti uny,"
beat an honorable retreat.
OF course. there were other towards,
! but none so noticeable as the one who
had gailoped down the hill.
Not before he was nearly home did
Rowland Burgess realize what he had
done, what he had branded himself. He
was a deserter, traitor: he would be
shot or maybe hanged. TO return to the
brave little woman whom he loved, who
had unconsciousy made him a coward,
would be worse than folly.
He rode on and on and on, wondering
whittier to go, this hunted fugitive.
Reaching Philadelphia, he exchanged his
diShOnOred uniform for coarse sailor