The Irish standard., 1903-03-28
TRIBUTE TO A PRIEST.
A Protestant Writer and His Experi-
ence In the West Indies.

Charles NJ. Skinner, author Of
myths and Legends of Our New Pos.
sessions etc, contributes to the New
York Independent this charming
sketch Of self-sacrifcing Catholic
priest in the West Indies:
"Father Putz is the only Catholic
priest on the island of st. Vincent, in
the West Indies. When the terrible
explosion Of the Soufriere volcano oc-
Cured last May this clergyman was
at Kingstown, at the southern end Of
the island, beyond the zone of devas-
tation by steam and mud and blister
ing ash. Many were killed in that
eruption, scores survived only to suf-
fer from burns and blows of falling
stones, while hundreds We're made
homeless and driven to distant settle
mcntS for shelter and food. their cab
ins burned, their little gardens blight
rd in the rush of scnldin%. sulplurous
vapor, the mills and plantations where
they had worked buried under mill
lion tons of dust and scoria. The poor
blacks were dazcd With grief and pain,
and they were in sorry need. The land
was filled with the cry of the children.
"Now, Father Putz is a quiet, mod
est, sunny man, who is pastor of so
small church that he has task to
keep his people together. The money
he received for his service was little,
for, like all of the Antilles. ST. Vincent
is poor, the people in few instances
earning more than quarter of a dol
lar q day for mechanic labor and but
ten or fifteen cents for work in the
fields. Yet he had managed to save
penny here and twopcncc there, be.
cause it was the hope of his life to 20
back to Germany, his old home, and
see his friends and kin before he died.
He had been separated from them for
years, and as the pennies increased to
shillings and the shillings at awesome
intervals grew to pounds, he began to
dream glad dreams of the day when he
would actually set sail for the old
country His JOY was near for he had
enough now for his steamer passage
and lacking n few shillngs for the ex-
pcnScs Of tho trip. In a few weeks he
would be in Gcrmnny; he would sit Mt
meat with old friends; he would hear
his native speech; he would see smiles
of welcome on remembered faces; he
would breathe an air of freedom; he
would throw care aside and for the
first time in years he would have rest.
"In the day of shaking and thunder
and darkness he learned that 1900 Of
the natives of the island had been
slain, that the northern third of st.
Vincent was smoking desert, that
thousands of survivors, some barely
able to move or to be moved, were re-
treating across the hills. Il hungry,
frightened army. Father Putt went to
the bank, drew out every penny Of his
savings ana placed the sum in the
hands of the officials. Give this to the
people who nccd,' said he.
"rllc ship that had so often taken
him to Germany in his imagination,
Slipped away IN the night. The sun
that should have risen among the lin
dcns still rose above the palms. 1t
was only the silent birds Of the tropics
that stirred the leaves, not the singing
larks and nutctlroatrd starlings. In
stead of happy days, days of fricndli-
ness and cheer, the priest saw before
him months of duty, months of hard
ships. years, perhaps Il lifetime, Of i'm
prSonmcnt i'm his exile, the final, cruel
disappointment Of his hope. But there
was no rcpining. no complaint. He
went about his work with smiling
| face. Tn the greater suffering of the
people he forgot his own. His dream
had faded. the clouds had fallen. hut a
ray from heaven pierced the darkness
on that day and lighted halo on the