The labor argus. [volume] (Charleston, W. Va.) 1906-1915, 1906-08-23
The COWARD
BY FRANCIS A. sToUTENBURGH.

Clay entered his library, closed the
door and locked it. Then, with ener-
getic tread he made his way to his
desk. From one Of the pigeon holes
he took revolver. 1t was a big,
wicked looking gun-44 caliber.
Capt. Clay, retired, was man who
always believed himself to be cow
ard at heart; but in cabinet in his
library there was a medal which had
been awarded him for valor in the
field; there was also letter from
President Mckinley promoting and
commencing him for conspicuous BRAY
cry. And on the wall was sword,
given him by his own company, with
an inscription on the blade testifying
to his courage, self-sacrifice and 10y
atty.
Clay examined the revolver care
fully. 1t was properly loaded and
ready to do the deadly work it might
be called upon to do.
Clay sank back in an arm chair, the
weapon in his hand.
In the last stages of consumption;
racked by pain; grieving over the loss
of his young wife. who had died but a
few months previously; harassed by
| poverty that he was too proud to
make known, he had sought the seclu-
sion of his pet room surcease of sor-
row, an end to all the responsibilities
of life.'
II was always coward" he NUT
tered, as he shudderingly looked down
at the revolver. Yet somehow I did
my work When l charged the Span
ish breastworks at Palmas at the head
of my men I was in mortal fear of
| wound of some kind. I was the first
man inside the enemy's works. Men
near me were cut down by machets,
/ bayoneted or shot. 1 was untouched.
| My men never knew my fear; never
| noticed my white face. In the heat
Of the combat they took no heed of
all this; but they cheered me after
the fight was won.
Then, again, that fight near the
| river, when carried Sergt. Peters on
my back after he was wounded-car-
ried him through n deadly fire, back
| in our lines-ah, ha!-that's where I
won the presidents letter; but I was
in agony lest some Mauser should send
its bullet through me. But somehow
l did my work.
and now,"-he glanced again at
| the weapon in his hand-"it may hurt
me-" he unused, with something of
the pain, in case it does not kill in
stantly; the crashing through my It's
| sues and bones; and even though 1T
kill me, there will be a momentary, a
horrible agony.
"a coward I am, and always was !;
yet somehow did my work"
Racked by a fit of coughing, he no.
ticed that blood had come on his
! handkerchief again.
Something prompted him to take the
sword of honor from it's place on the
wall and put it by his side; to gaze
| once more upon the medal and to
take the presidents letter and spread
| 1t acrss his knees.
These will make me brave man.
he said.
But these acts failed to summon up
the courage that he sought.
He looked again at his revolver and
shuddered. Throwing open its
breech he hastily emptied it Of it's
contents; then picking up the poker
with sharp blow he smashed the
weapon and threw its shattered rem.
nants into the dead embers of the
hearth.
Now l am coward" he exclaimed
bitterly. Somehow before this l al,
ways did my work"
Then it was that the bright, hope,
full faces of his two young sons-one
of IA and one of 12-who were near
at hand at play with other boys, came
up before him, and their voices seemed
to say: mo, no. you are brave man
and no coward
A smile passed over his wan face.
What was that?" he asked. 'Is
anyone in the room?"
| He heard faint sigh: that same
faint. happy little sigh that had come
from his wife as she died in his arms
but few months previous.
His wasted right hand was lifted
from the desk whereon it rested by
| fingers invisible but Supremacy ten.
der. A kiss, Elusive, sweet and bear.
ing in itself message of angelic
/ gratitude and approval was pressed
upon it.
He leaned forward in his chair.
/ The blood gushed forth from mouth
and nostrils and trailed in a crimson
stream across the letter from the MIR.
| dered president which lay in his Ian.
No bullet caused it. 1t was the last
hemorrhase. 1t was copious; it was