Newport daily independent., 1914-10-27
The Work of The Priest.

| Oct. 2.-(By Mail to New York - wish l could show you the little grey-haired priest of this village near Soissons as he goes about his duties these days. |. There's the peace of a certain IWarless Land that he knows a. Rbout on his face and he reads 1 his service over a dead German with the same tender tones and Ithe same smile of hope that he has for the dead soldier who sleeps in the red, white and blue of France.
 I first saw him as he passed through the village square in his robes that had once been white. His surplice was slash ed with the mud of hundreds of automobiles which dash through the narrow, wet streets. On his | feet were army shoes, as muddy as any soldiers. But he raised his face as he chanted the serv- ice from 9 book in his hands, and when ' saw his smile, I for got the grime. Behind him marched four men, guarded by soldiers. Even before I knew who or what they were 1 saw that there was something es- Ipecially evil and gruesome about them. A French officer explain ed the procession to me.
 E'These men are Germans who were caught wearing civilians clothes. Maybe they were spies j; who knows? But they are worse ithan spies. They were caught footing the French and German dead out there on the battlefield. They are being taken out now to be shot"
 It was thing to shUdder over but the little clergyman march ed on with the look of hope on his face as if he knew Someone l W he Understood and even con- trolled ali this madness and e. vii into which humanity has fallen, Someone who knows tho weakness of humanity so well that He might have pity on a man who had robbed the dead. l The next time I saw the little clergyman was at the entrance to the Red Cross hospital. Three caskets stood in the high hall
 way which opened onto the
 street. A line of French sol diers stood at attention, facing the doorway. A Red Cross am- Ibulance drew up and the soldi- CTS broke their rigid formation to make way for five wounded soldiers who were carried past the collins where three dead sol diers rested.
 The soldiers reformed again. There was evidently a hitch in the proceedings. The church was across the street and, by the glances of the officers to- wards the church door, l could lsee they were waiting for the clergyman. Then l saw him come to the door.
 Five women and two little girls, all in black, were following him, consistently, and speaking to him. He stopped and spoke a moment with each woman. They knelt, one at a time, on the sidewalk, as he raised his hand in blessing, over each mourning-bedecked head. He held his hands on the heads of the little girls and raised his face upwards as if he were tell ing Someone to take special mo- tice of two little folks who need ed extra care.
 1 All this time the soldiers were waiting. The priest walked a. cross the street, through the mud, his soldiers shoes spatter- ing the dirt onto his surplice, the officers saluted, the soldiers raised the caskets, the little priest led off through the slush and the three dead soldiers of 1 France were started on their last march.
 1 I've seen the little priest a score of times since then. He marches more than any soldier. There are scores of dead to bury ]; there are dozens of stories and confessions to hear from dying men in the hospitals; there are +bo hrokon- -hearted women and