The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1920-01-03

made me intensely nervous, though at
the moment I felt calm enough. I'm |
afraid I am becoming a coward in my
old age. Years ago I did not know
the meaning of the word fear. Even |
on the battlefield I thought nothing of
the danger"
The generals face frightened.
ooh, you were a soldier?" he ex-
claimed.
81 was a chaplain during the Civil
War. | got my baptism of fire at
Gettysburg.'
"My father was killed there" Gen
eral Johnston told him. /
"Ah, you were but a boy, then,
when you lost him." he said, with
quick sympathy. But you must be
proud, too" He paused, but his WIS.,
itor said nothing in. reply, so went
on.
q shall never forget the least Incl
dent of those three days. Like the
other priests. I went from one dying
man to another, hearing the confess
siOns of all who were Catholics, and
each had some message to send to
one whose heart, he knew, must break
for him. One would beg me to give
his best love to his old father, or to
his mother, doubly widowed. Anoth-
er, with his last quavering breath,
would send messages to his sweet
heart. A mere lad entrusted to me
his tender goodby to. his wife 1t
was with difficulty that 1 traced her;
little more than child, too, but pa
tiently brave, as only good woman
ever is. | remember Also"
Suddenly General Johnston inter
rupted him. Pardon me, Father, but
II" He stammered and could
make no Roadway. There was but one
way open to him. AS long as he held
dignified reserve his heart must be ST.
lent. 1t was clamoring for expression
and when he spoke again he was a
child before the kindest of fathers.
There is something I wish to say,
but I find it hard to explain. You
iIluot Aid'C potlC1lSC Will lliS, CtIuS1 >,
and help me. until I was Is years
of age l was sent to a Catholic school
I made my First Communion and was
confirmed. | was rather pious, I
think. Then-then I was taken away
from all Catholic influences, and given
only atheistic books to read. l lost
my faith, but, Father, all the years
every day of all the years. have be-
moaned my loss. | have longed for
the peace driven from my soul, have
missed the old joy, and the dear hope,
dead, quite dead. I have loved what
I did not believe. And-and, Father,
though | have been successful, I've
had lonely life. Perhaps that's why
/ l could not forget the only sweetness
| ever knew. And, Father, it was the
Real Presence that for years was my
chief stumbling block"
He paused, and sat staring across
the patch of green that passed for a
garden, and, as Father Huntington
watched him, the habitual smile deep
ened about his lips and his eyes
shone. He said not a word, and pres
emily the general resumed his explain
alton, speaking even more slowly and
haltingly than before. What was in
his mind and heart was not easily put
into mere words.
But yesterday, when I saw you
standing before the mob, I-somehow
I felt that you carried the Blessed
Sacrament and that you carried
Him! You were so calm and happy.
You looked as I used to feel after
Holy Communion. AS l walked beside
you from your doorstep to the car
| riage I knew He was with us. I
thought my heart would stop beating
| when I asked if you were carrying
Him to Mr.. Kinney. If you had said
no-but I knew you would mott"
He was silent again for a long min
ute, before he concluded simply:
| "The faith of my childhood came
| back to me in that hour. l don't I'M
! derstand how. I don't care to-. But
l should like to go to confession now
if you will hear me, Father. and to
| Holy Communion in the morning. To,
morrow at noon I must leave Avon.
| dale for Governors Island, where !
am in command. 1t is not often that
l am at home here"
| Tears were streaming over the old
| priests cheeks, and he could not speak
| Motioning to the general to follow
him, he led the way to the chapel
and pointed out the make-shift con,
fessional. Half an hour later, when
| General Johnston rose from his knees
and went into the hall, he found Faith
| er Huntington waiting there for him
| 81 have something to tell you, my
son. he said, resting his hand affec;
| tionately on the generals arm
| Goods love has followed you even
more tenderly than you know. You
| told me only that you were removed
| from Catholic influences when you
| were boy. You were right to say
no word against your father; but he,
poor man, blamed himself bitterly
when the end came. / was with him
when he died. He gave me messages
| for you-but not his name. In the
horror it was forgotten. Before he
made his confession he told me that
| he had lost his faith-or imagined
so-and had wrecked yours. He said
he was Offering the sacrifice of his life