THE CAPTAIN'S CELEBRATION
"IS there anything I can do for you, captain?" Doctor Morris had madethe rounds of the hospital and was standing beside the bed in a narrowlittle room at the end of the hall. He took the old man's feeble hand inone of his firm ones, and with the other gently stroked the white hairback from his wrinkled forehead. This seemed to smooth away some pain,too, for the faded blue eyes looked up at him with a grateful smile.
"Yes," he answered, "there is. I don't like to trouble you, doctor, butI do want a piece of an old broomstick, and if I could have it early inthe morning, I'd be very much obliged to you, sir."
"A broomstick!" repeated the doctor, in amazement, wondering if the oldman's mind was beginning to wander. "What under the sun could you dowith it?"
A faint smile crossed the captain's face. Then a spell of coughingdelayed the answer for a moment.
"I want to carve something," he panted, "and broom-handle wood is easyto cut. The nurse has been like an angel to me all these weeks that Ihave been in the hospital. Ever since they moved me into this room bymyself, I've known that I haven't much longer to live, and I want toleave her something to show that I appreciate her kindness, and wasgrateful for it."
The doctor pressed the old man's hand as he went on: "I've been thinkingI would like to make her a little chain. My grandfather taught me tocarve such things when I was a lad. He was a Swiss, you know, andfollowed my mother over to this country soon after I was born. He was soold that all he could do was just to sit under the trees and carvelittle toys to amuse the children. I have his pocket-knife yet," headded, with a smile of childish satisfaction that made the old facepathetic.
He looked down at his right hand, so twisted out of shape that it wasnearly useless. "I can't do as good work as I used to do thirty yearsago, before that Minie ball crippled me," he said. "But Miss Mary willmake allowances; she will know that I remembered and was grateful, don'tyou think?" he asked, anxiously.
"Most certainly," answered the doctor, stooping to arrange the patient'spillows more comfortably about him. "But, captain, I am afraid that Ican't allow you to undertake anything that will be a tax on yourstrength. You haven't any to spare."
So deep a shade of disappointment crept into the old man's wistful eyesthat the doctor felt an ache in his throat, and drove it away with alittle laugh. "Pshaw!" he said, hastily. "You shall have a mile ofbroomsticks if you want them. I'll send my son Max up with one insidethe next hour."
The gong had just struck the signal for dismissal in the third-wardschool building, when the busy physician drove up to the curbstone inhis sleigh to get his boy. "Max will be down in a minute, DoctorMorris!" called a boy, as he ran past the sleigh with his skates slungover his shoulder. "Miss Clay kept some of 'em to see about celebratingWashington's Birthday."
"Thank you, Ned," answered the doctor. He drew the robes closer abouthim as he walked the horse up and down, for there was a keen windblowing this cold February afternoon. Presently a group of boys loiteredby and stood on the corner, waiting for the rest of Miss Clay's pupilsto join them.
"I'm glad Miss Clay isn't my teacher!" one of them exclaimed, in a loudvoice. "Skating's too good now to waste time learning to spout pieces."
"Well, I think it's about time to give George Washington a rest," saidthe largest boy in the group. "He's a back number, and I'll tell her so,too, if she asks me to say any of her old pieces."
"That's a pretty way to talk about the Father of your Country!" piped upa little fellow in spectacles, who was sliding on the ice in thegutter. "Back number! I just dare you to say that to Miss Clay!"
The doctor overheard this, but he did not hear the quarrel thatfollowed, for Max came running down just then, and climbed into thesleigh.
"You're late to-day, my boy. What's the trouble?"
"Oh, Miss Clay kept us to arrange a programme for Washington's Birthday,and nobody wanted to take part. We're all tired of the same old thingyear after year--just songs and recitations and dialogues about the sameold fellow!"
"A fine lot of patriots this next generation is going to turn out!" saidthe doctor, so sternly that Max gave him a quick glance of surprise, andthen flushed at his evident disapproval. The grim look crept into theman's eyes that was always there when he was absorbed in a criticalcase.
"O papa, are we going home?" cried Max, in a disappointed tone, as thehorse turned in that direction.
"For a few minutes," answered Doctor Morris. "I want you to takesomething to one of my patients at the hospital. I'll leave you withhim while I go on to the Berridge place."
Max, who had expected a long sleigh-ride, forgot his disappointment whenhe found that Captain Wilshire was an old soldier, who bore the scars ofmore than one battle. An internal wound, received at Shiloh, stilltroubled him at times, and exposure during the last year of the war hadbrought on the consumption that was now slowly taking his life away.
"He is one of the truest patriots it has ever been my honour to meet,"said the doctor. "I have known many statesmen in my time, severalgenerals and two Presidents. Any one of them might well be proud to takeoff his hat to Joe Wilshire. When you see the old hero lying alone, Max,in that cheerless little room in the hospital, I want you to think ofthe reason why I so greatly respect him. It is not simply because he wasbrave in battle, or because his heroic cheerfulness kept him alivethrough half a year in Libby Prison, or because he came home with theseeds of disease planted in his system and his good right hand crippledand useless. Many a man has encountered these tests, and yet has losthis zeal for his country as soon as the cannon smoke cleared away andthe martial music was done."
"Then why is it, papa?" asked Max, for they had reached the house, andthe doctor was looking in the bottom of the sleigh for thehitching-strap.
"Well, when he came home, he was of course poor. He made a meagre livingfor his wife and baby with only a few acres of land and of fruit-treeswith which to do it. Several times his old comrades suggested to himthat he ought to apply for some fat government office, but he alwayssaid, 'Boys, I know that you mean well, and that you and my friendscould probably get me in on the score of my being a disabled soldier;but I know and you know that I am not competent to fill such an office.If I could fill an office, and at the same time serve my country bydoing so, I'd unhesitatingly take one. But I'd only be serving myself byfilling my pockets at the government's expense. No, I'm obliged to you,boys, but I can't feel that it would be exactly honourable.'
"Now that's patriotism, Max, of the highest type, showing unselfishloyalty and love of country!" exclaimed the doctor, as he sprang out ofthe sleigh. "I was disturbed and hurt just now, when I heard the boystalking about Washington being a 'back number.' It hurt because there issome truth in it. Wars call out such generals, but there are too few menin these times of peace who step into office with Washington's high,unselfish motives. And I fear the number is few of men who willdeliberately give up the honour and emolument of office because theybelieve some one else can render better service, or because principlepulls harder than public purse-strings. Yes, such patriotism is gettingto be a 'back number'--so far back that it has grown burdensome for somepeople to honour it, even once a year."
Max had seldom heard his father speak so indignantly before, and lookedat him in surprise as he gave a final fierce tug at the knot he had tiedin the halter.
An hour later, when Doctor Morris called at the hospital, Max camerunning down-stairs with his eyes shining and an old battered canteenunder his arm. "The captain gave it to me!" he said. "He has ever somany old relics in his chest, and there is a splendid story about eachone. O papa, isn't he just the lovablest old man? He asked me to comeoften and bring some of the boys. He says he gets so lonesome!"
Nobody but the nurse knew how many times Max climbed the hospital stairsduring the next two weeks. At first he always brought some boy with himto listen to the captain's stories, and carry away some relic as atreasured keepsake from the chest beside his bed; but later, the captaincoughed t
oo frequently to talk much. Then Max came alone, with bunchesof hothouse flowers and little paper bags full of tempting fruit.
No matter when the boy came, he always found the captain busy with hiscarving. Day by day the old broomstick was slowly approaching awonderful transformation. It would soon be turned into a long, slenderchain, with each tiny, separate link perfectly fashioned. Sometimes, thenurse, not knowing that it was intended for her, and wondering at theold man's childish impatience to finish it, would gently insist ontaking it out of his feverish fingers.
"Wait till to-morrow, when you are stronger," she would urge. He wouldthen reluctantly give it up, but the thought of his work stayed withhim. Even in his sleep his poor crippled hand bent as if to grasp it,and the left one feebly repeated the motions of wielding a knife.
"I have set my heart on having it done by Washington's Birthday," hewhispered one day to Max. "Oh, if I can only hold out to finish it!" headded, as he sank back wearily. The nurse put the unfinished work aside,but the next morning he begged so imploringly for it that she had notthe heart to refuse.
When the twenty-second of February came, Miss Clay's schoolroom was ingala dress for the occasion. She had been untiring in her efforts tomake the ceremonies a success, but unconsciously to himself the oldcaptain had done far more than she to arouse an interest in theprogramme.
Max came first with his old canteen, and repeated the story that thecaptain had told him, of the brave comrade who had carried it. Then oneof the boys brought an old army cape of faded blue, and another a brokenspur. Simple tales were told of love and loyalty that had never foundtheir way into print, but they stirred the hearts of the hearers in theschoolroom with a pathetic tenderness for these unknown men who hadbeen so bravely true.
Doctor Morris came into the room just in time to see the big fellowstand up who had declared the Father of his Country a "back number." He,too, had been with the captain, for he carried an old blood-stained,bullet-torn flag. He told its history so well that the tears came to hiseyes in his earnestness, and the audience sympathized with the feelingand applauded him when he had finished.
"I see that we have a member of the school board with us," said MissClay, bowing to Doctor Morris. "We want to hear from him before we haveour last song."
This was the opportunity the doctor was waiting for. He took a littlepackage from his pocket. It was the captain's finished chain, from whichhung a tiny anchor, beautifully carved and polished. "The nurse showedthis to me a little while ago," he said, "and I asked her to let mebring it here for you to see."
The speech that followed was very much like the one he had made to Maxin the sleigh--all afire with admiration for the man who, with crippledhand and with empty pockets, had turned his back on office, for love ofcountry, for conscience' sake.
"But of all the noble lessons of this old man's life," he said, inconclusion, "none is more beautiful in spirit than this last act; thisexpression of gratitude to his faithful nurse. What is so commonplace,so soon forgotten as a bit of old broom-handle? But look at this." Againhe held up the chain. "See the transforming power of a noble purpose! Hehas made of it an anchor, and fastened to her heart, with every link,the memory of his great gratitude.
"I don't want to preach," he went on, "but I must say that you youngpeople, I fear, miss the spirit with which the nation should honour thisday, if you do not see that the success of its celebration dependsentirely on this same transforming power. A heartfelt gratitude to theheroes who won and kept our liberty can make beautiful the mostcommonplace act of commemoration."
Later, when the February afternoon was nearing twilight, there was amuffled sound of fife and drum on the hospital stairs. The many feetstepped lightly, but with a measured tramp, tramp as Miss Clay's schoolmarched down the long corridor, four abreast.
The captain had been delirious at intervals all the afternoon. Now heopened his eyes with a puzzled expression, for the martial music madehim forget his surroundings.
"It's just the young people from the school," explained the nurse,opening the door wider, that he might see the long rows of bright-facedboys and girls in the hall.
Max came in and took the old soldier's hand, stroking it affectionatelywhile he talked. "They're going to sing 'Hail Columbia,' captain. Youknow how it goes:
"Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize!"
"You see we never were really 'mindful what it cost' until we knew you,captain," Max went on, "so we never thought about being especiallygrateful to anybody before. This is a sort of thank-offering to such menas Washington--and you."
The captain tried to raise himself from the pillows--tried to speak someword of greeting to the young people who were watching him, but sankback exhausted.
"I can't!" he said to the nurse in a voice that trembled pitifully. "Youtell them how glad--how proud--" Then speech failed him. The next momentthe boys and girls began to sing.
A happy light came into the dim old eyes, as the sweet voices werelifted up in the inspiring airs that he loved so well.
They marched out softly when the songs were done, waving good-bye to himwith their handkerchiefs. Down the street the music of fife and drumsounded fainter and fainter. The room was growing dark.
Max, who lingered behind, saw the white head turn on the pillow andheard a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction: "The dear children! God help'em to keep the old flag flying!" And that was the captain's lastaudible prayer.