955 S UC-NRLF B 3 Sfll S21 THE SISTER OF A CERTAIN SOLDIER m^\w:^r\w STEPHEN J. MA HER Price: Popular Edition, Twtnty-five Cents [The Waterbtiry American.] A STIRRING STORY WHOSE AUTHOR IS A WELL=KNOWN NEW HAVEN PHYSICIAN. "The Sister of a Certain Soldier" is a title that has attracted unusual attention to the little book, recently published by Dr. Stephen J. Maher of New Haven. And a certain literary quality which the title it- self suggests is the chief feature of the little story which the ])ook chronicles. Written somewhat after the fashion of certain French realists, it is characterized by an unusually good style, diction of more than usual attractiveness and a story which is well worked up to the climax, or rather the double climax for such the ending really is, the stirring departure of a unique regi- ment of soldiers being the first, and the fate of the girl the second. Not to tell the story, as all readers will want to read it for themselves, suffice it to say that "The Sister of a Certain Soldier" is a dramatic short story that revolves around the actions of a young girl, belong- ing to a certain section of American life, the treatment of that section, accorded by the world at large, having bred in her a moroseness and bitterness that was reach- ing a dangerous stage, when it was arrested, first by a visitation of poliomyelitis, and then by the European war itself, when she proved a veritable Joan of Arc to her own people. The little book is read through in thirty minutes, but they are certainly minutes each one of them full of sixty seconds of real pulsating living. THE SISTER OF A CERTAIN SOLDIER BY STEPHEN J. MAKER "A man's a man, for a' that " NEW HAVEN Press of The Tutti.e, Morehouse & Taylor Company MDCCccx\ari Copyright, 1918, by Stephen J. Maher Published March, 1918 All Rights Reserved C^^yy \-N^aJU' S TABLE OF CONTENTS. Chapter I. "A Faded Proclamation." 5 Chapter II. "A Few Lines from a Lady." 13 Chapter III. "Did You Ever See Her Ride?" 19 Chapter IV. "Always Has His Own Way." 27 Chapter V. "The Song" 34 Chapter VI. "I've Been Knocking Wood." 38 Chapter VII. "A Sworn Promise" 43 Chapter VIII. A Sunlit Altar 46 377931 CHAPTER I. "A Faded Proclamation." It really began on one of the hot rainy after- noons of June, 1916. I don't mean that my acquaintance with the young woman began then. Not at all. She and other members of her family had been occasional patients of mine for several years. But it was on that June afternoon that an innocent question of mine precipitated the strange happenings here narrated. I have had some pro- fessional diffidence about telling the things revealed to me by this patient. My Psyche and I have just had a violent dispute on that very point. My Psyche's argument was that the patient would be glad to have the story told, and that for the sake of the public the story ought to be told. Therefore I am going to tell it even at the risk of receiving the condemnation of the captious. The patient was the rather tall, graceful, soft- spoken, modestly dressed daughter of a prosperous farmer named Morphy in the adjacent town of Stornham. When she was a pay-pupil in the New Haven High School, eight or nine years ago, I had treated her for a slight attack of tonsillitis. After that I followed with some interest her various school successes in scholarship, in singing and on the basket-ball team. She was the class poet. Some of her successes were very remarkable because, in The Sister of a Certain Soldier. one important particular, she differed from the other girls in her class ; her blood was largely negro. And the fact was plain to everybody in spite of a skin not darker than that of some South-Europeans, and in spite of her beautiful straight hair. On this June afternoon that I speak of, she had called because of a soreness of the elbow that had bothered her for a few days. After I had exam- ined her and advised her, I said, as I finished writing her prescription: "Well, Lucy, now that war with Mexico seems certain and war with Germany probable, are you getting ready to enlist as a nurse, or are you pre- paring to take your brother's place in the manage- ment of the farm as soon as he joins the army?" The question was put more in banter than seri- ously, but I didn't realize the dynamic possibilities of that question. The girl's reply came immedi- ately, and with such a display of feeling as I had never before seen her exhibit : "I am going to do neither. And none of our men folks that I can influence will ever join the United States Army, or the United States Navy. You know my brother. You know what a fine lad he is. You know how I love him and how proud we all are of him. Well, if he attempted to enlist in the army, I would kill him." "That's a shocking statement," I said, after a moment's hesitation. "I don't like to believe you are in earnest." "Shocking or not, I mean every word of it." "A Faded Proclamation/* "What's the explanation? Don't you care whether or not Connecticut meets the fate of Belgium and Servia?" "It would be a terrible price to pay, but even that price would probably be worth while." My blood boiled. I arose, handed her her pre- scription and said, as curtly as I knew how, "I think we'd better not discuss that subject any fur- ther." She smiled bitterly as she took the paper. "That's it, it's always the same. The white man's point of view is always and everlastingly right, because it is his. The colored man's point of view is always and everlastingly wrong because it is his." "Your point of view," I replied as I walked toward the door, "is neither the white man's nor the colored man's point of view, nor the point of view of any one else outside of Germany or an institution for the criminal insane." "I believe it to be the point of view of God Almighty. I believe that God has decided that there is no better way of driving the hypocrisy and cruelty out of the American white man's heart, — no other way than by making him suffer pain and humiliation. Up to now he has been so uniformly successful that both he and his wife, particularly his wife, have become impossible to other people." "You think there is more tenderness in the Ger- man than in the American heart?" "I'm not thinking of the German's heart at all. In his own way and in his own time God will punish The Sister of a Certain Soldier. the German of hard heart. But I know that God has promised repeatedly to pmiish such tyranny as the white people of America show to the colored folks." "Don't you think the white Americans have pleased God by freeing the colored folks from slav- ery, and by doing all the big things that they have done for the training and educating of the colored folk? Is there any country in the world where one class of people has done so much for another class as the white people of America have done for the colored people of America?" "I admit both of those arguments, but they con- cern the past. And for the colored folks of this generation neither of those arguments removes the bitterness of the insults and discrimination that they meet every day of their lives, and that are getting worse and more frequent every year, particularly in the North." "Does anybody insult you? Aren't these insults that you talk about mostly exaggerated hearsay tilings, or the result of somebody's carrying a chip on his shoulder?" "The insults are real, and no chip on the shoulder is necessary to provoke them. And — yes, people insult me. I don't want to take up your time tell- ing about my troubles but. Doctor, you are to blame, you began the discussion. I don't often allow myself to grow excited on the subject, but if you really want a peep at an important truth, there it is.. But it is only a peep. Anybody insult me? Oh, "A Faded Proclamation. God, if you only knew, if you only knew!" She burst into tears and turning from me, buried her face in her hands. This abatement of her mood mollified me. "Please sit down and tell me about it," I said. "This is all news to me." "Thanks, no, I'll stand. Tell you about what?" "Well, what evidence have you that here in the North you yourself are insulted or treated unfairly because you are not white?" "Why, my dear Doctor, evidence! Evidence! My experience every hour of my life spent outside of my own home is evidence. Because my skin is not very black a white woman will come and sit beside me in the trolley car. As soon as she gets a good look at me, she takes another seat if she can, or she shows by all sorts of antics that she wishes she could get another seat. "When I go into the big stores, the clerks deliber- ately disregard me as long as they can find anything else to do, and when they do wait on me they are snarlish or condescending. "Until the last few years whenever I went to any first-class theatrical or operatic performance in New Haven, neither I nor any of my family ever had any difficulty getting any seat we were able to pay for. And my family, remember, was enjoying the best theatrical performances in New Haven before most of the present-day audiences of the theaters had been squeezed through Ellis Island. Now what happens when I want to go to a theatri- 9 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. cal performance? Either tickets are refused out- right, or I am told I must go to the top gallery ; or, sometimes if I make a fuss, or if the show is not selling well, I am told to come around later, and when I come later and get tickets and go to the per- formance, I find that the most undesirable corner of that part of the house has been reserved for me and a few other 'niggers'. "And as to the nice restaurants and hotels, you, yourself must have seen that the color of my skin bars me from them. Of course, I know enough now not to try to be served in them, no matter how hungry I am nor how well able I am to pay their prices. "Sometimes I forget. One day last summer I went to the drug store in which I had been accus- tomed to get prescriptions filled; I bought some toilet articles. The day was very hot and I was very thirsty. I ordered a glass of soda-water. The clerk hurried to the back of the store, and when he came back he got very busy rearranging bottles on one of the shelves. The truth didn't occur to me. Two men and a woman came up to the soda foun- tain, and the clerk promptly waited on them. I thought he hadn't heard my order so I said : " 'Make mine orange-phosphate, please.' "He began to talk about the war to the two men. I was getting thirstier all the while, and I had a long hot walk home ahead of me. So I said again, " 'Make mine orange-phosphate, please.' "He faced me angrily and said: 'See here. Miss, 10 *'A Faded Proclamation/' don't you know we don't serve colored people at our soda fountain?' "It was such a surprise that I couldn't move or speak. I would have thanked somebody to kill me on the spot. In fact, I thought I would die. I felt that my heart stopped beating for ever so long. I must have acted queerly. The two men custom- ers were plainly embarrassed by the situation, but their woman companion turning toward me, held up her long glassful of foaming cold drink, and said smilingly, 'This is delicious soda they sell here.' "I rushed out of the store and into the baking, dusty road and ran all the way home trying vainly to escape from the vision of that cruel white woman holding up before me the cooling drink that I must not taste because of the color of my skin." By this time we had reached my front door. She turned the knob and, pulling the door ajar, she said sobbingly: "Perhaps you think I can cure these daily wounds of my soul by applying to them the faded procla- mation of emancipation. "I can't do it. Doctor. And you couldn't do it. No human being could do it. I am not going to try to do it any more." Pulling the door wide open as she uttered the last sentence, her rather elevated voice attracted the attention of some children romping by with school- books under their arms. One of the boys immedi- ately called out, pointing to my trembling patient : "Some Coon!" 11 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. The rest of the children hurried past the house, laughing loudly at the wit of their spokesman. To my surprise instead of showing resentment, my patient smiled through her tears, and as she descended the steps called back to me : "I spent four of my happiest girlhood years in the school those children come from. Now, I am 12 CHAPTER II. "A Few Lines from a Lady/' A week later I had a call from Fred Morphy, the father of the girl. "What did you do to my daughter last week?" he asked, semi- seriously, when admitted into the consultation room. "You mean, what did she do to me?" I replied. "I haven't been so stirred up in a long while as I was by some things she said to me. How is she?" "Oh, that little sickness you treated her for is all better. But she has been having an awful stormy time in her mind ever since she was in here. She cried a good deal that night and she wouldn't say what was wrong. She worked real hard about the house next day but she didn't want to talk. I told you before she's a dreadful religious girl. That second night she sat up an extra long time reading the Bible. I woke up in the middle of the night and heard her talkin'. I got scared and went over to the door of her room, The lights was lit, and she was on her knees on the floor with her face buried in a pillow on the bed. I could hear her say : 'I promise, Lord, I promise, I promise. An' Lord, I know you won't forget us, your poor black children. I know you won't forget us. Show me what to do, Lord, and I'll do it no matter what it costs me. Lord, and no matter where it leads me. Don't think of me. Lord, but only of my poor black 13 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. people. Let them be an honor to you, Lord, in the eyes of all the world.' "I couldn't stand it no longer and I called to her to stop that nonsense an' go to bed. She got up and was sorry she woke me up. I asked her what was the matter with her, and whether she was goin' crazy. She said nothing was the matter. Then I saw the Bible was on the bed. I told her lots of people had gone crazy readin' the Bible, and she'd have to stop it. I tried to get real mad with her, but you can't get mad with that girl. She only laughed. Then she kissed me and drove me back to my room. "The next morning she went off to some church service. That noon, when her brother Jim came in to dinner, he told about the sickness on the Smythers' farm. He said they were almost all sick down there with that new sickness, the baby's paralysis that's killing so many groAvn-ups, and that they couldn't get nobody to help on the farm and nobody to help with the nursin'. "Lucy got excited right off and after dinner she came to me and said : 'Dad, I am going down to the Smythers to help.' "I laughed at her. 'Why, girlie,' I said, 'they wouldn't let you inside of their barn. You know very well that they hate colored folks. Haven't they insulted you time and again?" " 'Yes, I know. But now they need help, and I am going to give it to them, or at least, I am going to offer it to them.' " 14 ''A Few Lines from a Lady. " "And she did. She went over to the Smythers' and we haven't seen her since. There's a big yellow sign on the door of the Smythers' house, and nobody can go in there. In fact, nobody wants to go in there. One child died yesterday and was buried last night. Another is thought to be dying. The doctor says the mother will get well. Lucy tele- phones and says that she is working hard and doesn't get much sleep, but she is happy. How she can be happy slaving and risking her life for folks who'd spit on her if they was well, is more'n I can under- stand. She telephoned me this morning to tell you the first time I saw you that she was sorry for what she said to you when she was in here last. What did she say to you that time? Did she insult you? I never knew that girl to insult anybody before." "No," I said, "she didn't insult me; far from it. But when she calls you up again tell her it is all right, and that I am confident that she will make a good nurse." "Oh, that's it," said her father. "She has been talking to you about becoming a nurse !" I had some difficulty in persuading him that I had never discussed the nurse problem with his daughter. When he left, he promised to keep me informed as to his daughter's progress as a nurse. He must have forgotten the promise. I didn't see him or hear from him for a long while. I watched in the newspaper reports of the rise and fall of the epidemic of poliomyelitis for accounts of the situation in Stornham, but I found recorded the 15 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. death of only one child named Smythers. Then the snow came and the epidemic ceased. The increasingly alarming war news crowded it out of the papers. During the long winter months I sometimes wondered whether the second Smythers child had died, and also why I never heard anj^thing more from Morphy or his daughter ; but I was very busy with other matters and I made no inquiries. The State Medical Society held its annual meet- ing in New Haven this year. Most of the discus- sions, public and private, were of the war. During the dinner at the Taft, just before the speech- making began, Dr. Krain, an old friend of mine, came over to my table with a young doctor that I didn't know, and said : "Look here. Doctor, I am sorry to learn that you are losing your grip on that practice of yours. Here's a youth that says he has stolen one of your patients, and, in spite of my warning that you'd snub him, he insists on getting an introduction to you, in order to bring a message to you from the patient. This is Dr. Menoux of the fine old town of Stornham." "Oh, no danger," said the stranger; "I merely want to give you a note from the patient. If you wish, I will take back the answer. She would like a reply as soon as possible." I tore open the little envelope and read: 16 ''A Few Lines from a Lady. '* "My dear Doctor : — My brother enlisted some weeks ago. We have a whole company of colored boys from this part of the county. They have orders from headquarters to leave town on a special train at 7 o'clock to-mor- row evening. We want to give them a little send- off. I would love to have you see them. If you can, come down in the afternoon. I could have my father meet you. Gratefully yours, Lucy Morphy." The effect that the note had on me was so great that even the young doctor smiled and said: "Surprised you, eh?" And then Krain called out: "Oh, ho! Oh, ha! It's time for me to go; but, say, I didn't think a few lines from a lady could so disturb you." He shook hands and left. I stared at Dr. Menoux and replied, "Surprised me? Yes, more than I can tell. Yes, of course, I'll go. Will you see her before to-morrow after- noon? All right. Tell her that I will be at her house in my machine before four o'clock to-morrow afternoon." "Nonsense," he answered promptly. "Don't try to go near her house to-morrow afternoon. You'd never reach it. And she won't be there. You'd better take her suggestion and fix a time and place in the center of the town where old Morphy can meet you. Why not say my office, it's just across the Green from the Town Hall. You'd better come as early as you can in the afternoon." 17 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. "Agreed," I replied. "I'll leave here about three o'clock. It's less than twenty miles on a good state road. I'll be at your office long before four o'clock. But, tell me, is the girl sick? Do you have to call every day?" "She has been very sick. She is better now. But don't ask any more questions about her. I think she would prefer to tell you the story herself." The next morning at the breakfast table I men- tioned the fact that I would have short office hours in the afternoon because I had promised to go to Stornham to witness the entraining of the new negro infantry company. "Say, there's an item about that in the Courier this morning," said my brother, "and I couldn't quite understand it. Here it is; it's on the front page, but under a Stornham date line: "the halls too small. "Stornham, June 10. Both of the factories in town will close at noon to-morrow so that everybody will have an opportunity to see and hear the colored troops. It has been decided finally to sing 'The Song' in the Green. There isn't any hall big enough to hold the crowd that is expected. Every church in town was offered free to the committee. They were all too small." 18 CHAPTER III. "Did You Ever See Her Ride?" It was nearly half past three that afternoon before I got through with the last patient. As I hurried into my car, Jerry, my chauffeur, said rather petulantly, "We won't make it by four o'clock, Doctor." "Why not?" I asked, as I fixed my goggles. "We've got a good road and thirty minutes and the distance is less than twenty miles." "Yes, that's all right; but an hour ago I was talking to a couple of colored fellows who drive for folks on the hill. They were beating it for the train. They told me that all the colored folks in this part of the state are going to Stornham this afternoon, and that the state road to Stornham has been choking full of jitneys and all kinds of wagons for the last three hours. That's the reason they went down by train." "Never mind. We'll have a good time. A fine day; a fine ride, and something new to see ! Cheer up, Jerry." "Oh, I'm all right, Doctor, but I must say I don't like meeting so many black people. It ain't lucky." This mental slant of Jerry's amused me and when we passed over the last city bridge, and were speed- ing along the first miles of the state road, I teased him a little, because I had never found the turnpike so free of vehicles of all kinds. We made the first 19 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. ten miles in sixteen minutes; but then, just beyond Redf ord we ran through the straggling rear of such a line of conveyances as I had never seen before. • A couple of minutes further on we were obliged "to slow down to a walk," as Jerry put it. And from that time until we reached Stornham Green an hour later, we were an integral part of the procession. Its two parallel lines filled the road. During all the seven miles only one-way traffic was possible on the road. Three-fourths of the occupants of the vehicles were colored people; but many of the finest cars in the state were there bearing their white owners to the general rendezvous. When I had conquered my first feelings of irrita- tion and disappointment, I began to enjoy the situa- tion. A picnicky spirit pervaded it. There was laughter or song in every jitney, in every smart limousine, and in every creaking crowded farm wagon. Even the riders of motor-cycles took the troublous delay good-naturedly. Some of the sing- ing, particularly by groups of colored men in motor busses, was notably fine. Jerry became interested in the singing. "Say, Doctor," he asked, "what is that song?" "I don't know," I told him. He referred to a strange melody that many of these gi'oups in the busses and vans hummed in unison whenever there was an interval between the singing of the ordinary popular songs. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, but before we reached Stornham I found the repeated 20 ''Did You Ever See Her Ride?" choral humming of this mysterious air giving me a new pleasure and a desire to know more about it. Just outside of Stornham, we found ourselves under the jurisdiction of khaki-clad white soldiers who parted the oncoming double line, and diverted its parts into town by different roads. The jam in the little town was worse than on the road, but we finally drew up in front of Dr. Menoux's office. And, sure enough, there was old Morphy stand- ing in the door, and violently waving a little silk flag at me. Soldiers were everywhere, a great many patrolling with rifles on their shoulders, and many of all grades unarmed and not on duty ; but to my surprise, they were all white troopers. I couldn't see a colored soldier anywhere about the Green. The Green in Stornham is an unfenced grassy oblong plot of four acres, shaded and almost canopied with enormous elms. At one end there is a band-stand. I saw now that the band-stand had been recently enlarged to about ten times its original dimensions. The Green was packed with people except for a roped-off space about twenty yards square in front of the band-stand. A picket of a dozen white soldiers kept out of this space every- body except a few white ushers who were bringing from somewhere churchly-looking chairs, and arranging them in a churchly way. Old Morphy had become impatient at my delay in leaving the car. He fought his way through the crowd on the walk, and stepping on the running board, said: 21 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. "Look here, Doctor, you're too late now. You'd better come inside and see Dr. Menoux. He'll tell you all about it. Lucy's gone. She wanted to tell you herself. She waited and waited, but you didn't come, and finally the captain said they couldn't wait no longer." Mystified, I got out and entered the house which I found filled with the young doctor's friends who had come to view the parade. In a moment the doctor himself appeared and, taking my hand, led me into his little consultation room. "How many tickets will you need? She left me only two for you." "Tickets! Tickets for what?" I replied. "Come, tell me what it's all about, Can't I see the parade from your windows, or from my own car? This mystery that nobody wants to explain to me is making me dizzy. Old man Morphy said you were going to give me a message of explanation from the girl, and instead you ask me how many tickets I want. Why should I want tickets? Where have they taken the girl and why have they taken her? And who are they who have taken her? For Heaven's sake tell me the story. Didn't you prom- ise the girl you would?" The young doctor bristled immediately and began angrily, "See here, Doctor, this is my . . ." Then he hesitated and lowering his voice said, "Excuse me, it's my French blood ... I see. I see now. I suppose I ought in fact to have told you the story over in the Taft last night. And — yes, I promised the girl to tell it here, but it's such 22 ''Did You Ever See Her Ride?'' a long story I couldn't tell it to you now and do justice to it before the parade will be here. I intended to tell you all the facts after the exercises are over. I thought if I gave you the tickets and the program now, I would have time to unfold the whole marvellous tale to you after the place had calmed down and after I had calmed down. I have been as hysterical as a bridegroom all day. This wonderful colored girl has got on all our nerves. My wife lay awake all night with the excitement. My wife is a devout Catholic. She's just gone upstairs now to make a final prayer, or rather demand, to St. Joseph for the success of this colored girl this afternoon. St. Joseph, she says, is the spe- cial patron in Heaven of the colored race. Yes, yes, I know this isn't telling you what you want to learn. But where will I begin? Excuse me, take a chair. I took a chair and pushed another toward him. "All right. I will go over the facts very briefly. 'No, I couldn't sit still and talk about this thing. "Well, the first time I saw the girl was when she came and helped me out of that terrible mess of infantile paralysis over at the Smythers' farm a year ago. Smythers is a bigoted old wretch, usually half drunk, and the morning she came over and offered to help, he pushed her out of the house with insults and oaths. But Mrs. Smythers ran down the road after her and brought her back. Mrs. Smythers had been doing all the work and all the nursing of the sick children, and hadn't slept for three days or nights. The Smythers farm is a fine old farm but the 23 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. house is the moldiest farm house in this part of the state. The day before, I had, with great diffi- culty, got two practical nurses from town, but when they saw the place they took the first train back to New Haven. All the beds and couches in the house were occupied by sick children. Smythers himself slept in the barn. There was no place for the nurse to sleep but on the floor. And such a floor ! This colored girl stayed in that house a month, and I am sure saved the lives of several members of the family. Every member of the family had the disease but the father. One child died; two are still partly paralyzed. The others are well. The mother had only a slight attack, but for about a week Lucy Morphy ran the house alone. And at the end of the month, she herself was taken sick and we sent her to the Isolation Hospital in New Haven. She couldn't walk well until Sep- tember. "When she came home cured a week before Christmas, she was a changed person. All the white people in town were anxious to make a hero- ine of her, and to show kindness to her. But she discouraged any public demonstration, and when the local correspondents of the city papers and the editor of the Stornham Times came to her for material for write-ups, she succeeded in extracting from them promises not to print a word about her. She promised them a 'bigger story' in a few weeks. "The flowers and gifts that were showered on her on Christmas Day, she carried or sent to the poor or 24 ''Did You Ever See Her Ride?'' sick negroes of the town. As soon as she was able she began to make systematic visits to all the negro families in this and the surrounding towns. One afternoon in February she called at my office because of some cardiac uneasiness that she had had the night before. She confided to me what was then a secret, the news that ever since November when she was in the hospital she had been busy on a plan to organize a new company of colored troops of the National Guard from the small towns of this part of the state. The project was then well under way. Her brother was already a sergeant in this company and . . ." In response to a violent knocking at the door he opened it and several voices called to him: "They're coming. We can hear the drums." He looked at me in despair, but continued, talk- ing, however, so fast that I had some difficulty in understanding him: "We'll have to go. Don't lose your tickets. As to her, she got white officers and colored officers to come here to instruct the new company. She attended the drills ; got up entertainments ; became the idol of the company. Sang to them. Taught them to sing, and made them the finest singers anybody about here has ever heard. To-day before they leave they're going to sing her anthem. She wrote it. Got Scott of New York to write the music. The words are on that program I gave you. Nobody but negroes and Scott's orchestra and friends has heard The Song yet. Negro choirs 25 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. in many of the churches of the state have been practising it for weeks. They have been keeping it a sort of secret from the white people. "She's perfectly wild in her love of the flag and in her desire to fight for it and have all her colored people fight for it. She's studying aviation and has made some flights. She wanted to go up to-day. I was afraid of the effect of the excitement on her heart, and I forbade her to go up. So she's going to ride to-day and carry the flag, the gift of the town to her company. Did you ever see her ride? O, Heavens, we are too late to get into the Green." 26 CHAPTER IV. "Always Has His Own Way." By this time we had reached the door. A line of white troopers was driving the crowd out of the street surrounding the Green. The roadway, how- ever, was so broad that they didn't deem it neces- sary to interfere with the standing automobiles, but the machines were made to hug the curb closely. I tried to persuade the doctor and his wife who had just joined us to accompany me to my car. They elected to stay where they were. I therefore launched into the crowd alone and soon succeeded in approaching the curb where Jerry extended his hand to me and held open the door. "I wish we were home, Doctor," was his fervent greeting. "Why?" I asked; "the performance hasn't be- gun yet." The noise of the approaching drums and the laughing and loud talk of the throngs made it necessary to raise one's voice to be heard. Jerry shouted back at me : "It's begun for me all right, and I'm afraid if we don't get out of here quick, it'll be over for me or for some of us soon. Did you ever suppose. Doctor, that there was that many darkies on earth ? One of them flying machines has just been swoop- ing up over the trees, and they all said it was driven by a colored fellow. They all cheered him, and 27 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. what do you think he did? Just as he got over this car, he began dropping things. One of them struck me on the head and another fell on the seat. I nearly died. I ain't all over it yet. But the things he dropped was only thin sheets of paper con- taining the words of a song, all rolled up in little balls. Here's one of them. Look! there's a couple more of the flying machines. I hope they'll cut out that business of dropping things." The rattle of drums now made further vocalizing impossible even for Jerry. And here were the soldiers. There were only two companies, one of white troops and one of black. The white company had come from the neighboring camp to do honor to the departing black company. In no detail of physique or marching or other soldierly quality were the white troops inferior in the slightest degree to the blacks. The appear- ance of both companies spelled war, and WAR in capital letters. And the white company received generous applause from every onlooker, white and black. But the hearts of the crowd were with the khaki- clad blacks. As the tall, studious-looking captain of the blacks, leading his first lines in perfect trim and step, appeared, sputtering cheers would start and then quickly die out, and then would be a wave of almost fiendish yells, and then silence. For here behind the second line of the colored company was the spectacle of the parade : 28 ''Always Has His Own Way. " Lucy Morphy, dressed like the soldiers, in khaki ; hatless; her long hair caught in a crimson band; astride of a beautiful, prancing, black horse ; riding with perfect ease, in spite of the rippling of the great silken flag she bore; heedless of the sensation she created ; her flashing eyes turned always to the flag ; one hand loosely holding the reins, the other steadying the staff; young; lithe; impassioned; appealing. As she passed me, the colored folks about me were beginning again to find their voices with more or less articulate cries of "Lucy!" "Our Lucy." "God bless her!" "Praise God!" "A Blessed child!" "God loves her!" "Hurrah for Lucy, our Lucy." The whites of the crowd were hardly less affected than the blacks but they were less demonstrative. However, they cheered and hurrahed, and then they seemed to choose from all the cries dinning their ears, the simplest, "Lucy!" And "Lucy!" "Lucy!" "Lucy!" they cried wherever she passed as the parade made its noisy circuit of the Green. After her came other lines of shiny black troopers, with muscles of iron and the tread of tigers, hand- ling their rifles with familiar affection, staring stonily ahead in a fierce endeavor to restrain their exulting pride of one another and of Lucy. As the The Sister of a Certain Soldier. parade approached the Town Hall the black com- pany executed many evolutions of the drill in a way to evoke enthusiastic applause from the critics. But by this time most of the delirious crowd could see through their misty eyes only a cavorting horse, a black girl rider, and a starry flag held high. Even I was beginning to be conscious of an unusual sensation of dryness in my throat, when I realized Jerry was pulling on my coat sleeve. "Say, Doctor, what's the matter, this is the third time I tried to make you hear. You want to look out for her. That girl ain't right. She's got this crowd locoed. She almost got me. When she was goin' by the car, I found myself yelling like a mad- man. Did you yell? I wanted to look at you to see, but for a minute or so I was too ashamed of myself to turn around to find out. She ain't right, she ain't right. Doctor, and I'll be glad when we're out of here. How long more ai'e you going to stay?" "Not so loud! Not so loud, Jerry. That's dangerous stuif you're talking. The girl is all right. The show can't last long now. See, the head of the procession is at the Town Hall already." Jerry subsided, but with poor grace. As the last of the lines of soldiers passed in front of my car, the crowds quickly filled the street again and followed them, or made usually vain efforts to find points of vantage on the Green. I fought my way back to Dr. Menoux's house, and after the crowd on this side of the Green had 80 ''Always Has His Own Way. '* thinned somewhat, I helped him to escort his wife to the reserved area in front of the enlarged grand stand. By the time we reached our seats, the roped-off space was nearly as crowded as the rest of the Green. Here, were seated the company of white troops that had been in the parade, and perhaps three hundred of us in mufti, who had received special invitations, and — most important of all — here were seated with us, or rather in front of us. Leader Scott and his New York orchestra. On the stand half a dozen town officials occupied chairs behind which the colored troops stood at attention, listening to a somewhat turgid address by the First Selectman who was presenting, in the name of the town, the beautiful flag that Lucy had carried in the parade. The captain accepted the flag and promised to carry it to victory or to die in its defense. Neither of the speeches could be heard distinctly, even where we sat, and before they were finished there were ominous signs of unrest in the huddled thousands, particularly in the distant parts of the Green. Then, when the First Selectman arose again, and began another speech of which even we could not hear a word, the discontent broke into a storm of disapproval. Cries of "Lucy," "Our Lucy," "Give us Lucy," "The Song," "Sing The Song," came from all parts of the assembled multi- tude. The captain stepped forward beside the speaker The Sister of a Certain Soldier. and motioned for silence. The noise immediately grew less, but before it had ceased, the Selectman, conscious of his importance as chairman of the meet- ing, and a little resentful of the influence of the negro soldier, made the mistake of beginning to talk again. The reply of the crowd was instant and angry, and deafening. Still he went through the motions of making a speech. Dr. Menoux leaned over and whispered in my ear: "He's our principal citizen. Dreary, but always has his way here. He's bound to carry out the pro- gram as printed and have all the other town officials make the speeches they've prepared. Always has his own way." "He'll fail this time," I replied; "but where is Lucy? She'll have to appear. Hear them call her!" "I'm here. Doctor," said a familiar voice behind me. I jumped to my feet and turned to shake hands with her where she sat in the chair next to the wife of Dr. Menoux. As she arose smiling she attracted the attention of the officers of the white soldiers nearby. Two of them immediately came toward her, whispered to her, and escorted her to the steps of the stand. A great roar of recognition and triumph swelled through the trees and along the roads. And then came a silence so sharp that even the Selectman could not resist it. He stopped talk- ing and returned to his seat. 32 ''Always Has His Own Way, " Lucy stood alone in front of her company of impassive black soldiers. Suddenly a wonderful mezzo-soprano voice rang through the ambient evening air, singing the Star- spangled Banner. There was no other sound. Nobody tried to "join in" with the chorus. Soar- ing easily and lovingly through all the difficult stanzas, Lucy concluded by dropping on her knees, catching a corner of the company's new flag and reverently kissing its fluttering hem. The thrill of the thing stirred every listener and brought out thunderous applause. As for myself, I turned to Dr. Menoux and his wife and said: "I have heard it sung in many lands by many famous singers and under many strange conditions, but it never before got into my bones in this way. Did you know she had a voice like that?" "Yes, we knew," said the doctor. "Oh, but just wait till you hear her own song," said Mrs. Menoux, smilingly. 33 CHAPTER V. "The Song." As the last cheers in the fringes of the crowd ceased, there began a deep organ-like humming in various parts of the audience of the same strange melody that we had heard early in the afternoon from the crowded jitneys on the road. Then the orchestra came to life, swung its chairs about and began to tune up its instruments. The humming in the audience took on greater volume and unison. The tall leader of the orchestra mounted a couple of chairs. "That's Scott, the New York composer," Mrs. Menoux whispered to me. He waved his baton to Lucy, who now was stand- ing beside the captain of the colored company. The humming in the audience ceased. The orchestra played its first few bars, and then accompanied Lucy who sang "When God Had Made the World, etc." Like everybody else I began by trying to follow the words of the song in the crumpled program; but there was no need, at least within the reserved area. Even when the black soldiers at the so-called chorus, or last half of the stanza, added their voices to hers, singing in parts, I had no difficulty in catch- ing every word. As for the music, its first bars suggested, vaguely, it is true — but still suggested, 34 '•The Song." the joyous clarion peal of the old Te Deum Lau- damus. And there was such a stateliness and simplicity and such searching melody through all the haunting score, as gave pleasure that almost hurt, not alone to those who heard but even in a greater degree to those who sang. The intensity of the joy that shone in every black soldier's face throughout the singing was worth a long journey to see. The end of the last stanza they sang with a harmonious abandon impos- sible to describe. And this was what they sang: "When God had made the world, — This spinning world we know, — And 'round the land had hurled The flood; had made to blow The trumpets of the storm; Had made the moving light Of peaks and plains, a norm Of beauty and of might. Ah, then He kept apart A garden wondrous fair, — America our own, — All planned with heavenly art, All hedged with angel's care. And all with freedom sown. "When He beheld the wrack His creatures' passions made Of truth and peace; their lack Of honor; and saw fade His hopes to hold the keys To hearts of men in lands Beside the eastern seas. And by the Desert's sands, 35 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. Again He thought of you. His garden wondrous fair, — America our own, — Where through a haze of blue. Arose a red-child's prayer To ghosts but not to stone. "When Europe's faith had seed That wasted was at home, Then God at last gave heed. And through the rainbowed foam Three lonely ships sailed west, — An emblem's power to prove, A dreamer's soul to test, A stagnant world to move. Soon all men gazed on you, His garden wondrous fair, — America our own, — Still wet with morning dew. Still dim in twilight air. Still sweet as rose just blown. "When God beholds, to-day. The eager groups from all The chosen tribes, who play And fall, and work, and call On Him for light, and sing To Him their feeble praise. And hail Him only. King, Who mountains made and Mays, See how with love of you. His garden wondrous fair, — America our own, — He smiles the long day through. And bids His children share The freedom He had sown. 36 "The Song." 'Our lives in shelter lie, Between the greening oceans ; Our youth, unfettered, try; Our aged sip the potions That conscience gives to worth; The truth our sages seek Of life, and space, and earth, — But bow them to The Meek. It's gathered love we bring, O garden wondrous fair, — America our own, — To God, to God your King, Who led us here to share The harvest He had sown. 'We've gathered love from dreams Come true ; from men aglow With Mercy's mellow beams ; From men's delight to show That in this fragrant shade Grow lusting for the right, And patience unafraid. And honor vouched with might. By order of your King, O garden wondrous fair, America our own, — This gathered love we fling To children everywhere Of Him who reigns alone." 37 CHAPTER VI. "I've Been Knocking Wood." When The Song was finished and the last enchanting orchestral note had sounded, a strange thing happened: there was no applause. As for myself, I could not find my voice. But I was embarrassed by my emotion which I supposed was due, in part at least, to my acquaintance with Lucy and my knowledge of the transformation that she had undergone in a year; or perhaps my vocal inertia was due to the fact that I was a sclerosed doctor. Surely, I thought, the rest of this crowd will go frantic in their applause of such singing of such a song, or hymn, or anthem, or whatever the right name may be for it. But no, the silence per- sisted and made me feel decidedly uncomfortable. I heard some sobbing near me and then I saw Mrs. Menoux, her head on the doctor's shoulder, crying her heart out. "Disappointed?" I said to myself. "She cannot think Lucy's song has failed." In response to a liint from her husband, Mrs. Menoux lifted her head, looked up at me through her tears, and said: "Doctor, I knew God loved that girl. Hasn't He been good to her to-day?" And then I observed that every woman in sight was in tears, and many men. Suddenly from far out under the trees, a group that I learned after- wards was the choir of a Hartford colored church. 'Tve Been Knocking Wood. " began to sing softly, without accompaniment, "When God had made the world — " They had not finished the second line before a dozen other similar choir groups had joined them, and soon it seemed that ten thousand voices were singing The Song. Members of the orchestra suggested an accom- paniment to their leader, but he angrily waved them aside with : "Listen, you fools. Don't talk. Listen! Listen! You'll never have such a chance again." Himself, he stood with every sentient nerve atingle, as his ears drank in, to the last echo, the sweet proof of his personal triumph. The town officials embraced the opportunity to leave the platform without further ado. Their departure gave a hint to the colored captain. I heard a couple of sharp commands and saw the company break ranks and quickly swarm to the ground. They seemed particularly pleased with the enthusiastic plaudits that their white fellows in khaki immediately showered upon them individ- ually and collectively. The last to leave the platform were Lucy and her brother. Absorbed in each other, they finally came to us, both holding themselves in great restraint because of their coming parting. We vied with one another in saying complimentary things to Lucy about The Song, and her singing, and the day's great success, from whatever angle it was viewed, but we failed to dispel the look of sadness 89 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. in her eyes. In fact, it was plain to both Dr. Menoux and myself that her tremendous expendi- ture of energy and emotion had begun to tell on her, and we both quickly seconded Mrs. Menoux's sug- gestion that we all find our way immediately out of the crowd and return to the house. As we passed in front of my car I was surprised to see Jerry standing in it, painfully trying to wed the music of the singing all about him to the words of the song on the paper that the aviator had dropped into the car early in the afternoon. As soon as he saw me he sheepishly tucked the paper into his pocket, and took his seat behind the wheel, and called to me : "I'm glad you've come. Doctor. We can make a quick get-away now, and beat this mob to the pike." "Pretty soon. Pretty soon," I answered. "But how do you like the singing?" "It's great, Doctor; great! I never heard any- thing like that before. It's queer, though, that nothing's happened. I can't get the hunch out of my head that something's goin' wrong before we get home. I've been knocking wood for the last half hour." "Well, Jerry," I laughed, "you will have to stop eating fried stuff." Mrs. Menoux, after leading Lucy upstairs to rest for the half -hour before train-time, came into the consultation room where the doctor and Sergeant Morphy were relating to me more of the details of 40 'Tve Been Knocking Wood. ** the story of Lucy's organizing of the colored company. "I don't think you ought to let your sister go to the train, Sergeant," she said anxiously; "couldn't you bid her good-bye here? Then I will put her to bed here for the night. She is exhausted." "Certainly I can," he replied. "But I am afraid you would have to chain her to keep her from the station to-night." I felt that the brother was right. The Stornham station is only two blocks from the Green. I said, however, that we would all try to dissuade her from leaving the house. Mrs. Menoux gave us a little supper, but before we finished it the bugles called, and we all went immediately to the front door to see the troops fall in line. Young Morphy rushed upstairs to his sister, and in a moment came down with her on his arm. He kissed her at the door, and ran across the street where the two companies were almost ready for the short march to the station. The crowd had begun to disintegrate. Most of the private auto- mobiles had gone home. From the door-step I saw that Jerry was anxious and chagrined. He called to me: "Too late now. Doctor." I smiled, and said to Mrs. Menoux, "My man is disappointed because we did not start before the others. We got caught in the ruck of jitneys com- ing over here. That's what delayed me this after- noon." "Well, I'm glad you waited, Doctor," interjected 41 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. Lucy. "After we come back from the station I want Dr. Menoux to consult with you about my case. Dr. Menoux is worried unnecessarily, I am sure, about my heart." Then the troops marched by. When the last lines had passed, Dr. Menoux said : "We think that you ought not to go to the sta- tion, Lucy. Suppose you let us have the consulta- tion now. We'll all stay home from the station." "What! Desert our boys at the last minute? Not I. You don't mean that. Not go to the sta- tion? I'd never forgive myself. And you'd never forgive yourselves if you didn't go. And the boys expect us. How disappointed they would be ! It's dreadful to think of, — the boys saying good-bye to Stornham and we not there to hear. For months I have been looking forward to this supreme moment when our black boys will really cut their home ties and begin the first stage of their journey to the firing line in France. No matter what glory they may achieve in the future, no matter whether they capture Germans or Turks, nothing they may do can equal the glory of the actual giving of them- selves to their country. I would go to the station to-night if I had to crawl there on my hands and knees." This outburst startled us. The doctor and his wife seemed relieved when I said: "I have it. We'll all get into my car and go to the station together." Lucy hesitated and then said, "Thanks, Doctor, that will be fine." 42 CHAPTER VII. "A Sworn Promise." When Jerry saw us get into the car and saw Lucy take her place beside Mrs. Menoux, he turned pale. The doctor and I pulled out the chair seats. "All right, Jerry," I said, "the station." "What station, Doctor? New Haven station?" "Nonsense, Jerry. Stornham station." "Can't make it. Doctor. In the first place these white soldiers doing police duty are turning back everything on wheels, and the crowd is so thick you couldn't get through, police or no police." "Well, we'll try. Go ahead, Jerry." As soon as we reached the little street that led to the station, Jerry was promptly halted and told he could not turn the corner. Not unwillingly, he stopped the car, and looked to me for further instructions. Before I could answer, Lucy was recognized by the crowd. The soldiers fell back and saluted her. A hundred and then a thousand voices took up the cries of "Lucy," "Our Lucy." The yelling crowd swarmed about the car, and in spite of Jerry's angry protests, many colored women and girls, and some of the older colored men, climbed onto Lucy's side of the car, and tried to kiss her arms and hair. The white soldiers quickly drove them off, and made themselves a protecting cordon about the car. An officer forced his way 43 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. through the crowd, and, taking in the situation, told Lucy to sit in front beside Jerry, where she could be easily seen, and then he bade Jerry turn the corner and drive slowly to the station, sounding his horn all the way. The crowd parted in front of us, and closed in behind us. In that moment of comparative quiet, a big negro on the sidewalk began to sing in a powerful tenor voice, "When God had made the World." At the chorus, even we in the tonneau joined. Only Lucy and Jerry were silent. We were finishing the last stanza when Jerry stopped the car at the western end of the uncovered station platform. The baggage had been aboard the special train since morning. The soldiers were helping them- selves to the sand^viches, and coffee and ice-cream provided by the committee of arrangements. I was amused to find that the man in charge was the same selectman who had been so anxious to make speeches from the band-stand. The locomotive attached to the special gave a couple of warning toots. Some of the soldiers were already laugh- ingly crowding into their assigned coaches. When our arrival was noted, there arose again cheers for Lucy, at first from the black troopers, but irmnediately afterward from the white soldiers as well. With one impulse the blacks rushed to the edge of the platform to say good-bye to Lucy. The selectman saw his chance and, stepping on the front, ordered Jerry to help Lucy out of the car to the 44 ''A Sworn Promise. platform. In a flash she stepped on the platform without help, and in the cheeriest, proudest way, shook hands with every member of the company. It was now a whole minute after seven. The conductor and engineer were growing impatient. The locomotive whistle blew again and the fireman began to clang the bell. Almost the last of the company to return to the train was the captain. And before he stepped aboard he approached Capt. Godfrey, the commander of the white soldiers, and, leading him over to Lucy, said in a voice audible to us in the automobile: "Captain, my company and I owe our souls to Lucy. She saved our souls. We never can repay her. Some of us, perhaps all of us, will not come back to Stornham. Can I ask you, a brother sol- dier, to bring to the attention of the proper authori- ties the work this dear girl has done? You will have time. I understand your company may not be called for two weeks yet. A mere suggestion from you would arouse more interest than an appeal from me. You know how it will kindle the blood of my men in the coming days in France when I tell them that the President has learned of our Lucy, and has honored her. Is it a promise?" The white man gripped the black man's hand and looked him in the eyes and replied, "It's a promise. Captain, a sworn promise." 45 CHAPTER VIII. A Sunlit Altak. There was a shriek from the locomotive. "All aboard! All aboard!" called the conductor. The big wheels of the engine began to turn. The train shivered for an instant, and then gruntingly moved forward. Lucy's brother kissed her again and swung himself aboard, almost on the heels of his captain. From the crowded platforms and windows of the passing coaches, there was a wild waving of hats and hands and confused attempts at singing, and almost in less time than it takes to tell it, the last coach had gone from the station. Dreamily looking over the back of the auto- mobile from my kneeling position on the rear seat, I watched the outlines of the speeding train melt into the blazing light of the setting sun. Then I noticed that I was alone in the automobile. The others were rushing toward Lucy. She had fallen on her hands and knees and was struggling to rise. Jerry was the first to reach her. He caught her and endeavored to lift her to her feet. She tried to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. She clapped her hands over her heart and moaned. At our direction, Jerry gently laid her on the platform. She looked around at our anxious faces for a moment, and closing her eyes, cried out between gasping breaths: "Forgive — my weak- 46 A Sunlit Altar/ '^' ness, — Lord. I've tried to keep my — promise — . I've ." She breathed hard, long breaths. "It's gone from the wrist," said Dr. Menoiix, as he took one hand and then the other. Through the moisture on her temple, I could yet feel a slight pulse. We quickly prepared, and gave her hypo- dermic injections of the ordinary heart stimulants. The soldiers drove back the awe-stricken spectators that had crowded onto the platform. "It's coming again," excitedly cried Dr. Menoux, kneeling beside her, and with his fingertips hun- grily welcoming the little stream that the heart was once more sending to the extremities. The face quivered and the eyes opened again. She stared straight into the blinding western light. To protect her, Capt. Godfrey moved between her and the sun. "Oh, Captain," she said in a feeble voice. He knelt, hat in hand, to hear her. "Tell — my — boys . At the Rhine — . At the Rhine — I'll come — I'll come — . We'll cross, — we'll cross together. I'll help, help — to — hold — the — flag — high." A little convulsive movement ran through her body. Her muscles relaxed. Dr. Menoux rose to his feet and looked in despair at the rest of us. It wasn't necessary for him to speak. The captain was the first to move. He went into the station and brought back his khaki rain-coat and spread it reverently over the body. The sun was at the horizon's edge. Its level light dazzled us. 47 The Sister of a Certain Soldier. For a couple of minutes we, — the doctor, his wife, the captain, the selectman, Jerry and myself, — stood entranced in that golden light. The sun set. The sky decked itself in an after- glow of purple and rose and tender green. I began to feel that I was an intruder in a sanctuary. I turned away and faced the crowd. Every man's hat was off. Woe was written on every face. There was no loud talk. Everybody whispered as if in church. Jerry, trembling, so that I feared he would fall, followed me to my car. "Say, Doctor, you'll have to drive the car your- self," he confided to me. "I'm all in." A few minutes afterward came the doctor and his wife. "Capt. Godfrey says that he and his men will take charge of the funeral, if Lucy's father doesn't object," said the doctor, as he took his seat. "The selectman protests that the town ought to have charge." I took the wheel and asked Jerry to sit beside me. "No, Doctor," he replied, white faced, "I'll walk." On our slow way back through the hushed crowd, we passed a big man running toward the station. I was so busy with the machine that I didn't recognize him. "Lucy's father!" said Mrs. Menoux. 48 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 50c ner volume after the third day overdue, increasing to $1.00 per volume after the sixth dav. Books not in demand may be renewed if application is made before expiration of loan period. MAH 14 19^9 1 r5 ^ — - ^ •• -*.., ..m. « s i ^ Co 3 ^ ^ c 5 S ^ S 50m-7,'16 hh' U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES C0D33Mb7DS RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT TO— i^ 202 Main Library LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 9 '^ 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. DUE AS STAMPED BELOW r^^ik-^^ M ^^mcciRc m,6 '93 1 ^ <.5 S 3 ff 5 < R 11993 FORM NO. DD6 UNIVERSITY OF CAL BERKELEY, IFORNIA, BERK-" CA 94720 i