Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 May 1890 — MARK’S SUBSTITUTE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

MARK’S SUBSTITUTE.

A Decoration Day Sketch.

BY VELMA CALDWELL MELVILLE.

*M drafted, Kit.” "Oh, Mark! 1 ' And with the exclamation pretty Mrs. Weidman fell into her husband’s arms, shivering with terror. . “ Jnere, I’ve blurted it out in the worst way. after all this last hour spent in thinkins; how I coold break it the easiest.” } “But it will kill me.

Mark. What shall I do; what can I do? I can’t stand it, and I won’t let you go; they may 6hoot you here first.” “There, there, Kittle, dear, you do not know what you are saying; you must try and be patient and submissive. There’ll be some way provided, though I don’t see how I‘can save you just now in the beginning of winter.” Poor Kit wept until completely exhausted, entirely deaf to her husband's weak attempts at consolation. It was a sad home, but not the only one in the land that dread November of 1863. The fatal “draft” put out the light for-

over on many a hearthstone, ♦ * * * m m “So yer drafted, be ye, Neil?" remarked the Postmaster at The Forks, eying the stalwart young man addressed with a look which plainly said, “and I’m glad of it.” “I s’pose I am." “Goin”?” “No, sir! When Neil Weidman gets ready to work for Uncle Sain he’ll let him know by enlisting; until then he’d have his Majesty know he ain’t a-goin’.” “Not very patriotic!" sneered a bystander. “Now, I’d a been thar long ago, if’t hadn’t abeenfer this here game leg o’ mine. ” “Small loss to the country,” growled Neil. “S’po6e Mark’ll not go, neither?" interposed the Postmaster. “Markl” Neil turned a face suddenly grown eager and white. “He ain’t on the draft?” “But he be.” “Yes, and told me he’d have to go.” added the bystander. Without another word the young man turned on his heel, involuntarily loosening the scarf about his neck that he might breathe more easily. Swiftly he pa-sed out into the dull November day, looking neither to right nor left. On, on he walked. like a man in a terrible hurry, until three miles lay between himself and the garrulous little gioup at The Forks. He was turning in at his own gateway, but, changing his mind, he passed on, still at'the high rate of speed. Two more miles were paced off in this mad fashion; then he wheeled about and faced toward home again. When once more he found himself there he felt weak and spent. Slowly then he passed in and up the rude stairs iato the little loft denominated “Neil’s ro&m." “What’s up now?” his sister remarked. “Ain’t that draft business all settled?” “I s’pose it’s all right; he sent on the money,” returned her husband, who had vainly tried to enlist, but had been rejected on account of deafness. “I bet if I w,is him I’d enlist first chance now ’nd get my money back,’’ he oontinued. “Everybody ain’t so fond of a dollar, mot so itefcen fer a fight as you be," re-

sponded his wife, in the shrill treble she always U9ed in addressing him. “I ain’t no coward, none of the Moselys be," he retorted. “Neither be the Weidmans, Dick Mosely, but they’ve-got sense enough to look out fer number one. They ain’t dirt poor.” Neil, lying at full length on his couch in the loft, smiled grimly at their altercation. “Dick ain’t fit to manage here, but I don’t care,” he muttered; then turning his face to the wall, he slept through sheer mental and physical fatipne. When he awoke it was growing dusk and Mollie was calling to know if he were sick, or why he did not go out to attend to his part of the “chores” as usual. No sooner was breakfast over the following morning than he buttoned his coat about him and started off. "Some way, Neil acts awful queer,” shrieked Mollie to her husband. “Does he?” “Does he?” she muttered, turning away in disgust. “How stupid men are, anyI way. Mark ain’t, though, and Neil didn’t . use to be.” It had been a terrible night at Mark Weidman’s. Kit’s mother had been summoned, but vainly she tried to think of something comforting to say. The outlook was dark. Kit might, in fact would have to stay there in their little cabin home with her

little ones. There was no room for her at her father’s, for already a widowed daughter had come back there with four children. A younger brother would have to come and stay with her—it was the only way; She might go and stay at Mollie’s—only—there was Neil. It was about 10 o’clock when Neil Weidman rapped at his brother’s door. Mark’s face showed something of what he was suffering when he opened it. “Neil! Come in.” “Can’t; I’m in a hurry. I was on the draft, but had the cash all ready, so sent it in yesterday. I hear you are on, too.” “I am; and heaven knows how I can

be spared, but I could not raise fifty dollars, much less three hundred.” His voice broke a little. “Well, I came to tell you I will go in your place. Good-bv.” “Neil!” Mark sprang forward grasping bis brother by the arm aud fairly dragging him inside. “There, don’t make any fuss about it," muttered the young man. You can’t be spared—l can. It will make no difference to any one whether I live or die."

Mark and bowed his head on his hands and was shaking with emotion. Kit’s voice from the other room called feebly to know what the matter va* Mrs. Bell, her mother, had gone home for a few hours, taking the little boys with her. Springing np again, Mark opened wide the middle door, saving: “It is Neil, Kitt e, and he offers to be my sabstitate. Come in here, brother, do.” “Haven’t time this morning. Mark. Give my respects to Mrs. Weidman. I may be in again before leaving.” His hand was on the latch.

“Please, Neil, come here.” It was Kit’s pleading tones, and before he realized what be was doing the young m m stood by the bedside looking down into the face of the one woman he had loved. It was five years since she had told him she was going to marry Mark, and in all that time they had never spoken—had rarely met. “Oh, Neil, you are too good—you cannot mean it." “I mean it,” he said, coldly. Through it all he had never suffered as he did now, to see how willing she was to have him sacrifice himself for Mark. It was a moment of supreme bitterness, yet in spite of himself he lingered to gaze for perhaps the last time into the sweet face. Her eyes were full of tears, and catchihg his hand she passed it to her lips, sobbing: “You are so good, so noble 1 If it were

not for the children we could not consent to your going. “If only we could raise the money, but we have little to sell and there is no one to buy what we have.” “I have made up my mind and should go anyway, now. There is nothing to keep me.” “But Neil, this is too much,” said Mark, who had now sufficiently recovered himself to comprehend the situation. “I cannot let you go, but if you could look after things here some and see that Kit did not suffer, I could go easier. There is only Joe to do anything.” “No use talking, Mark, I am going; and now, good-by all. He almost snatched his hand from Kit’s clasp, and was gone.

“Mollie, I am going to the war.” “Goin’to the war, Neil? Why, I thought you’d sent on the money.” “Yes, so I did; but Mark was on the Craft, too, ’nd we couldn’t nohow raise another three hundred, ’nd he can’t be spared from home at this time o’ year; so I’m going in ” “In his place?" interrupted Mollie, excitedly. Neil nodded. “Well, if I ever s’posed I’d live to see you give your life fer Mark, after he cut you with " “There, there, Mollie! Now, about things here on the place." “Why, I am sure I don’t know; I s’pose Dick and me cau manage, though I shall have the most of it to do. If Dick is my husband, I must say as I’ve said before, the Mosalys are mighty poor managers; but,, Neil. I bate awfully to have you go.” They talked a long while, but Mollie never dreamed of the terrible battle her brother fought out with himself that dull November day. She never knew how tempted he had been to let his brother—the man who had robbed him of his life’s happiness —look out for himself. The tempter whispered, “Let him go, and happens you nre not to blame; then Kit will be a ” But, of course, ho turned his back at this juncture each time; but the struggle had been a deßpefate one. He was with Grant in the'Wilderness and all through the disastrous overland campaign. He was with him until sent

under Sheridan to Five Forks, where he was severely wounded, bni to him there was never such another batt’e as the one fought with himself during that mud walk under the gray November skies. “Noil is wounded rod I must go to

him,” Mark exclaimed in deepest anguish as he read the name. “Oh, Kittie, what if he dies! I never can stand it.” Before the sun went down that day he had kissed his wife, boys and infant daughter Nellie good-by and was on his way to his brother’s side. Tho meeting between them was affecting in the extreme, but Neil was by far most cotnposedof the two. “I’ve got to go, Mark, but it is no matter. lam so glad that it is not you.” Before the end came, he seemed to realize that he was not unloved and tint his heroic sacrifice had been appreciated. Toward the last tho wounded soldier became delirious, and it wa? from his ravings that his brother learned of his great temptation and the mastery gained over self that eventful clay. He talked, too, of “Kit” until tears bathed the face of the agonized watcher. When all was over, Mark Weidman went back home with the remains of his “substiture. ” and last Memorial Day, sitting by the flower-decked mound’ with Kit—now an elderly woman—and Nellie—a lovely young matron—l heard this little story. On the marble slab at the head is the inscription: “Gre .ter love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. ”

“IT IS NEIL, KITTIE, AND HE OFFERS TO BE MY SUBSTITUTE.”

“I’VE GOT TO GO. MARK."