Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 February 1910 — Old Favorites [ARTICLE]

Old Favorites

How H« Saved St. Mlehael'e. So you beg for a story, my darling, my brown-eyed Leopold, And you, Alice, with face like morning and curling locks of gold. Then come if you will, and listenstand close beside my knee — To a tale of the southern city, proud Charleston by the sea. It was long ago, my children, ere ever the signal gun That blazed above Fort Sumter had awakened the North as one: Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle, eloud and fire, itad marked where the unchained millions marched on to their hearts* desire. . k/.. On the roofs and the glittering turrets, that night as the sun went down. The mellow glow of the twilight shone . like a Jewel’d crowd; And, bathed In the living glory, as the people lifted their eyes. They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. Michael’s rise. The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning light; The children pray’d at thel'r bedsides, as you will pray to-night; The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was gone; - And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumber’d on. But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street; For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling feet; Men stared In each other’s faces through mingled fire and smoke. While the frantic bells went clashing, clamorous stroke on stroke. By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother fled, With the babe she press’d to her bosom shrieking in nameless dread. While the fire-king’s wild battalions scaled wall and capstone high. And planted their flaring banners against an Inky sky. From the death that raged behind them, and the crash of ruin loud. To the great square of the city were driven the surging crowd; Where yet, firm In all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery flood. With its heavenward-pointing finger the church of St. Michael stood. And e’en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden wall— A cry of horror, blended with the roarOn whose scorching wings up-driven, a single flaming brand Aloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody hand. “Will It fade?” The whisper trembled from a thousand whitening lips; Far out on the lurid harbor they watch’d it fr6m the ships— A baleful gleam that brighter and eyer brighter shone, Like a flickering, trembling will-o’-wisp to a steady beacon grown.

"Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose brave right hand For the love of the peril’d city, plucks down yon burning brand!” So cried the mayor of Charleston, that all the people heard; But they look’d each one at his fellow: and no man spoke a word. \vho Is it leans from the belfry, with face upturn’d to the sky. Clings to a column, and measures the dizzy spire with his eye? Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible, sickening height? Gr will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at the sight? But see! he has stepp’d on the railing; be climbs with his feet and his hands; And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry beneath him, he stands; Now once, %nd once only, they cheer him a single tempestuous breath— And there falls on the multitude gaz- < ing a hush like the stillness of death.

Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the goal of the fire. Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of the spire. He stops! Will he fall? Lo, for answer, a gleam like a meteor’s track, and, hurl’d on the stones of the pavement, the red brand lies shatter’d and black. Once more the shouts of the people hav<s_jrent the quivering air; at the church door mayor and council wait with their feet on the stair; and the eager throng behind them press for a touch of his hand The unknown hero, whose daring could compass a deed so grand. But why does a sudden tremor seise on them while they gase? and what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and amass T He stood in the gate of the temple he had peril’d his life to save;and the face of the hero undaunted was the sable face of a slave. With folded arms be was speaking, la tones that were clear, not loud, and his eyes, abiase In their sockets, burnt into the eyes of the crowd: "You may keep your gold; I scorn it! —but answer me, ye who can, If the deed I have done before you be not the deed of a man?” He stepped but a short space backward; and from all the women and men There were only sobs for answer; and the mayor call'd for a pen. And the great seal of the city, that ho might read who ran; And the slave who saved Bt. Michael"! went out from its door, a —M. A. P. Stansbury.