Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 174, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 July 1911 — THE INJUSTICE OF HAR [ARTICLE]

THE INJUSTICE OF HAR

Colonel Henry of this town gave a little talk on the war, Thursday evening last—Major General Hanes, who was to have been the orator of the evening, being unable to come.—OLD NEWB ITEM. 1 Heard the Colonel’s little talk It was not much about the war, after all. I think the Colonel got mixed, not being a public speaker. And, by the - way, be wasn’t a Colonel; that is Just the name he went by. “Fellow citizens and soldiers,” he began. "I never once felt fear during the war. But I feel It now. It’s easy to talk about taxes down in the town hall on Election Day, but standing up here in * pulpit is different.” The Colonel stopped. He seemed to be groping among his thoughts to find a lead he could safely follow. Then he straightened up and threw his head back. His nostrils dilated. I've seen a horse do the same thing On a race track. It’s a sign either of winning or of a mighty interesting run. I knew the Colonel had found his text. ~ “As you know comrades and friends, I was born here in Campton; so was my father, and his father, and so on back to the founding of the £o wn When 1 was born, father and mother lived down along the river, in the little house opposite-Masy’s Mill. “Some of you are did enough to remember the trouble they had when the scarlet fever epidemic of ’44 Btruck this town. We were seven children, and they all died but me. “Not much schooling in those days. Father farmed it, by hard work, and our living was scanty. I went to work as long ago as I can remember. “On Sundays I used to come to this meeting-house with mother. She was a quiet women, but uncommon good, and she loved me for the six children she had lost. Our pew was the front one on my right. Kind of conspicuous I admit, but we hired it because it was cheap—four dollars a year. Even four dollars came hard in those days. “I worked on the farm with father in good weather, and tried to get a little schooling in the winter. But as I look back, it seemß to me now as If I never had any time to myself. However, work didn’t hurt me any. “We had a good man here for minister in those days—Aaron Baker. Hetried his Best to get me Into the ‘right life,’ as he called it. But I never could see it. He sort of led me to read the Bible and hymns, and rellglous books. “Working in the fields, ploughing and harvesting, I used to think about what these books said, and I got the notion Into my head that for foolish, Impossible ideas, religious books took the prize over all other exhibits. When Mr. Baker talked to me about them, I told him just what I thought about the whole business. “ ‘Where’s the logic” I said to him, of turning the other cheek when man bats you on one side of the head?’ “ ‘What’s the use of running in that loaves and fishes sTory TWICE? Isn’t once a hard enough strain on a man’s belief?’ “ ‘What do these hymn writers mean by doing the worm of the dust descrip-

tlon so often? You don't act like a worm of the dust when you’ve had a couple of glasses of cider for supper with father and mother. You’re as bold and free as a lawyer.’ “And so I used to get after the minister. But he took It in good part, and always used to say: “ ‘Be patient with God, and He will no doubt be patient with you. I believe in you.’ “Then the war broke out. I was twenty-one in April, ’6l. On the morning of my birthday, father got up from the breakfast toble, went out into the shed and got down his musket. He came back with it in one hand and some money in the other. “He handed both to me and said: ‘The country needs you, and 60 do your mother and me, but the country’s in bigger trouble than we are just now. When you come home again, I’ll give you the thirty-acre lot, and you can marry Mary Ellen and settle down—UNLESS YOU GET SHOT IN THE BACK!’ “Some of you remember my father. He said what he meant the first time, and there were no repeats. Mother was crying. I looked at them both took the musket and the money, and went out. Father shut the door and locked it. “I walked fourteen miles to Brockton and enlisted. But, before I left for the front, I sent the money back home. There was just four dollars — and I remembered the pew rent was due on the first of May. “Boys” we fought a good fight. I don’t need to talk about it. We did our duty as we saw it, and no man from Campton disgraced himself. Our own particular names ain’t set down In histories; but what we helped to do is down there. All but one thing. That is WHAT EACH OF US WAS THINKING ABOUT. “In my case it was of the injustice of war as a means of settling family disputes. The noise of guns and cannons, the crazy way we rushed on to kill and be killed made me wonder whether there was really a Power on high who would let such things happen day after day, month after month, and not stop it, with his all-powerful reputation. “It took me some time to get this set straight in my head; but, comrades, I heard the Gettysburg speech, and after that I saw that I was a poor Judge of big things. “When my time was up, I went home by train to Brockton, and made the fourteen miles here to Campton on foot. When I walked down Neponset street it was about 9 o’clock in the evening. I went around to the back of the house and looked in at the kitchen window. “Father was reading. His look was hard and troubled. If the lamp hadn't shone right to mother’s face, I shouldn’t have known her. *1 went round to the front door, the one father had locked on me. It was partly open. I walked in and said: ‘l’m back.* Mother gave a little sob and held out her arms to me. She aall something I didn’t understand.

and kissed me. Ae far as I remember, she had never kissed me since I was a little boy. “Father looked up and said: “ ‘Get hurt?’ “ T lost a little off the aide of my face,’ I said. * “ Get hit in t®» back?’ “‘No sir, I said, ‘the shots weren’t coming that way.' i ’The next morning w« went oat and began to fence the thirty-acre lot. 7 “Then I Began to Understand." “I married Mary Ellen in October, at the parsonage. We went to live in the house where I was born. Mr. Baker used to come to see us. He talked to me just like be used to, and I seemed to understand him better. He talked more or less like the Gettysburg speech. “I told mother, one day, that I thought the parson was right. She looked up at me in a quick, almost shy way she had. Her lips trembled, and she kissed me again.”