Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 104, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 May 1914 — HOBSON’S RETORN [ARTICLE]

HOBSON’S RETORN

By M. QUAD.

It was all over with Private Johu Hobson. For two years he had been a. member of Company C, Seventh regiment, stationed on the frontier, and I over since the first week he had been on the blacklist He got drunk; he disobeyed orders; he quarreled with bls comrades; he fell asleep on sentry duty; he left the post without leave; be was the most slovenly man of his company. It * was far easier to tell what he hadn't done than what he had. Private John Hobson had been advised, reprimanded, sent to the guardhouse, mulcted of his pay, givenextra duty and threatened with court-mar-tial, but after two years he was the same man still. It was inevitable that the end would come, and come it did. He was court-martialed on about a dozen charges and convicted on all of them, and the sentence was that he be imprisoned for one year and then be discharged in disgrace. It was a duty the officers owed the regiment and the service, and yet they felt a bit sorry for the victim. He was morally irresponsible rather than vicious. The devil in him had more likely descended than developed. *Tm‘ sorry for you in a way,” said the colonel, “but it was no use trying to do anything with you. I never saw a man like you. You have been charged with everything but cowardice, and if we had not been at peace with the Indians that charge would probably have been included.” “I know I’ve made a lot of trouble, colonel,” replied the man, “but nobody can call me a coward. If we’d had a fight I know I’d have been in it with the rest." “Such men as you are shirks when there is any fighting to be done. Your barrack brawls don’t signify soldierly courage. It’s no use to talk, however; you. know your sentence.” Hobson was sent to the guardhouse to wait for the day when he should be sent off under escort, and the sergeant of the guard wad surprised to see his prisoner shed tears. “You ought to have known it would come,” he said, in sarcastic sympathy. “Look here, sergeant,” said the man, as he crowded back his emotions, “the colonel called me a coward.” “Well, do you find any fault about ft?” “Do you believe I’m one?” ' “Of course.” “And does Corporal Shanley and all the boys believe so?” “Not a doubt of it.” ’ “Good God, but I can’t stand that, Barge! I’ve shirked duty and, been a nuisance to everybody, but don’t call me a coward. I’m to be sent to prison and disgracefully discharged, but leave me one thing to build up on again. Call me a devil, a fool and a lunatic, but don’t say I’d shirk a fight.” “Let me telk you something, Hobson,” said the stem-faced old sergeant, as he looked the prisoner up and down in contempt. “Judging by what I’ve seen of you I wouldn’t agree to drive a dozen redskins off this resservation with a thousand men like you behind me. That’s pat, my man, and you may swallow it or no.” Hobson grew white-faced and turned away and wept, while the sentinel at the door laughed unfeelingly and asked him if he had any Indian scalplocks to prove his bravery. “Why, the sight of a buck in war paint would have scared him out of his shoes!” Was the general verdict of his comrades, and each and every one added a wish that he had never come to the company. That night Hobson dug his way out of the guardhouse, and the various squads sent out next day in search of the deserter failed to get any trace of him. Desertion was a fitting climax to his career, and he would likely be heard of next as an outlatw. Weeks passed and dreary winter gave place to spi*ing. Sometimes the men wondered about Hobson, but nothing was advanced to his credit. He had got clear off, and no one thought to ever see him again. Indeed, there were weightier things to think of. The Indians were becoming restless, and reports of war dances were coming in almost daily. They might go on the war path and massacre a dozen settlers and scalp a few teamsters, and the troops might have a hot chase to drive them back over the Republican, but ft would-end there. The idea that thdy might attack any of the frontier posts was too absurd. It was so absurd that at Fort Wallace no defensive preparations of any sort were made. Even the guard at the powder magazine was limited to one man. On a certain Wednesday the reports were more numerous and disquieting, and the men were paraded and inspected to be ready for an order to take the field. If there was any excitement it vanished as the companies marched back to their quarters. The colonel looked down from the hill into the peaceful valley with bis binoculars and felt relieved. He noticed the grazing herds—the curling smoke from the farmhouse chimneys—the ploymen in the fields and the freighters on the winding highway, and be smiled At the Idea of danger. The hostlles might do their bloody work over the range to the north, and over the river , to the west, but they would not come within fifteen miles of the fort. That night at ten o’clock tho sentlnnel at the gate cried: “Halt! Who Mines there!” Then he called for the OOrporal of the guard, and he for the officer of the day, and ten minutes

later, the colonel, who was about to seek his bed, was called out- He found a man in citizens’ dress with the officer of the day and a sentinel. The man was rough, unkempt and ragged. He was hungry and footsore and exhausted. “Who is it and what's the news?” queried the colonel, in no agreeable frame of mind. * “It’s Hobson, sir,” answered the arrival, as he wearily saluted. “Hobson? Hobson? Why, you are the deserter and have come to give yourself up. Adjutant, why wasn’t this man sent to the guardhouse instead of disturbing me?” “He has news, sir,” replied the adjutant “Colonel,” said the deserter, as he leaned heavily against the veranda of the commander’s quarters, “I’ve been living among the Indians, greasers and outlaws since I deserted. You may know that the Sioux are ready for the war-path, but I don’t believe you know that old Concha and 600 warriors are hiding along the river over there and will move on you tonight. It has been planned for days, colonel, and they’ll be here to attack in the gray of morning. I’ve known it for three days past, but I couldn’t get away to give you warning. I dodged them tonight, and here I am and my news is straight. They’ll sweep the valley clear and then rush the fort. Now, send me to the guardhouse as a deserter and get ready for trouble.”

There was a moment’s silence as the deserter finished. There had been a ring of truth in his every word, and no one doubted his news"Hobson, you are no coward, and you will not go to the guardhouse,” frankly replied the colonel, as he extended his hand.

Then men went galloping down into the valley to warn the settlers and bring them in, and the fort prepared for defense. Orders were issued in whispers and men moved about like shadows. In three hours a breastwork of boxes, bales of bay, wagons and turf covered the most exposed point and the one, most likely to be attacked. An hour later every man who could fire a gun was crouching behind it and waiting for the expected attack. "Sergeant,” whispered the deserter, as the non-com. peered into his face through the darkness, “you said I was a coward.” “Yes, I did.”

“And you said that Corporal Shanley and all the boys believed me a coward.” "Well?” “Well, I’ll make you all take it back tonight or go to h 1 trying!” Moving with the footsteps of ghosts, and leaving the crickets still singing behind them, Concha’s 600 warriors left their lurking place under cover of darkness and swept up the valley. They found it deserted of human life, but, conscious of their strength, they pressed on to the fort. At the first signs of daylight they raised a savage cry and made their rush. But for the extemporized breastwork the post would have been carried off-hand. The rifle fire surprised-and checked them, but they were not panic-stricken. They rushed again and again,* and at length, at one point, half a score of them broke through Six or seven officers tried to drive them back with sword and revolver, and the melee had become bloody and furious, when a man with clubbed musket dashed in and cheered as he laid about him. It was the deserter. He cheered and he struck, and he struck and he cheered, and every time the musket stock crashed down it shattered a skull. He did not fight like a man, but like a devil. Almost with his own hands he killed or drove back such as had surmounted the works.

All along the line the hostiles had had enough. Two hundred of their number lay dead on the green grass as Concha gave the word to draw off, and this heavy loss was to break the prestige of the Slour. chieftain and make him beg for lasting pnace. “Hobson! Hobson! Where is Hobson?” called the colonel,,as the fight was over and his heart beat with gratitude for the man who had brought the warning. “Here, sir,” replied Sergeant Davis, as he pointed to one of the 20 dead men inside the breastwork —a dead man with three dead warriors lying within reach of his hand. “And I called that man a coward!” “And so did I, sir, and so. did we all, and may God forgive us for it!” (Copyright. 1814. by Dally Story Pub. Co.)