The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 27 November 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE LAST REDOUBT He lived at San Pedro opposite the Laguna de la Madre beyond which lay Padre Island and the Gulf of Mexico. All around stretched wild, uncultivated and sparsely settled country. Often for weeks they saw no one from the outside world. Once, long ago, when he was about seven years old, a* priest had come all the way on horseback from San Antonia, and had baptised him and his twin brother and two older sisters. After that, perhaps a half dozen times, the devoted priest had found his way to this wilderness, had said Mass and had catechised the children. Those were happy days for his mother. Even now, after the lapse of years, he remembered how the Father had complimented her because she had so carefully taught her children the faith. But that was long ago. He was a man now, surely —almost eighteen,—and with a man’s interest in the stirring affairs of his country. For there were rumors of war, and he it was who once a week rode on his stout little burro to the nearest post office, miles away, to get the weekly newspaper. It was a New York paper, the Sun, and the news was old by the time it reached them, but how eagerly they spread out the sheet on the kitchen table in the evening, and how intently they pored over it ! Usually it was father who read aloud to them, while mother sat by the basket of sewing and mending that never seemed to end. Then in March came the exciting news that General I ay 1 01 had advanced into the disputed country between Neuces and the Rio Grande. It was a barefooted boy who brought the information, He had come on his burro all the way from Corpus Christ!, riding as hard as he could, stopping only at the scattered cabins and farms to eat and sleep. Later they heard that Taylor had leached the Rio Grande, and was encamped with his valiant little army opposite Matamoras. On the 13th of May, 1846, war was formally declared between the United States and Mexico, and this was followed by a earl for 50,000 volunteers. After that events moved rapidly. Two men on horseback, authorised by the commanding general, appeared at San Pedro looking for recruits. The father was the first to be enrolled. Of New Hampshire stock and of lush descent, he had drifted south in early manhood, had married a young Scotch wife, and had lived

at San Pedro ever since. But he had brought with him the traditions of his emigre grandfather, a sturdy Irishman of giant stature who had fought through the Revolution for his adopted country. For proof he had the very soldier suit worn and the drum that had been carried by his gallant forbear, the first .American Feargus Cullen, for whom he had been named. Proudly he showed the recruiting sergeants his revolutionary relics, and then he called his sons.

‘Michael will go with me/ he said, ‘ and Cormac must stay here to take care of his mother.’ But the boy started forward. ‘Let me go too,’ he pleaded. ‘Oh, father!’ The sergeant seconded his appeal. ‘We want all the men we can get,’ he said. ‘ There are few recruits in this region as strong and as able to fight as your sons.’

But Feargus Cullen had made up his mind. ‘Nay,’ he said, ‘the boy must stay. If Cormac goes too his mother will be alone. My two daughters are married and have gone to other homes far from here. One son goes with me to the service of our country, the other stays here to till the farm and take care of his mother. This is just.’ Cormac listened and acquiesced. His father was right, but perhaps his turn would come. But before he went away Feargus Cullen called the boy to him, and there, spread out on the broad kitchen table, was the coat and cap, the drum and knapsack belt worn by his grandfather, the first Feargus, whose name signified man-strength or strong man. ‘ I am leaving these behind,’ his father said. ‘ They are for you, Cormac. If you have the chance to wear them remember that your grandfather served his adopted country to the death. Here is the bullet hole, just over his heart, that killed him, and here (opening the coat where there was a dark brown stain) is the blood he shed for the stars and stripes.’ ‘ I’ll remember,’ said Cormac.

After that there were hurried leave takings. Cormac stood with his mother by the gate, watching his father and brother marching proudly down the road until they were lost to sight in a cloud of dust. There followed long lonely days and weeks when the boy did his best to cheer and comfort his mother, who visibly drooped after the departure of her husband. Often he wished his sisters were at home, but they were too far away to be summoned, especially in the present unsettled state of southern Texas. At night when his mother had retired early, Cormac took his boat and rowed out on the Lagune. Sometimes, gazing up at the dark blue dome studded with stars, overhead, he felt as if he were canopied by a great blue flag pierced by the stars of hope and courage and endeavor. For the boy yearning passionately to do some great and noble deed for his country. Meanwhile he was daily being proved in courage, endurance, and love through the little things that strengthened and rounded out his character. They heard of the battle of Monterey in September, 1846, and then stray news reached them from time to time, until in February, 1847, came the.battle of Buena Vista. In December, 1846, a volunteer from a farm some six miles away was invalided home, and brought Mary Cullen word that her husband and son were well. There had been no time to write letters, but the news, scanty as it was, cheered and reassured them. Surely the war would soon be over !

It was toward the middle of March that Cormac, crossing a field to the house for the midday meal, saw a figure on a burro coming down the road. With a joyful exclamation he recognised the priest, Father Martin, who had baptised him ten years ago, and who once in every two years found his way to the scattered Catholics in that‘lonely region. He ran to the house to tell his mother. Her worn face lit up with joy as, accompanied by Cormac, she hastened to the road to bid her guest welcome. Then followed a happy day and evening, for the priest had the latest news to relate about the war, which he thought could not last much longer. ‘ Scott has begun to land his forces near Vera Cruz, and is going to advance on Mexico,’ he said, ‘ and Perry is sailing south' with a strong sea force.’

Mary Cullen listened, the while Cormac, mounted on his stout little burro, was scouring the country for miles around to notify the Catholics, about fifteen or twenty in all, that there would be Mass early the next morning at their house. Oh his way home he stopped at the post office and received a letter for his mother from one of his sisters and the weekly paper from New York. On opening the paper he found it contained the first accounts of the battle of Buena Vista, and from habit he ran his eye down • the column of killed and wounded. And then the boy stopped, with a cry he could not suppress. There were tire words that meant so much to him and his mother: ‘ Feargus Cullen, private, Company C., Infantry.—Killed in action. 4 God help my mother/ said Cormac. Then remembering that he was fatherless, the boy wept. There was no mention of his brother, though he searched for the name Michael Scott Cullen. He, therefore, was presumably still alive and well. It was at sunset that he reached home. The Father was walking up and down the field at the west side of the house, while Mary Cullen prepared the evening meal. Afterward Cormac remembered the golden glory of the sunset and the light over the Lagune; almost it seemed to him that the gates of Paradise were wide open that night to allow some of the celestial radiance to flood the storm-tossed world without.

He beckoned the Father to him and briefly told him the news. 'You’ll tell her. Father?’ he said.

And the priest, who lived only to bless and comfort and heal, assented. ‘ Later, my son,’ he said. ‘ She is busy now, and tired. After her evening work is done leave her with me, and I will break the news.’

Cormac ate little and talked less. His mother on seeing his preoccupation thought he was thinking of his confession and Communion on the morrow, so she devoted herself to talking to the priest. Very gently he led her out of doors about 7 o’clock, when her work was done, and pointed out to her the dying rays of the sunset splendor in the West. 4 It is darkening now,’ he said, 4 but remember that ‘At evening time it shall be light.” ’ Then very slowly and gently he broke the news to her. She made no outcry, but with a moan she pressed her hand to her heart. Agonising physical pain had come to deaden the pain of love bereft. It was only a moment after all. The priest called Cormac, and together they worked to restore her. But for her the call had come and her work was done. The Gate of Paradise was wide open to receive her. Whs it not good to die thus, in that lonely wilderness, with the Ahsolvo te sounding in her ears ? And so it was a Requiem Mass the next morning, and afterward they laid her away in sight and sound of the sea that had so often recalled the far off Scottish coast of her youth. And then Cormac was alone. Pie came out of his room the next morning, a quaint figure clad in his grandfather’s blue army suit and belt, the drum slung over one shoulder, the cap held in his hand. 4 I am going to fight for my country, Father,’ he said.

‘ I knew you would, my son. God bless you.’ And then a thought struck the priest. ‘lt will be a long, long journey by land,’ he said. Why not first take your boat and row out in the Gulf ? Perry and his fleet are to pass here some time to-morrow, bound for Vera Cruz. It is possible he would pick you up.’ To this Cormac assented. He would try, and if not successful he could come back and go overland to Vera-Cruz. & The kind-hearted priest stayed with him while he put things away and made up a bundle for his knapsack, and when all was done they retired for the night. They were up at half-past three, and by four they had eaten their simple meal. Then the boy locked the front door and gave the key to the older man, who' was to leave it at the nearest farmhouse, where friends lived. The priest wrung Cormac’s hand again and again.. Courage, he said. 4 Remember, my son, that your name means Coilean, or young warrior: it is the ancient Irish of Cullen.’

The boy’s eyes kindled. 4 I am glad/ he said simply, 4 that I can be a warrior now.’ . , A brave warrior, Cormac, and true—true to God, true to your country —and now good-bye, and may Heaven bless you ' They were on the shore, and with ‘a final blessing and handclasp Cormac stepped into his boat, and bent to his oars, and presently he was far out on the’Lagune. And the good priest turned away, and his eyes were moist. His work here was done— seed planted by a good Catholic mother, and watered by himself, had borne fruit. What would the final result be ? He rowed north of Padre Island out into the Gulf, and then, familiar with the sea from boyhood, he folded his oars and hoisted a sail, and the little boat flew before the wind and the soft breeze, and early morning sun brought him a measure of comfort. He was young, he was going to the fulfilment of his heart’s desire. And his dear father and mother—were they not in that place of refreshment, light and peace ’ where pain and parting are no more ? > Perhaps it was about 5 o’clock, or later, that his keen dark eyes spied far off the outline of a ship. Deftly he began to tack in that direction. What the priest had thought probable came to pass. He was seen, suspected of being a Mexican spy, and promptly taken on board the first ship of the line. Brought before Commodore Perry, he speedily won his way ,to that hero’s good graces and permission to remain on the ship and continue the voyage on to Vera Cruz was readily given. On the -22nd of March he participated with Perry and Scott in the bombardment of Vera Cruz, and on the 29th, with the victorious Americans, he entered the city.

One of his first acts on being granted a few hours’ liberty to roam where he would, was to visit the cathedral. Often as he had heard churches and cathedrals described by his mother, this was the first time he had ever been inside a place of worship. The nearest church to his home had been in San Antonio, whither he had never been. For some time he knelt in the dim cathedral, absorbed in prayer for his father and mother. Then curiously but reverently he made the circuit of the church, recognising the different shrines and altars, all just as his mother had described them. A priest was just about to enter a confessional, a dark man, perhaps a Spaniard. But presently he spoke, and to Cormac’s surprise it was in English. 4 You want to go to confession, my son?’ 4 Yes, Father, if you have the time.’ The priest smiled as he gazed at the youthful figure. What he saw was a tall, finely built boy just emerging into manhood. The old-fashioned, faded blue coat fitted well over the broad shoulders. The eyes of the boy were dark, his features regular and his skin fair where it was not tanned, and with a light powder of freckles. The hair, brushed smooth, was red like that of his grandfather, old Feargus Cullen, and had Cormac known it he was like his grandfather also in the charm of his smile and voice. 4 I have always time for anyone who wants me, my son/ said the priest. ‘ Come in to the confessional now.’ He spoke with a slight German accent, but in perfect English. Without .any hesitation Cormac lifted the leather curtain and entered the confessional box.

Afterward he had a few more words with the priest, telling him that this was the first church he had ever seena fact that did not seem to amaze the priest as much as he had thought it would. The next day the victorious army began to march to Puebla, but not before Cormac had asked and received permission to be present at early Mass in the cathedral, where he received Communion. And after that there were stirring events for the young drummer. At Cerro Gordo they were victorious over Santa Anna, and again at Puebla : but the’ goal was not yet reached. Bravely they pushed on toward the Mexican capital, but enormous difficulties awaited them, and it became necessary for the engineers to cut a new road skirting Lake Chaleo. The hill of Contreras was taken on the 20th of August. On the 23rd of August an armistice was agreed upon, pending the possibility that the de-

mands of the United States might be acceded to without further bloodshed. But. this hope was in vain, and on the 7th of September the final movement began. Cormac slept that night in sight of the snow-clad summits of Popocatepetl and Star Mountain. The evening was clear, with bright starlight. Wrapped in his blanket, watching the smoke that constantly ascended from the crater of Star Mountain, the boy remembered that the morrow would have been his mother’s birthday, as it was also the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin. From this his thoughts strayed to his brother. He had made constant and eager inquiries for him ever since he had joined Scott’s army, but to no purpose. In Puebla he had even visited the hospitals, only to find that his brother was not there.

It was the next day, at Molino del Ray, that they met, that final defence before the fall of the Castle of Chapultopec that led the victorious American forces into the City of Mexico and saw the end of the war. At Molino del Ray there was severe hand-to-hand fighting, and during an excited charge Cormac got separated from his regiment. Finding himself alone, he made a dash for a thick growth of shrub in an endeavor to rejoin them, but presently he found he had lost his way, and the noise of fighting grew fainter and fainter as he struggled through the bushes getting more and more entangled in their bewildering maze. Suddenly he came out on an open clearing beyond which was a long narrow causeway, flanked on one side by fields covered with broken lava and on the other by ponds and marshes. Hurriedly he advanced, when suddenly a tall figure darted out of the bushes and confronted him.

‘ Cormac!’

‘ Michael!’

‘Yes, my brother, it is I—but you, how came you here ?’

But Cormac had started back, shame and horror in his face. And then his twin brother understood.’

‘ Oh,’ he exclaimed, ‘ this uniform ! I forgot. It is Mexican, Cormac.’

‘Yes.’

‘ Listen, my brother, I will explain. I was taken prisoner by Santa Anna. I was the only one captured in a sortie. Santa Anna wanted information, and he offered me my life, and later my liberty, if I would serve him, otherwise I was to be torturedand so I agreed. You know all is fair in love and war.’

‘ And —you, our father’s and mother’s son, grandson of that Feargus Cullen who died for honor and right, you have deserted the stars and stripes to become an informer, a traitor, a spy?’ Cormac Cullen’s beautiful voice was vibrant with shame and scorn, as he hurled these words at his brother.

‘ I could not help it, Cormac.’ ‘ Yes, you could; you could have died for your country as your father and grandfather have done. Oh, Michael, what would our mother say?’ ‘ How is she, our mother V

‘ She is dead.’

Michael Cullen fell, back with a cry, holding out his hand as if to ward off a blow, and then Cormac’s bitterness vanished. Tenderly, soothingly as a mother might speak to her child, he advanced to his brother and laid his hand on his arm.

‘ You must get away from here, Michael,’ he said. ‘Go home. The farm is empty and needs you— key is at John Carter’s house. As soon as the war is over I will join you, and together we will live there, in the dear old home, you and I.’ ‘How can I get away, in this uniform Cormac considered. One moment he passed his hand over the sleeve of the dear old coat he wore. Then he quietly took it off, and presently his brother was clothed in the entire uniform, save the drum. ‘But you,’ said Michael Cullen, what will you do, Cormac? Will you put on my uniform till you regain your company?’ ‘ I will not put on a Mexican uniform. My flannel shirt will do, and I have another pair of trousers in my knapsack; as for a cap, I need none.’ He finished clothing himself as he spoke, then slung

the drum over his shoulder and turned to his brother. Now, Michael, tell me where we are, and then you must go.’- . , ‘ J _ . This is a secret road known only to the Mexicans, it leads straight to the City of Mexico through impassable marshes and ravines.’

Very well. Now lead me whence I came, outside the shrubbery, and I will point you the road to Vera Cruz. In that direction you are safe. There is money in my knapsack that will take you home. Swiftly Michael Cullen advanced toward the dense wall of shrubs. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘these notches on the trees point the way out.’ Five minutes later Michael, with downcast ©yes and the shame not yet gone from them, was shaking his brother’s hand in farewell.

‘My brother,’ he said. ‘I repent, and in proof let me give you some information. A large company of Mexicans is coming this way in full chase after a company of United States troops that got separated from the main fighting army. If you can lead our troops in here they will bo safe.’ You think they are likely to come now?’ * Yes, probably before sundown.’ ‘ Very well, good-bye, Michael, and God be with you.’ He stood and watched his brother as long as he was in sight. Once Michael turned and waved his hand, and in another moment he had vanished. And then Cormac Cullen, strong in that faith that had been the heritage of his house for centuries, fell on his knees in prayer for his brother, then for himself, that he might have Divine guidance and know how to act. The sun lit his bare head like an aureole as he knelt in silent prayer, the precious drum on the ground before him.

And then far off down the hillside he heard the sound of strife, and he arose, quick for action, Michael had brought his Mexican coat from out the narrow pass beyond the shrubs and had cast it to the ground near a giant tree that reared its lofty, summit far above its fellows. Cormac scarcely saw it as he eagerly climbed the tree until finally, near its topmost branch, he could look out on a wide sweep of country below the hillside. And now he made out a little company of United States Regulars fleeing from a Mexican company some distance in . the rear. Now they have gained the hill and the shelter of some trees. Then, all at once, Cormac knew what he must do. They could be guided more quickly by sound. He must beat his'drum. Seating himself firmly in the branches of the trees, he took the sticks in his hands and began to beat a rhythmical tattoo.on the drum. During the long winter months at home he had practised with it again and again, and more than one officer in Scott’s army had noticed his splendid execution. Faster and faster, louder and louder he beat, and nearer and nearer came the gallant little company, helped to amazing swiftness by the welcome sound. Never once did Cormac stop until an hour later the dusty troop came dashing up the top of the hill. Then, his drum silent for once, Cormac came swiftly down the tree and ran to meet them. And lo ! it was a company he knew well, and they recognised him. ‘Quick!’ he said. ‘I have safe hiding for you follow me.’ And he ran and parted the bushes. ‘Look,’ he said to the leader of the band, ‘look at this notch—follow it. You will come out in the open, go up the causeway —don’t turn to right or leftit will bring you to the outskirts of the city, where even now the American army is encamped.’ They gave a suppressed cheer and thanked him as they rapidly filed through. The bushes closed again, and once more he was alone. Why had he not followed them

Without a moment’s delay he now ran northward with all his might. The Mexicans were coming from the east, a little band of United States troops had gone west. His intention was obvious—to act as a decoy and lead the enemy away. And now he is beating his drum again, and the

pursuing Mexicans, guided by the sound, gave chase. They were not sure where the entrance to the secret road lay. The understanding was that Scott, the spy — by which name Michael Cullen' was knownwould come out to meet them as soon as he had led the American troops into ambush.

For three miles Cormac led ;the chase, until they had gained on him. Suddenly there was a .shout, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw the first company of infantry in full view. Calmly he turned around, and with his back to a tree he began the soul-stirring tattoo again which had stopped for a few moments. On came the Mexican troops, hot and angry. Here was Scott, the spy ! There was no doubt it was he, though he had discarded his coat and cap. But where were the American soldiers, and—at that moment the leader caught sight of the drum, an American drum beyond a doubt, and seeing it he. raised a shout. ‘Traitor,’ he exclaimed, ! traitor!’

And now they understood that they were far from the defile that led to the city. Cormac was surrounded by the dark-fierce faces. He heard the excited denunciations in Spanish. Then the leader, who could speak English, advanced. You are Scott, the spy?’ he asked. ‘No.’

, The man threw back his head and laughed. We know you,’ he said, ‘so you need not deny it. Where are the troops we were pursuing?’ ‘ They are safe.’ ‘ You led them into the ambush V

f Yes.’

‘ And then you led us off on a wrong scent ?’ ‘Yes.’

The officer turned to his men. ‘Heis a dog,’ he said. ‘He thought to fool us by pretending he was in our employ, while all the time he was false and only waited for an opportunity to serve his own country. But he has been caught in his own net, and now you shall decide what we will do with him.’

‘He must die.’

‘ At once ?’

‘ Yes, at once. Fie is a double traitor, false to his own country, false to us.’ For a few seconds longer Cormac stood there, but the dark scowling faces were not seen. For six months he had faced death every day, and without fear, so why should he be afraid now ? What was it that Father Martin had said when his mother died ? Ah, he remembered now —that death was like a bad place on the road, quickly passed. And then he had said, ‘At evening time it shall be light.’ Well, it was evening now. He must fold his hands and say his prayers for the last long sleep. The commander’s voice rang out: ‘ Bind him to the tree.’

They bound him with his face to the tree and his back to them. Strangely they did not take away his drum. It hung over his back and down the left side, just over the heart.

‘ Stand back and fire.’

There was a flash and a report. The bullet tore the drum. The victim neither moved nor uttered a cry. Five minutes later the Mexicans were on their way. Fifteen minutes after a company of American soldiers arrived on the spot. They had met Michael Cullen, who, without revealing his own identity, had told them that an American soldier was in great danger, and they had been pursuing the Mexicans for half an hour. They cut the cords that bound the hero and reverently laid him on the ground. And because the doctor of their regiment was with them, the Colonel gave orders that he should be embalmed, wrapped in the American flag, and taken to Mexico City for Christian burial.

And so, it was on the fourteenth of September, or Holy Cross Day, that he who had died that others might live was carried into the cathedral in the city, where a Solemn Requiem Mass was celebrated, the while his own company, ranged around the chancel, knelt and presented arms all through the Mass. He was buried in the Catholic cemetery, and by order of the commanding officer the precious drum was interred with him.

It was on the Feast of the Holy Guardian Angels that Father Martin, making his way to his confessional in the Cathedral of San Fernando in San Antonio, encountered a tall stalwart young man with dark eyes and red hair, whose face was haggard with grief and remorse.

‘ You know me, Father/ he said. ‘I am Michael Cullen. I want to go to confession.’

And twenty minutes later the priest had heard all even of the death of Cormac, which Michael Cullen had heard in Vera Cruz.

O healing and kindly sacrament that can forgive sin, bind up the bruised and broken, and bid the stricken heart rise to new life again ! It was a different man who later bade Father Martin good-bye.

‘ You are going home, my son?’ ‘ Yes, I am going home, Father. One of my sisters is coming to live with me. I have seen her, and told her all.’

‘ It is well, my son, God bless you.’ Left alone, Father Martin walked slowly across the nave of the great church. He felt suddenly very old and feeble, as he thought of the boy he had baptised and whom he had seen set off across the shining waters in the soft glow of the early morning —the boy so full of youth and hope, whose work was so soon done. ‘ He saved Michael’s soul,’ thought Father Martin. And then as he knelt in the shadow of the crucifix in the Presence of the One who died to save others, because Himself He would not save, it seemed as if a whisper sounded in his ear: ‘ Greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ And the heart of the priest was comforted. — The Magnificat.