HOW JOHN MESSMER WON HIS WAY

New Zealand Tablet, 3 February 1916, Page 7

HOW JOHN MESSMER WON HIS WAY

John Messmer was the son as well as the grandson of a soldier. His grandfather had served in the Revolutionary War; his father was a captain in the regular army, and hoped to see his son in the same profession. But John had never been a studious boy, and always declared that he would never go to West Point.

' I do not doubt it, John,' said the Captain one day. ' A certain amount of intelligence is required to pass the preliminary examination.' Captain Messmer could be sarcastic on occasions, and this was one.

'Frank, dear!' mildly expostulated his wife. ' Perhaps father's right, mother,' said the sturdy boy. 'I never could bear study; I hate books, except books about mathematics.'

' That makes it so much the worse, said his father. ' You have an aptitude for the very studies which would serve you best in the profession I should like you to choose. But, then, here you are, allowing every clodhopper to get ahead of you at school. The result would be the same should you get an appointment. However, soldiers' boys somehow stand the worst chance for even that.' v ' John, why don't you say just now what you do want?' asked his sister and chum, who was two years older and so, perhaps, two years wiser than himself. ' I may as well, I suppose,' her brother rejoined. 'I know you are prepared for it, Jennie; but father and mother will be just heartbroken of course. There is something I've always wanted.' 'What is it?' inquired his father, regarding him attentively.

' I do want to be a soldier—l've always wanted to but my ambition is to go in as an enlisted man, and rise from the ranks to be somebody.' ' O, John!' pleaded his mother. ' How long have you had this in mind V said the Captain. ' Four or five years at least; and Jennie thinks just as I do about it; don't you, Jennie?'

'Pretty much as you do, John,' said his sister. ' I believe you will really make something of yourself in that way. He's not lazy, father,' she continued, turning to the Captain. 'ln a manner, no,' said her father. ' And he has been about a post all his life. He knows what being an enlisted man means.'

'But, Frank,' said Mrs. Messmer, 'think of the hardships, the long waiting for promotion, the loss of—of—'

' Social caste queried her husband, again slightly sarcastic. ' Well, look at H—— and T and B ! They have all risen from the ranks.'

' Lots of fellows do it nowadays,' said the boy. ' Of course I shouldn't stay here, you know.' It need not be said that no son of an army officer who chooses to enlist is attached to the corps under his father's command.

Captain Messmer did not oppose the proposition, and three months later John Messmer entered the United States army as a common soldier. From the first he gave entire satisfaction. He had always been a good boy ; and, being naturally very refined, by his gentlemanly manners and soldierly bearing he made a favorable impression on his comrades.

\ Captain Messmer was not a Catholic, but his wife <Vand children were all faithful members of the Church. / One daughter had recently entered the Order of th% . Sacred Heart, where she had been educated; a son was a professor of mathematics in an Eastern Catholic '--^college. ;.._. John had never been considered a pious boy, but he would as soon have thought of laying aside-'- his uniform as : his Scapular; and. he always carried 1 a little.rosary in his pocket, seldom failing to say at least ' one 'decade every ? day.'' ; Y : ''*''' v ''' v ":' n . ; ■■''"■- '"* ''''

After her boy's departure, Mrs. Messmer gradually grew reconciled to his choice; although she looked forward a little sadly to the years which must elapse before, his conduct and qualifications entirely satisfactory, he could become a commissioned officer. They were speaking of this one day, when Mrs. Messmer said:

' There are so many things, Jennie. Fancy a hop at the post, for instance, and some of the girls . there we all know, and John not being allowed even to put his foot inside the door !'

' The girls will admire him so much the more,' said the brave and loyal sister. 'Besides, he will have -all the more time to study. And now that he knows he must study, why he will, mother. John will come out all right. Just wait.' ' That is the hard part, the waiting,' returned her mother. ' During a time of war he might expect promotion ; but now, Jennie, it will be very slow. We Americans are always at peace with the rest of the world—except, perhaps, the Indians; and even they don't give us any trouble nowadays.' She finished with a little sigh. Jennie laughed as she answered : ' If one did not know you, mamma, one might think you very heartless and blood-thirsty after hearing you make such a speech. But I can imagine your state of mind if there should be a war; for I can remember the time of the Indian outbreak at Fort , when papa's company was so badly cut up.' ' I did not think what I was saying, dear,' said her mother. ' God forbid that my foolish words should ever come back, to reproach me!' But they did come back, and that very soon. This conversation took place in November, 1897; and in the following May Captain Messmer and his son were both on their way to Santiago de Cuba, though in different regiments. The speedy promotions of war had already made John a corporal, but this was small consolation to his anxious mother and sister. Time will not permit us to recount his adventures, and they were not few but we will follow him to San Juan, where, after the first day's fight, we find him stretched at full-length near a dying camp-fire; writing a letter on a piece of brown paper, with the merest excuse for a lead pencil. It ran thus:. Dearest Mother and Jennie,—Who knows but that this may be the last time you will ever hear from me? I have been under fire all day,— we have been, I should have said. No one need say he is not afraid in his first battle. I wouldn't believe it if he did, and don't you believe it either. It's all well enough till you begin to hear the bullets whizzing and fellows dropping on every side. But after the first few moments there is no thought of fear. You only want to get at them. Every time I took out a fresh cartridge I said a prayer, and then, I tell you, I went at them with a will. Once, on both sides of me the boys were killed; and two or three were wounded afterward just next me, right and left; but, thank God, I wasn't touched. We" were not in the first part of the engagement, and to see the almost solid wall of dead bodies we had to walk over at our first fire was sickening to body and soul. I couldn't look down, for fear I should run away; so I just looked straight ahead and fought like mad. Fellows don't talk to one another much about their —they're not like girls and women, —but I'll bet ten to one they all felt as I did. God preserved me through this day's fight, and I hope and pray He will to-morrow. 'I haven't seen father yet: don't know whether his company was in the fight or whether he's dead or alive. There has been an awful lot of sickness here, too; and I want to send a dollar to Jen to have a Mass said' for the sick and dying and dead. I hope this letter* will get to you somehow. We're sure to have a hard day to-morrow. It's funny, but so often of late I've thought of poor mother lamenting my chances for promotion,never dreaming war would, come so soon. If I get : out of this all right, it won't be because I haven't done my duty; ' -• " ; ~v

vv- T,' The; fire, is , pretty nearly out I can't see, to write any longer. Good-bye, Jennie! / " Good-bye, mother! I don't feel as if I were not going to see you again. Your loving John.' . A boyish letter, but the writer was barely eighteen. ' ■ ... ' ;,:-..:...,. ... ..''... •,. .. ~. ._.. . The next day Corporal Messmer was sent by . his colonel, under the hottest fire, with some_dispatches to another part of the field. He went and returned in an ■ incredibly short space of time, feeling already like an old, experienced soldier, and, bearing himself as one. The colonel complimented him highly, which pleased the boy very much. Later in the day, when the fight was won, and John, with several of his comrades, lay stretched on the bare ground, worn out with fatigue, he saw a pair of legs in the distance which seemed familiar. Springing to his feet, he ran as fast as he could to the spot, to find his father, unwounded and unharmed, in serious conversation with the colonel. They clasped hands in silence ;in that moment they were nearer to each other than they had ever been before. , . The colonel and Captain Messmer had been close friends all their lives. . Said the former to John: ;> -r' Corporal, I have just been telling your father that I shall rewmmend you for promotion. He's a born soldier,' continued the grizzled veteran, with a smile, turning again to Captain Messmer. ' That's what I went in for, colonel,' replied the boy, touching his cap, —' to do my duty and get up by degrees.' '.--.. You did not expect to do it so soon, though; did you?' said the colonel. * ' No, sir,' replied John. ' The Maine hadn't been blown up when I enlisted.' Father and son had very few words together, as duty called them both in contrary directions. But the Captain found time to say : Were you frightened at first, boy?' ' I was indeed,' said John, without hesitation., And what did you do 'I prayed,' said the boy, simply. 11. Mrs. Messmer and Jennie went to Ohio to spend the summer with a cousin. This was after the surrender of Santiago, when their minds felt in some degree relieved, and their anxiety about the dear ones in *Cuba was not so keen as it had been a few weeks before. ' John is such a strong fellow,' his mother would say; 'and I'm sure he will be very prudent about drinking water, and all that.' Then news came that the regiment was returning home; and they began to. make preparations to go to Philadelphia, where Mrs. Messmer had a sister, and where she hoped both father and son would be allowed to recruit. Her other children were established in the vicinity, and she counted on the family's being reunited for a short time, at least. They saw by the papers that the transport had already started; that it was due on a certain day. Then there was delay : it had not been heard from, and the hearts of mother and daughter were filled with new anxiety. : - One evening, as they were all seated on the piazza, that sometime welcome and often dreaded messenger, the telegraph boy, made his appearance bearing his übiquitous yellow envelope. It was a summons from the Captain to hasten to Montauk. It read: ' Come as soon as possible. John down with fever.' ' t r\ The next morning found them on their way. On the evening of the second day they reached Montauk. It had been an intensely hot journey; they were almost exhausted. To add to their anxiety, the Captain was not there to meet them ; and they "began to fear that he, too, might have fallen a. victim to the fever. It was* almost dark-when 1 they arrived. No one, seemed able to give them any information, and they walked helplessly about for some time, until suddenly they espied a burly Negro standing beside an army ambulance. ■>' _>- ~ - , x .-';_' / *,, .■;, '•■ •/•

' Are you waiting for someone V inquired Mrs. Messmer: , ..„ ' : ■'/."" -"'■ >. • - - : ..<-•..,> ' I was, lady; but they haven't come. Leastways I can't find 'em.' v ', * . /? 'Do you know Captain Messmer, —can you take up to his quarters?' asked the lady. ' Don't know as I do; but I. reckon I can find him, lady. This here camp is pretty big, and I'm a stranger myself but if you're willin' to ride round till we come across him, I'll take you.' v . The ladies readily - assented to this proposition, and for the next hour were driven up hill and down dale, through, of dust and hundreds of ruts and holes, till night fell with the blackness which portends a severe storm, and they began to think they would never be able to find the Captain. But just as they were about to despair they heard the sound of a familiar voice. Jennie leaned out of the ambulance, calling, 'Papa! papa!' The next moment she was in her father's arms. He had not received their telegram. Everything was as yet in confusion at Montauk. - They followed him to his tent, meant for one person only, and were glad to find shelter there. He soon reassured them about John, saying that there was no immediate danger, but also informing them that they could not see the boy till next morning. To this his wife . demurred at first; but when the Captain explained that the hospital tents were at a considerable distance, and that visitors were not allowed there after dark, she made no further protest. The Captain then took them over to the mess tent, where, seated on cracker boxes, they drank tea from tin cups and ate bread and butter with a hungry relish. Then he conducted them again to his tent, which he made over to them for the night, retiring himself to that of another officer. Exhausted by fatigue and worry, they wrapped themselves in his army blankets and slept aa well as they could for the great heat until morning. About midnight it began to rain heavily, but fortunately no water "penetrated the tent. The sun was already blazing when, after another light repast, they went eagerly forth to visit the beloved son and brother. ***** % ' Ah ! that can't be John— our John !' The Captain's arms were around his wife; while poor Jennie leaned, sobbing against her mother.. Cry all you want to,' said the homely but kindhearted nurse. ' The boy don't know a bit of you, anyway; though he's been calling "Mother I" and "Jennie!" ever since he come in.' But the girl checked her sobs. ' How long has he been here?' she inquired. ' Five days,' was the reply. 'He was took with fever on the transport, and he's been ravin' nearly ever since. -' But he's not been violent ever. This is a fine place he's in. He's fortunate, Miss.' Jennie looked about her. It was not so bad, compared with what she had already seen, or what her father had witnessed when lie wandered about for two long days all over the Point, seeking his boy. But there were three others in the tent: one at the foot of John's cot, looking even more pallid and gaunt than her brother; and two on the opposite side, who seemed to be recovering,at least there were signs of intelligence in their wasted eyes. Mrs. Messmer had sunk on her knees beside the bed. "" 'John, Johnnie!' she pleaded, kissing the thin yellow hand. • ' Don't you know me,—don't you know mother?' . ' . The boy gazed at her vacantly. His lips were dry and black, his nostrils pinched and quivering, his eyes glittering and restless. He looked like a worn and wasted old man. ; . . - ■■'■;,,;•, ; ;, ■ ■■'% > .•" Some one, fetched a box and made her sit down. Jennie knelt besideher ; the Captain moved to the foot of the cot. The doctor came in and spoke in a low 1 tone to the nurse. A'■ ' . ' > ?^

f\ Mrs. Messmer turned to him. '/; '■" 'O, doctor! can he not be moved V she asked. ' Can't we have him some place by himself?' There is no place, Madam,' he said, gravely. ■He is well situated for the present. There are only four in this tent altogether.' r" Mrs. Messmer looked around her. 'All boys?' she inquired. ._" ' All boys,' was the answer. ' And all worse off than your son, if you look at it rightly; for the other mothers can not come to theirs.' 'Oh, I am ungrateful!' sobbed the Captain's wife. When will he be well enough to move, doctor?' whispered Jennie. He looked at her compassionately T ' I am afraid he will not live the day through,' was the slow reply. ?, Doctor James had gauged Miss Jennie well. She neither trembled nor wept, but regarded him for an instant with tightly closed lips. Then she asked: Will he be conscious again?' r ' He may; I cannot say,' replied the doctor. ' We are Catholics. He would want to receive the Sacraments. Is there a priest anywhere about, doctor?' she inquired. ' There are several at Montauk, if one could find them. But it is so hard to do that, they are in such demand.' Just then Mrs. Messmer uttered a little cry. The dying boy had stretched forth his hand; he was smiling. ' Mother he said, and two big tears coursed down the gaunt, pale cheeks. Jennie clutched the doctor's arm. ' Is it a sign of death?' she asked. ' Jennie! Jennie!' murmured - a faint voice from the bed. He had seen her. But Jennie was gone. Up and down between the long rows of tents she flew rather than ran, asking everyone she met if he could tell her where a priest might be found. Some of those whom she encountered offered to assist her, others pointed out possible places where she might find the object of her search; and finally a red-headed, good-natured-looking sergeant conducted her to one who was just issuing from a large hospital tent. He accompanied her at once. John was still conscious, but very languid. To her loving greeting he reached forth a trembling hand, which she kissed again and again. Then she led her frightened mother away. Until she saw the priest, the. poor woman had not realised her son's imminent danger. When the visitors left the tent, a screen was placed about the bed, and the penitent was practically alone "with the confessor and his God. A few moments later the priest came out, smiling. He is ready,' he said. 'ln fact, he was ready before I came.'

As they stood for a moment outside the tent, an orderly advanced with a letter, which he gave to the Captain. 'lt is for you, Fanny,' he said, handing it to his wife. . . . ,

' Oh, it is from John —from Cuba!' she whispered, in a choking voice. ' Read it, Jennie: I cannot.' The girl opened it with unsteady fingers. It was the letter written after the battle, with which our readers are already familiar. She read it aloud, but in a hushed tone of voice. There was not a dry eye in the group when she had finished. ;, ; Father,' she said, handing the priest the dollar bill which was inclosed" in John's letter, * will you say the Mass to-morrow? And, oh, remember my poor brother!' Then she ran away and hid herself for a few moments behind the tent presently returning, with red eyes but a cheerful countenance. 'I do not believe God will let John die,' she said. 'I believe he will get well, he is so good V . However illogical this reasoning, it comforted her hearers, who all declared when they went back to the sufferer that he looked better. And so he did, and

so he was. From that moment he began to improve j in a fortnight he X was able to be moved. During that fortnight Jennie showed herself to be a veritable angel of mercy throughout the camp. Her gratitude for the recovery of her brother was so great, and her sympathy for the poor fellows who, like him, were suffering, but, unlike him, had not been fortunate enough to have the loving care of friends and relatives, was so deep that she devoted herself to their service. And John's cup of happiness was full. The overflowing drop was added when, on the day before their departure for Philadelphia, his father came in to tell him that he himself had been appointed colonel, at the same time placing a large official envelope in the boy's hand. It was John's appointment as lieutenant, —subject to his passing a satisfactory examination when able to undergo it. That he did so is a matter of recent history. He is now in the Philippines. He has won his way.— Ave Maria.