LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2161, 28 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

CUE HERO IN BLACK.

(Prom “ London Society.”) ( Concluded .)

From that moment the Eev. Joseph Stickler was a hero in the eyes of the 1 garrison* and the youth of Donjonvillo Staid and respectable middle-aged society shook its head, and declared that the chaplain had behaved in a most undignified manner, and had quite forgotten what was due to his cloth.

I suppose these douce people were right, and that it would have exhausted even tbe resources of Tnrveydropian deportment to have carried off such a scene of dignity. Bat that was the only time that Joseph Stickler waa ever known to allow his eccentricity to Imperil his dignity ; as a rule, the latter was invariably the accompaniment and correction of the former.

Middle-aged propriety, then, might be excused for falling to see anything heroic in conduct which had only won the irreverent admiration of l persons addicted to taking a sporting view of even the gravest matters, but not the less among that class had the Rev. Joseph Stickler established himself as a hero.

It was not long, however, before oven the * unco guid’ of Donjon villa were compelled to admit that their respected and esteemed, though eccentric, parson was veritably and unmistakably a hero—of the sort which a delighted and sympathetic Sovereign is proud to decorate with the Victoria Cross or the Albert Medal. And this was the startling incident which suddenly revealed to Donjonville the fact that the black coat and S nee-breeches of Joseph Stickler incased as brave a man as ever faced a batter? or charged a square in all the glory and glitter of scarlet and gold. One summer afternoon, as the chaplain was passing the barrack-gates, be noticed that there was something unusual taking place in the courtyard. The soldiers were gathered in excited groups, and there was that indescribable air of agitation about them which is always noticeable in a crowd when something tragic Is astir. The Kev. Joseph Stickler walked in and inquired the cause of the commotion. Ha was told that one of the men, a wild fellow named Hennessy, had gore mad with drink, had locked himself In the guard-room, armed himself with a loaded musket, and was threatening to shoot any one who approached him. ‘ Have yon informed the officer on duty ?’ asked the chaplain. ‘ The officers, sir, ate all away at a cricket match.'

* And where’s the sergeant of the gnard ?’ ‘Here, sir.’ ‘ Well, sergeant, why don’t yon arrest this man at onos and put him in irons ?’ The sergeant looked sheepish as he replied, * Why, ye see, sir, it’s not as if he was only drunk, but he’s reg’lar ravin’ mad with delirium trement: he’s got every musket in the rack loaded, and he’s that desperate he’d pick three or four of ns before wo could lay hands upon him. I dnrsn’t chance it, sir.’ The chaplain’s face grew dour and black ; there was a ringing resolute tone of command in his voice as he qaid, < Fetch me a blacksmith at once. _ Tom Baynes is the best man; and tell him to bring his forebammer with him. 1 A messenger was despatched for the blacksmith. In the Interval the chaplain calmly reconnoitred the guard room, and the soldiers stood looking at him, their voices hashed into whispers, wondering whatiwould come next, and what the parson was about t to do. They were not long kept in buspause. The messesger returned, bringing with him Tom Baynes the blacksmith, a big, gaunt, powerful man, black with the grime of the forge, girt with his leathern apron, his forehammer on his shoulder. Touching his forelock to the parson, Tom looked athlm in some bewilderment. Motioning to the guard room door, tho chaplain moved forward, saying, ‘This way, Baynes.’ When the door was reached the voice of the madman was heard within blaspheming horribly, and yelling threats of vengeance against every mother’s son of them. The blacksmith paused, and bis face lengthened. Here was a queer job; ho didn’t half like it. He scr-tched his head and began to reflect. but his reflections were out short by the chaplain, ‘ Tom, I want you to break in that door ; a couple of blows will do it. ’ Tom Baynes hesitated. Then yon should have seen our parson. Tom used to say afterwards that he never saw a man ‘ grow so big all on a sudden like.’ Pointing to the door with a gesture and a tons _whieh there was no disobeying, the chaplain said sternly, ‘ Baynes, smash in that guard room door this instant; ar»d you, sergeant, have your picket ready to sash in and secure the man at onoc.’ Three vigorous blows from tho forehammer burst open tho door, and revealed Hennessy standing behind the long deal table with a dozen cooked and loaded muskets ranged before him. Bis firelock was at his shoulder, and as ho levelled it

straight at the doorway with his finger on the trigger, he sworn with the most horrid oaths that he would blow out the brains of any man who d»irod to enter. The sergeant and the men with scared faces fell back a this appalling sight ; but Joseph Stickler did not change color or bndgo an inch. He simply pointed to the maniac and said, * Sergeant, do yonr duty; arrest that mtw at once!' The barrel of Hcnnesay's musket was directed steadily at the sergeant’s head; the sergeant felt uncomfortab’e, bis choek blanched, and he made a farther strategic movement to the rear. The madman gave a fierce derisive yell that might have made any man’s blood run cold to hear It. ‘ Now. you black-coatod old devil-dodger, ont of tho way there, and let me have a clear ohot at that sergeant! Out o’ the way, I tell ye, or e lse I’ll blow yonr head to pieces!' ‘ sergeant, ’ cried the chaplain, in a voice of thunder, ‘arrest that man at once !’ * Ha, ha!’ roared Hennessy, ‘he knows better Tho first man that passes that door I’ll send to hell in quick time ’ And in extenuation of tho sergeant's backwardness it roust be admitted that the fellow looked as if ho meant to keep bis word. He was a desperate, determined, and ferocious man at any time; but now that ho was literally and uncontrollably mad with drink, he was capable of any crime, ‘Am I to arrest this man myself, sergeant ?’ asked the chaplain, in a quiet firm, voice, very different from tho angry tone of command ho had used a moment before. * Arrest me, parson ! I’d like to see ye try it I If ye put a foot or a hand beyond that doorway, I’ll (hoot ye down like a dog I If ye don’t clear out from where ye arc before I count three, so help mo. I’ll fire !’

The parson paid no hoed to the raving maniac, but with ineffable disgust and scorn said to the sergeant, •V\ hat! are you afraid, man P Why, then, I suppo.-e a b’aok coat mast show yon rod coats the way, that’s all!'

‘ Clear out o’ that 1’ yelled Hennessy, ‘I give ye fair warning. One!'

‘ Come away, sir ; come back. He’s a desperate chap, he'll fire ; he’s mad, sir; there’s murder in his eye ;’ cried half-a-dozan soldiers at once.

‘ Two !’ shouted Htnnessy. Without another word the chaplain marched straight up to the madman, who covered him with hio musket an he advanced, and dwearing he would shoot the parson dead, pressed the trigg< r with his finger aa he roared, ‘Three!’

Every one of the petrified and horror* stricken spectators expected to hoar the report, and see the person’s skull shattered. But the keen, res >lute, unflinching grey eyes of the brave man, who eiowly advanced upon him, fascinated the furious lunatic; there was an aspect of command as well aa of dauntless courage in the face and bearing of onr hero in black, which must have irre* siatibly rouaad the man’s instinct of discipline, and paralysed his mnrderons aim, for he allowed the parson to walk right np till the mnzzle of the mnsket was not a foot from his head. Quietly g-asping the weapon in one hand, Joseph Stickler raised the barrel above his head, and that instant the deafening report rang ont, and the ball went crashing through the ceiling. To have dropped the discharged mnsket and seized another from tho row that lay all cocked and loaded before him need have been, for Hennessy, only the work of & second. But the chaplain never took bin eye off the madman’s face, and the fellow was fairly cowed by that calm steady look, which seemed to pierce him throngh and through. Slowly the parson’s hand slipped down the barrel till it rested with a firm grasp upon the man’s wrist. Then, without turning, he said coolly, with a ring of withering contempt in his tone, * Here, sergeant, perhaps now yon’ll not be afraid to pnt this man under arrest!' The sergeant summoned a couple of file to assist him ; bat the madman, whose eyes were still riveted on the parson’s, made no effort st resistance, allowing himself to be seize! and led away with a dazed look on his face, as though he had been gazing on something that had dazz’ed and blinded him. Then, amid the ringing cheers of the soldiers, the Eev. Joseph Stickler walked walked quietly ont of the barracks. Before next morning every man, woman, and child in Donjonvillo had heard of the parson’s heroism. Before the next Sunday the fame of it had spread all round the country side, and onrions folks oame in from far and near on Sunday evening to stare at tho real live hero, who stood there in nnheroio gown and bands, and delivered his homely homily asthongh wholly unconscious of the admiring eyes that were fixed upon him. I suppose no quality of head or heart so entirely wins the admiration of Englishmen as that of cool dauntless presence of mind under danger. We like to think and pride ourselves on (he fact that it is preeminently a characteristic of the English, race. But from the way in which we worship and adore the men who display it, a foreigner might be justified in cherishing the suspicion that we are conscious of its extreme rarity among ns, and valne it accordingly. I don’t think that we Donjonvillo folks were one whit less plucky than onr neighbours ; but we must have been secretly conscious that under such trying |circnmstances we should hardly have borne ourselves so well aa our parson, otherwise we should not have elevated him, ns we did with one consent, into the position of a hero. Wo were too prond of possessing a hero to be critical. His enemies and his detractors, and even he was not without these inevitable accompaniments of fame, said he was a glutton. It was a harsh term to use of one whose exquisite taste in gastronomy was to some of ns one of the plessaute-t features of bis character. He was a cental seal, was Joseph Stickler, when be unbent over those ‘ little suppers,’ which, were veritable Ncctes Anibrotianae to those who were permitted < o partake of them ; tor onr hero was not only witty himself, but the cause of wit in others. Happy mortals those who were privileged to be guests at those symposia! They could forget that they were in dreary Donjonvllle, and imagine themselves transposed to some gastronomic Paradise, some culinary Elysium. No man is a hero to his valet, if we are to believe Madame Cornucl; but, I take it, a man may be a hero to his cook when that functionary is but the executant of ideas which emanate from tbe master-mind. Joseph Stickler bad an excellent cook, and 1 am sura that in her eyes he was not one whit loss a hero than he was in ours. Nor did the aureola of his heroism lose any of its radiance when he eat at the bead of his own supper-table, keenly enjoying onr enjoyment of tho dainty dishes which had cost bim more time and thought, perhaps, than any bat an epicure could excuse. Had be had tho ordering of the calendar 1 s«n sure that both Brillat Bavaria and Abbe Duchesne would speedily have been canonised as saints ; and I am inclined to think they deserve the honor as much nfl some who figure on the saintly bood-roff. However, it was impossible that the prsfanum vulgns, which feeds, but knows not what it is to eat intelligently, should sympathise with this trait in the character of our hero in black. _ Nor will I insist upon claiming for that trait tho right to ba considered aa an attribute af heroism, ar even in itself to be pronounced heroic. But in the case of Joseph Stickler it had a posthumous reflection of the heroic thrown upon it, which is my excuse for introducing It here. Our hero was smitten down with sickness ; the weeks rolled on, and still wo missed his portly figure and familiar face, which for five-and-thirty years had been as constant to Donjonvillo as the dial of the old Elizabethan clock, which from the castle turret looked down upon the parade. Then at length came the sad news that we should never again see the 1 last of the Sticklers’ in the flesh. Ho was dying of atrophy, we were told ; he could retain no nourishing food ; the daintiest dishes in tho world were but » mockery to him now. Humorist as he waa. he was keenly tho grim irony of Fate ; aod the last words be waa heard to utter were these, spoken impressively, as he laid his wasted hand upon tho arm of his oldest and dearest friend, ‘They’ll ssy it was a judgment, and they’re right'. Toll your friends, when I am gone, that you knew a parson who died of starvation because bo had “ made a god of his belly.” ’ Bnch waa tho hard racasu-e he meted ont to himself But we judged him more leniently. Wo all, high and low, remembered only bis virtues ; we felt that wo had lost a rare man in onr hero in black, the like of whom wo should never see again. ‘ And when we buried him, the little port Had seldom seen a costlier funeral.