44

HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

land, a free vote, and a free career for the child of the humblest born in the land.

My countrymen, who work for your living, remember this; there will be one wild shriek of freedom to startle all mankind, if that American Republic should be overthrown.

I cannot believe, for my part, that such a fate will befall that fair land, stricken though it is now with the ravages of war. I cannot believe that civilization, in its journey with the sun, will sink into endless night, in order to gratify the ambition of the leaders of this revolt, who seek to

"Wade through slaughter to a throne,

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind."

I have another and a far brighter vision before my gaze. It may be but a vision, but I will cherish it.

I see one vast confederation stretching from the frozen North, in unbroken line, to the glowing South, and from the wild billows of the Atlantic, westward to the calmer waters of the Pacific main; and I see one people, and one language, and one law, and one faith, and throughout all that wide continent, the home of freedom, and a refuge for the oppressed of every race and of every clime.

21. HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

10 you beg for a story, my darling, my brown

eyed Leopold,

And you, Alice, with face like morning, and curling locks of gold;

HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

45

Then come, if you will, and listen - stand close beside my knee

To a tale of the Southern City, proud Charleston by the sea.

It was long ago, my children, ere ever the signal gun, That blazed above Fort Sumter, had wakened the North as one;

Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire Had marked where the unchained millions marched on to their hearts' desire.

On the roofs and the glittering turrets, that night, as the sun went down,

The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewelled

crown;

And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their eyes,

They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. Michael's rise

High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden

ball,

That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward

fall;

First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harbor round,

And last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound.

The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning

light;

The children prayed at their bedsides, as you will pray

to night;

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HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was

gone,

And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered on.

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping

street,

For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling feet;

Men stared in each other's faces, through mingled fire and smoke,

While the frantic bells went clashing clamorous stroke on stroke.

By the glare of her blazing roof-tree, the houseless mother fled,

With the babe she pressed to her bosom, shrieking in nameless dread,

While the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and cap-stone high,

And planted their flaming banners against an inky

sky.

From the death that raged behind them, and the crash of ruin loud,

To the great square of the city were driven the surging crowd,

Where yet firm, in all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery flood,

With its heavenward-pointing finger the Church of St. Michael home.

But e'en as they gazed upon it, there rose a sudden

wail;

A cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale,

HQW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

47

On whose scorching wings updriven, a single flaming

brand,

Aloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody hand.

"Will it fade? The whisper trembled from a thousand whitening lips;

Far out on the lurid harbor they watched it from the

ships;

A baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter shone, Like a flickering, trembling Will-o'-Wisp to a steady beacon grown.

"Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose brave right hand,

For the love of the perilled city, plucks down yon burning brand ! ”

So cried the Mayor of Charleston, that all the people

heard;

But they looked each one at his fellow, and no man spoke a word.

Who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to the sky?

Clings to a column, and measures the dizzy spire with

his eye?

Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible, sickening height?

Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at the sight?

But see! he has stepped on the railing, he climbs with his feet and his hands;

And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry beneath him, he stands !

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HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

Now once, and once only, they cheer him a single tempestuous breath;

And there falls on the multitude gazing, a hush like the stillness of death.

Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the goal of the fire,

Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of the spire.

He stops!

Will he fall? Lo! for answer, a gleam

like a meteor's track,

And, hurled on the stones of the pavement the red brand lies shattered and black!

Once more the shouts of the people have rent the quivering air;

At the church door, Mayor and Council wait, with their feet on the stair,

And the eager throng behind them press for a touch of his hand,

The unknown savior, whose daring could compass a deed so grand.

But why does a sudden tremor seize on them while they gaze?

And what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and

amaze ?

He stood in the gate of the temple he had perilled his life to save,

And the face of the hero, my children, was the sable face of a slave !

With folded arms he was speaking in tones that were clear and loud,

And his eyes ablaze in their sockets burnt into the eyes of the crowd: