University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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HIS MOTHER ' S SACRIFICE I HE day was intol- erably warm, and the almost tropi- cal sun beat down upon the patrol camp with a fierceness the like of which I had never before experienced. I lay upon my cot in the tent trying, with a few of my fellow soldiers, to brave the heat and mosquitoes. We were idly watching the dust roll up in clouds when stirred by the supply wagons travelling along at a snail ' s pace on the winding road leading to the camp from the far-off city. The dust seemed to stick in the air, for there was not the semblance of a breeze to waft it away from the straining teams. We were all weaving sweet dreams and indulging in pleasant memories when suddenly the stillness was shat- tered by the clarion call of the bugle summoning us to our duty of relieving the day patrol along the border. Where all had been listlessness but a few mo- ments before, now all was bustle and activity. Forms emerged from every tent, hastily buckling on accoutrements and preparing in sundry ways for the night ' s duty. Springing into our saddles and fall- ing into line, we proceeded out along the dusty road towards the golden sun- set. The sun, a great ball of golden fire, was slowly sinking beyond the dis- tant ridge of mountains, leaving in its path streamers of brilliant light. Slow- ly it sank from sight, only the red glow of the heavens remaining. Gradually the brilliant coloring deepened in tone, then darkened, and finally changed, faded, and disappeared from the sky. As the last glow was fading from the sky, we left the road and plunged into the wild and rugged country along the Rio Grande. What a desolate place to spend the night. No one but our own companions within miles. The region was as lonely as any hermit might wish. The Rio Grande struggled almost in vain to force a passage through the well-nigh impassable barrier of rocks. It was in this forsaken region that we found our duty most trying. The long days patrolling the border line might be absolutely devoid of any excitement, and then again, trouble might crop up any moment. We were fortunate in our location . Only once did any real trouble stir, and that was quickly set- tled. It was only a band of Mexicans trying to smuggle some ammunition across to the revolutionists. My chum was Charlie Ajrden. He was one of the best athletes in our com- pany, and everyone liked him. Known only to myself was the fact that there was a mystery concerned about him. At 21

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®Ij? CHoral p ak TKe beauteous coral islet TKat from tKe ocean bed, Into the pleasant sunsKine Uplifts its glowing bead, To sport witb mirtbful ze pbyrs And greet tbe blue above, Would seem as little sturdy As tbe gentle turtle-dove. But let tbe stormy billows Assault its gentle breast,— To foam it burls tbem beadlong Till calm tbey sink to rest. Would ' st be tbat coral islet Tbat tower of rugged migbt. Till breaks tbe eternal dawning From Heaven ' s unclouded beigbt? If meek of beart and bumble Like tbe Saviour sweet and mild, Tbougb darkling tides of errors Or gales of passion wild. Assail tby steadfast bosom Tbou ' lt rear tby noble form. Amid tbe vexed ocean Crowned victor of tbe storm. JOHN WALSH 20

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21 THE REDWOOD times I received the impression that he was in trouble of some sort, for when alone, or when he thought no one was near, he would give way to fits of de- spondency. He seemed to be struggling with himself to overcome a weakness that had taken possession of his will. Charlie, myself, and three of the other boys were stationed with Colonel Martin, the commander of our regi- ment. He had his tent pitched on a high plateau whence we could watch the surrounding country for signals from the guards. Colonel Martin was a close observer of human nature and had a great habit of studying the men under him. The result was that many a poor weak-minded individual was helped along the road of sorrow with cheering words rather than censure. Naturally every person in the company loved the Colonel. This evening something happened be- tween the Colonel and Charlie, none of us about knew exactly what, but I saw the happy face on Charlie when he came out of the tent, and of course I was in- quisitive to know the reason. He told me the following story exactly as it happened. It seems that as the Colonel was sit- ting in the open flap of his tent going over some reports, his attention was at- tracted by a stealthy movement on Charlie ' s part. Imagine his surprise when he saw Charlie actually putting his hand in the pocket of another sol- dier. Just as Charlie was about to take the object out of the soldier ' s pocket, something compelled him to look up. As he did so, he discovered Colonel Martin watching him. Hastily withdrawing his hand, he turned away. I heard the Colonel come over and say to Charlie, Come to my tent. I want to talk with you. ' ' Charlie tremblingly followed him and entered the tent. Now, Charlie, said the Colonel, as they came into the tent, ' ' why did you put your hand into that soldier ' s pock- et? Tell me, lad, you know I am your friend. ' ' Charlie remained silent. Nothing could induce him to say anything about it. Is this the first time you have ever tried to take anything, or do you make a practice of this thieving? Still no answer from Charlie. Come now, lad, urged the Colonel, you know I want to help you. Why did you do it? Colonel, you want to help me? queried Charlie, amazed. Please, Col- onel, don ' t fool with me. Nobody yet has wanted to help me, and I cannot see how you would want to. Come now, Arden, tell me how all this has come about. I have been watching you ever since you came un- der my command, and I am sure you are not the fault of it. It must be from some other reason altogether. ' ' Seeing that the Colonel really wished to help him, Charlie broke down, and told the Colonel the sad story of his battle against the innate feeling that was forcing him to steal against his will. ' ' I have stolen all my life, ' ' he began,