A Deserter’s Return

Waal, Christmas night hez come around, and still no word frum Jim;

No one uv late hez seen or heard a word consarnin’ him.

There, there, Maria, jes’ calm yewrself, I don’t believe he’s dead,

Nor do I b’lieve a tarned word them lyin’ papers said.

“Desarted”? Jim? I guess not much, ‘tain’t in the blood, Maria,

He’d allus be’n, the Cap’n wrote, the bravest under fire;

An’ back there at El Caney, what wuz it thet Chabbee said?

Thet Jim kept on the firin’ line, an’ likewise kept his head.

An’ now to go desartin’ out there in the Philipines,

O, no, Maria, it can’t be him, some other Brown it means.

“Company I”, thet’s his letter, “James Brown”, that is his name,

“Desarted at Mindora, reward offered for the same;

Be’n seen with Filipinos, bearin’ arms,” the papers read,

Which fact we must admit, Maria, looks bad fur Jim, indeed.

An’ then his chum, Bill Sanders, who, last seen alive with him,

Wuz killed an’ robbed, an’ many say suspicion p’ints to Jim.

He may’n deserted frum the ranks, God knows, I doubt it, still

But Jim, my son, my only son, he never murdered Bill.

But if it’s true he did desert, I want to know it, too,

I want to know it fore he comes, then I’ll know what to do;

No boy uv mine kin enter here who’s thus disgraged his name,

Who’s left the stars an’ stripes thro’ gold or cowardice or fame.

Tut, tut, Maria, I know your mind, you’re good, like mothers be,

But if Jim Brown hez done this thing he’s nuthin’ more to me!

A knock was heard upon the door, a quick impatient blow,

And someone on the kitchen steps was stamping off the snow;

And then the door was thrust ajar and closed against the storm,

And in the dimly lighted room there stood a soldier form.

“Jim Brown, my son!” the farmer cried, “no, you can’t enter here,

Till yew hev proved yewr heart is free frum cowardice an’ fear,

Till yew hev told me why yew left yewr regiment an’ fled

Into the Filipino camp an’ left Bill Sanders dead!

Desarted, so the papers read, Jim Brown, speak up, I say,

An’ wipe the cloud frum off yewr name thet darkens it today.”

“Desarted, father?” said the youth, “‘Tis true, but not through fear,

I had a motive far frum thet, an’ that’s what brings me here.

Deserted, yes, I left the ranks, left when they murdered Bill,

And followed those black devils, joining ranks with them until

I learned who killed and robbed my chum and when my moment came

I paid him back with interest, in good Bill Sanders’ name.

I found Bill’s money, and his traps, and on my way out here

I left them with his mother, and I filled her heart with cheer.

Deserted? Yes, for honor’s sake, and just to bring some joy

Back to a hungry mother’s heart, who’d lost her only boy;

And here’s my discharge, father, read, it’s honorable, and right,

And now your hand, and let us have a joyful Christmas night.

Joe Cone

Oct. 4, ‘00