USA > South Dakota > Who's who in South Dakota, Volume II > Part 11
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previous night, after having passed through the fierce fight at Meycanayan, and after that day's fighting at Marilao and with the suf- fering from my wound I was as nearly in a state of collapse as I well could be.
Never will I forget the sense of deli- cious ease that stole over me as they laid me, my wound dressed, down upon those soft white sheets. There were over 60 men, all wounded cases in this ward, shot in every manner describable and indescribable, and among them was heroic old Sergeant Preacher. The ball had crashed through the center of his chest, making a wound through which the blood constantly oozed as he breathed, and had lodged so close to the sur- face beneath his right shoulder blade that its location was clearly visible, the flesh blackening at the spot.
The old man was forced to gasp for every breath he drew, and each inhalation must have cost him excruciating pain. He persuaded the nurse, Miss Betts, the next day to have him taken to the operating room for a further examination. More to humor the old man than anything else the ward- master consented and it was done, though somewhat hastily, as it was absolutely known that he could not live. A few "hypos" were administered to relieve his pain and the old
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man was brought back to his cot with the assurance that he was "coming along all right", that there would have to be a little operation by and by but as they were very busy he would have to wait. The surgeon in charge of the hospital was Major Crosby, a splendid, kind hearted man, but it was difficult even to breathe with the press of his work and consequently he was somewhat short and gruff. The old sergeant noticed this and turning to me, from whose cot he lay just opposite, he enquired, pausing for breath between each word, "Who-is-that -surgeon-anyway ?" He was told that his name was Major Crosby. "Well," said the sergeant, . "He-is-a-'Cross-boy'-isn't -he?" Think of it! Dying and fighting for every breath, this old American soldier stopped to smile, to crack a joke and pun upon the name of this doctor! Later on as the sun was beating fiercely down on the tents in the heart of the day, as help was scarce, and there was no one to be constantly in attendance upon him I got myself into a position where I could fan him as he lay struggling for breath. I would give a great deal now if I could recall the snatches of sentences he uttered at that time with the death-dew on his brow, but I can not recall them clearly enough to reproduce them ver-
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batim. Suffice it to say that there were visions of a far off home, of other battlefields, and of faces that he had "loved and lost awhile." It came evening and the shadows deepened. The old man knew me as one of the boys of South Dakota. I had met him, too, at some of the little gospel services when a dozen or so of the boys had gathered with Chaplain Daley for a few words of prayer and Christian praise together. I know not what the old soldier was thinking of when he said it, whether it was the glory of the charge that the regiment made that day at Marilao river or any thought of the Dark river that he knew full well lay just before his feet. But looking into my face he said with a smile through his pain and weakness, "We're-all-right,'-aren't we?"
Twilight passed, the cathedral bells in the walled city just across the moat had rung the vesper hour and from the barracks came sounds of retreat, tattoo and taps. The old man's ear must have caught them for the last time for he stirred uneasily. I looked at Miss Betts questioningly with an inclination of my head toward the cot of the old man, and she shook her head negatively. As the darkness fell and the quiet of the night came on the struggle for breath grew keener until it could be heard throughout the length of
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the ward. He was dying hard, fighting for every inch of his ground. He half raised himself on his elbow, "I-hope-I-don't -bother-you-fellows!" gasped he, falling back on his pillow as he finished his state- ment. That was the last coherent sentence. The night wore on. Midnight came. Down at the guardhouse the relief would be falling in for the change of guard. "Third- relief !- Fall in! Where-is-that-lazy devil !" Can't-you-turn-out-when- your-relief-is-called?" The old sergeant in delirium was turning out the guard for the last relief. "M"-Co .- all-present- and-accounted-for sir!" It was morning and roll call, and he was turning in his report to a sleepy lieutenant. Now the talk was just a gasping babble. I lay listening for the end. The hushed voices became an in- distinct murmur and I knew no more.
It was morning. I looked over to the old sergeant's cot. He and the bed clothing had disappeared. The mattress was rolled half back. The sun was shining brightly without. Nurse Betts was taking tempera- tures and the hospital corps boys were pass- ing out the dishes for breakfast. Some of the boys propped up in bed had lit up their pipes and cigarettes and were chatting gaily. None of us mentioned it, but all of us down
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in our hearts were glad that peace had come to the old man, and that his pain and his sufferings were over. Comrade Coursey may place many and many a star in the galaxy of fame that comprises his "Who's Who in . South Dakota," but he never will place a more worthy one there than he did when he wrote in them the name of Charles B. Preacher. He served in the ranks and he carried a gun, but no man that wore a shoul- der strap or brandished a sword was more worthy of the title "Soldier and Gentleman" than he.
Guy P. Squire. Late Private Co. F, First South Dakota Volunteer Infantry.
Humboldt, S. D.
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DR. W. H. THRALL A SUPERB ORGANIZER
It was Sunday morning, May 8, 1898. The battle of Manila bay had been fought and won by Admiral Dewey on the previous Sunday. The heart of the nation was throb- ing with patriotic pride. The First South Dakota infantry, U. S. volunteers, were in camp on the old Sioux river bottom at Sioux Falls. A large tent had been pitched at the southeast corner of the ground in which to
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hold services for the soldier boys. At a stir- ring time like that a magnetic, inspirational orator was needed to deliver the address. The Reverend W. H. Thrall of Huron came out to camp to visit his neighbor, Chaplain C. M. Daley, of his home city; and so our preacher-educator, Dr. Thrall, was selected as orator for the occasion.
Taking the battle of Manila bay as his text-a text in keeping with the occasion- the gifted orator made the eagle scream for an hour as he unfolded the duties and re- sponsibilities of good citizenship. The ad- dress set forth in a beautiful strain of in- spiring eloquence the obligations of every man to that country under whose flag he en- joys his citizenship. The effect was electri- cal. Many who had merely wandered into camp for a day or two, thinking to return home again, went the next morning to head- quarters and promptly enlisted. Telegrams were sent to the companies raised at Woon- socket and at other points not to come, that the regiment was full to overflowing and that men were being turned away by the hundreds; in fact South Dakota sent to the war including Grigsby's rough riders, just three times her quota under the call.
Throughout the long campaign in the Philippines, and especially as the South Da-
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kota boys stood on the banks of Manila bay and saw lying therein the shell-riven wrecks which Dr. Thrall had so vividly painted to them with his brush-tipped tongue at Sioux Falls the year before, they frequently re- ferred to that eloquent address that had caused them to enlist.
Dr. Thrall comes from prominent New England stock. His ancestors, John Holland and Elizabeth Tillie, came over on the May- flower. . His immediate ancestors on his mother's side-the Bowmans-had charge of the "minute men" of Massachusetts for fifty years prior to the eventful morning near Lexington when these famous colonial troops "Fired the shot heard 'round the world."
W. H., himself, was born at Kewanee, Ill., February 25, 1854. His father was a Congregational minister. As a result, the boy was raised in town. He was educated in the public schools of the various towns in which his father preached. Finally, when William was a lad well along in his teens, the family moved to Galesburg, Ill., where he attended high school. Here he also attended Knox College until he was well along in his junior year. From there he went to Am- herst college, where he remained for two years, taking his A. B. degree with the class of 1877. Yale granted him his B. D. in
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1881. Amherst gave him his master's degree in 1882; and Redfield college honored him with his D. D. in 1903.
In 1881, Dr. Thrall joined the "Yale- Dakota band of missionaries." There were nine of them. As they passed through Chi- cago they were given a large reception at the grand opera house. The nine previously met in a room and elected young Thrall as their speaker to represent them on that oc- casion.
Upon arriving in Dakota territory he went to Chamberlain where he organized the Congregational church at that place, and built the building. He remained at Cham- berlain but one year, during the latter part of which he also did "minute man" work.
Then he accepted a call from the Ameri- can Missionary association to do educational and missionary work. They assigned him to the principalship of Gregory normal insti- tute, Wilmington, N. C. After that he was made principal of the Tougaloo (Miss.) university.
Not liking the southern climate he re- turned to Dakota, took up missionary work and organized the Congregational church at Armour. From there he went to Tomah, Wis., where he preached for two years.
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His wife's health having begun to fail rapidly, the doctors advised them to go south again, so Dr. Thrall accepted the principal- ship of Pleasant Hill (Tenn.) academy.
However, in 1891, he returned to South Dakota again and became pastor for two years of the church at Redfield. During his last six months there he also acted as super- intendent of the Congregational churches of the state. His organizing ability was so effective that he was made superintendent in May, 1893, and he has held this position now for upwards of twenty-two years.
The greatest honor that has been con- ferred upon him was the organization and naming after him of Thrall academy at Sorum, Perkins county, this state, in 1913. This gives the Congregationalists four in- stitutions of higher education in South Da- kota-Thrall academy, Ward academy, Red- field college and Yankton college.
It is due Dr. Thrall to lay additional stress on his effective platform work. At Yale, he was one of the seven speakers chosen from a class of thirty to represent them at commencement time. At Amherst, in a class of seventy-four, he was one of the six speakers chosen for commencement honors. He wrote for the Hyde prize. His oration
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ranked first. Today he is in general demand for commencement season, and his addresses are always refreshing and up-to-date.
The books show that at the time Dr. Thrall became superintendent the total mem- bership of the Congregational churches in South Dakota was 5,173. It has now 10,574. The number of families has also doubled. Benevolences have grown from $7,665 to $21,560. Home expenses from $50,543 to $164,234. The value of church property has multiplied several times.
There are more Congregationalists in South Dakota to the population than in any other state west of New England, South Dakota in this respect even standing ahead of Congregational Iowa, the ratio now being one congregationalist to every fifty-eight people in the state.
Some 127 of the churches still living have been organized since the beginning of his work as superintendent twenty-two and more years ago. Of the churches still living 101 have erected new buildings during that time. Superintendent Thrall has taken part in the dedication services of all of these but four or five. He raised final bills on such occasions where called, except in four in- stances. Sometimes this involved the rais- ing of several thousand dollars, e. g., Mitchell.
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Most all occasions of that kind called for some last bills to be provided for and yet almost without exception no church has been dedicated without the money being raised. The two or three exceptions have been cases where the finances were not put in the super- intendent's hands ahead of time nor care- fully reported upon.
Sixty-nine parsonages belonging to the Congregational churches still alive have been completed in that time. At the beginning of his superintendency there were but six churches in his district which were self-supporting. Now the majority of them are.
He has been chairman of the committee on legislation appointed by the federation of Christian churches, several years in suc- cession. In that capacity, or representing his own denomination, he has taken an active part in some important legislative work. He took a very active part in effecting an amend- ment to the South Dakota divorce law when Bishop Hare was also interested in that par- ticular legislative work. And other legis- lative acts better guarding the home and the purity of womanhood have received his act- ive attention during various sessions of the legislature.
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ROLLIN J. WELLS
A LITERARY REVIEW
In the broad range of literary endeavor that has characterized the writings of our state, there seems to have been room for all; and the manner in which each of the leaders seems intuitively to have selected and de- veloped a field of his or her own, is rather remarkable. It remained, however, for Rollin J. Wells, of Sioux Falls, to make an excursion into the field of drama and therein
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to make for himself in his "Hagar" a reputation as a poetic dramatist that will, in all probability, give to him the domination of this field of literary thought for some time to come.
"HAGAR"
Hagar is a dramatic poem in three acts, illustrated throughout in two colors by the artist Hudson. It is founded upon the bib- lical narrative of Sarah's handmaid. Every sentence in it is measured with the mind of a master builder; every word is set in each sentence like a glistening diamond in a studded gem: it is simply a perfect piece of pure and undefiled English. To lovers of classic literature, to admirers of the fault- less use of the Mother Tongue, nothing could be more satisfying than Hagar. It is easily the weightiest production in South Dakota literature.
"PLEASURE AND PAIN"
It is not Hagar, however, that we wish especially to discuss at this time, but rather Mr. Wells' new volume of poems, entitled "Pleasure and Pain," just from the press of the Broadway Publishing company of New York City.
Taken all in all, this is the most sub- stantial volume of poems from the pen of a single author that has appeared thus far in
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the history of our state. It consists of sixty- two poems, one of them covering twenty full pages.
Wells' poems appeal to old and young alike, because of their plasticity, their per- fect rhythm, their music, the ideal selection of words in them, their charming originality, and the still greater fact that in each of them is a deep sympathy which touches the heart strings of all humanity.
The first selection in his new volume which has just been placed upon the market to accommodate the holiday trade, is given the same title as the book. It follows in full :
PLEASURE AND PAIN
Yes, Pleasure and Pain are a tandem team, Abroad in all kinds of weather, And whether you know it or not my lad, They are always yoked together.
The first has a coat of silken sheen, With mane like the moonbeams streaming,
And a tail like the fleecy clouds at night When the winds and waves are dreaming.
And he moves like a barque o'er the sappling seas, As his feet the earth are spurning,
And his breath is blown through his nostrils wide, And his eyes like stars are burning.
Ah, gaily he rides who bestrides this steed, And flies o'er the earth with laughter, But whether you know it or not, my lad, There's a dark steed coming after.
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For, hard behind with a tireless pace Comes Pain like a wivern, faster, And whether you know it or not, my lad, You must mount on him thereafter.
His nostrils are bursting with smoke and flame From the fires that within are burning, And whether you rue it or not, my lad, There is no hope of returning.
Each hair on his sides is a bristling spear That is poisoned with lost desires,
That rankles and burns in your quivering flesh That is seared by the fiendish fires.
And whether you know it or not, my lad, You may never dismount from Pain Till for every mile you rode the first You have ridden the latter twain.
One of the best poems in the book is en- titled "Growing Old." The first one only of its five eight-line stanzas is herein repro- duced :
A little more tired at the close of day,
A little less anxious to have our way;
A little less ready to scold and blame, A little more care for a brother's name; And so we are nearing the journey's end, Where Time and Eternity meet and blend.
Mr. Wells' poems are so perfectly wrought that they adapt themselves admir- ably to music and vice versa. This is especially true of "Hagar's Lament" and of "My Pilot." The latter poem has been set to good music and is for sale at the music stores of Sioux Falls. It will also be em-
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bodied in a hymnal soon to come from press. This delicate poem follows :
Why should I wait for evening star- Why should I wait to cross the bar, And Death's dissolving hand to trace The outlines of my Pilot's face?
Must my frail barque be driven and tossed By winds and waves-be wrecked and lost Upon life's strange and storm-swept sea Because my Pilot's far from me?
No, not alone my way I trace, Each wave gives back my Pilot's face; To every sin and fear and ill, To every storm he says, "Be Still!"
I need no longer vex my soul With longings for that distant goal; My Pilot sitteth at the prow, And Heaven's within, and here, and now.
A clever sketch is one entitled "Grand- pa." It is a fitting companion piece to Bur- leigh's "Grandma" ("Dakota Rhymes"). Speaking of the children
"As lively and cute as fleas,"
Grandpa is made to exclaim :
The racket they raise is beyond belief, As they charge around my chair, Pretending that I am an Indian chief Or perhaps a polar bear.
The poet's "Little Old High Chair" re- minds one of its sister poem by Daisy Dean- Carr, entitled "Treasures." In it Mr. Wells says in part :
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Alone in the attic, it stands, so queer, All covered with dust of many a year, And it bears the marks of many a blow, That was given it years and years ago; But the little hands that grasped the spoon, And beat upon it life's opening tune, Have gone with the years that have come since then,
For some are women and some are men; And the chair is forgotten by all, save me, But I climb the stairs full oft to see The children gathered to me again,
No longer women-no longer men.
While the poems are all high grade and take rank with many of the best ones in our national literature, yet those, in addition to the ones previously mentioned, in which the deeper coloring and finer shades of sympathy may be found, are: "The Two Captains," "The Husband's Confession," "A Lonesome Place," and "A Dream."
Unlike other books of poems, this one has a preface and a conclusion ("Bene- dicite") that are both written in poetry. In the preface the author says :
If you should scan this title page, And throw the book down in a rage, I'd not be disappointed.
If you should skim the volume through, And swear it was not worth a sou, I'd not be disappointed.
If you should find some little thing That in your heart would wake and sing, I'd not be disappointed.
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And if your cares were sung away, And you were stronger for the day, I'd not be disappointed.
If you should say about this book, "The world will pause and read and look," I would be disappointed.
And then, in concluding the volume, he says :
To all who have heard the music, That comes in the quiet hour, And brings to the soul in waiting, A message of light and power- As a breath from the fragrant forest Is borne o'er the tropic sea- I offer this little garland That has blossomed in spite of me.
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J. S. HOAGLAND A PRACTICAL PREACHER
To be pastor for seven years, of one of the largest congregations of any denomina-
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tion west of Chicago, in the United States, is no small honor; yet that has been the privilege of Dr. John S. Hoagland, pastor of the First M. E. church of Mitchell, South Dakota. The membership of his church at present is over 1,200.
Then, too, to be pastor of a church in a denominational university town-a town in which the church and the university belong to the same denomination, and where the congregation at church is largely made up of aspiring students from the university-is no small responsibility. These are the condi- tions that confront Dr. Hoagland, at Mitch- ell, the home of Dakota Wesleyan University.
His strength as a pastor rests largely in his originality, the depth of his thought, the breadth of his illustrations, and, above all, in his great taste and uncommon amount of common sense. Then, again, he is a com- panionable man-a real, congenial fellow- one whom the members of every other con- gregation as well as his own, love to meet and associate with. There is nothing chesty about him. His handshake is that of democ- racy, of wholesomeness, of sympathy.
PERSONAL
Dr. Hoagland is primarily an easterner, having been born at Mount Herman, New Jersey, December 10, 1866. Yet, in tem-
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perament and sympathy, he is essentially western. Being a farmer's son, he yet has many of the good old democratic farmer ways about him.
"Who is that fellow going up the street yonder?" asked one gentleman of another, a few years since, while they were conversing on the streets of Mitchell.
"That is Dr. Hoagland, the new pastor of the Methodist church here," responded the interrogate.
"Well, sir, he has a typical farmer's gait, hasn't he" suggested the first.
He has that good, wholesome disposition characteristic of a typical farm boy. "Our country boys are the salt of the earth!" shouted an old sage years ago. Yes; for in 1912, eighty-four per cent of the various governors in the United States had come from the farm.
His early education was acquired in the rural schools of his native state. Like other red-blooded boys, who had read and studied our earlier histories wherein the authors emphasized military achievements and mini- mized civil accomplishments, young Hoag- land's first ambition was West Point, and then a military career. Fortunately, he got this ideal out of his system at the proper age, and entered, instead, the New Jersey
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state normal school, from which he graduated at the tender age of eighteen.
The young fellow then took up the teach- ing profession, and, in connection with his regular work, began the study of law. At the same time he took an active interest in the social and religious affairs of the com- munity. Being a forceful public speaker, he soon became a power in the neighborhood. After four years of teaching, he was asked by his presiding elder to supply the pulpit in a nearby church for one summer. He ac- cepted the call; the work proved congenial to him, and so he decided to enter the minis- try.
Knowing as every boy must know, or if he does not know, will have to learn in the hard school of experience-that every man's success in life is proportioned quite largely by his preparation to succeed, the young pastor decided to enter De Pauw university at Greencastle, Indiana, and prepare himself for a preacher-not a little two-by-four pas- tor of a backwoods church, but for the minis- try on a big scale. This was right! He "hitched his wagon to a star." Many a boy has failed because of the lack of a proper ideal.
It was now 1887. Young Hoagland was twenty-one years of age. Five solid years of
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heavy study at De Pauw brought him up to 1892-the year of his graduation. Walking out of that sacred institution, at twenty-six years of age, with a Bachelor of Sacred Theo- logy degree under one arm and a Bachelor of Philosophy degree under the other, he was ready and eager to enter his new field of labor, on a large scale.
HIS PASTORATES
Reverend Hoagland, upon his gradua- tion, promptly joined the Northern Indiana conference, and was immediately assigned to duty as associate pastor of the Centenary M. E. church of Terre Haute, Indiana, which position he held for two years. He was then made pastor of the Maple Avenue church in the same city, for two years longer.
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