The Independence Day Horror at KillsburyCoolidge, Asenath Carver
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The Independence Day Horror at Killsbury
Coolidge, Asenath Carver
Children -- Death -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fireworks -- Fiction; Fourth of July -- Fiction
Every eye in the hall was turned toward them and expressions of sympathy
were heard from all sides. These object lessons had a good effect, but
there was no time for more and Ralph hurried on with the statistics,
confident that no more were needed. The list being completed, then came
the question--Why was it that this town of Killsbury contributed the
largest quota to the Fourth of July death roll of any town in the state?
He sat down amidst cries of "why" and "shame on the town."
"Yes, shame on the town," said a man rising promptly in his seat; "and
shame on Mr. Schwarmer. I think we all know that he is responsible for the
surplus of accidents in this town. That it is directly due to his
distribution of free fireworks among the ignorant and irresponsible
classes; for I happen to know that he doesn't always draw the line at the
small boy. I saw him on one occasion throw boxes and boxes of firecrackers
and cartridges among a crowd that had collected around, just as kings do
money, and then stop and laugh to see the scrabbling after them.
"Still I suppose we ought to go slow in the matter of fixing the blame on
Mr. Schwarmer--a valuable man and one who is supposed to have done or is
expected to do so much for the town though I can't just tell what he has
done--can't give the statistics, not having lived here always, as friend
Pollock who sits by my side has. Perhaps he can tell you."
"I'll be plagued if I can think of a plaguy thing he's done for this
town," said Pollock testily. "The fact is, he was born on the Town and our
fathers fed him and clothed him and gave him a good send-off as soon as
they saw that he had spunk enough in him to go. After he turned up in the
Stock Exchange, he paid them off by tom-fooling their sons and taking
every spare dollar from them to gamble with and lose for them and finally
win back again into his own pocket. I know _that_ well enough for I knew
one of the tomfools. There were lots and lots of others, but they never
told how they got sucked in. It leaked out little by little though and
more than one spoke out plainly before they died; but it seems as though
we were determined to be blind, deaf and dumb in the matter and all
because he coddled us boys--giving us--what? Things to kill and disfigure
ourselves with. You see this crippled hand, don't you?" he added, holding
up his right hand, which had three stiff fingers. "Well I am indebted to
_him_ for that and I've cursed him for it many a time in secret, but I've
never been honest enough to out with it 'til now. That's all he's ever
done for me. I can't say as to the carpenters that built his house. I
never heard that any of them got rich out of his carpentering though he
built a big house for himself, then a big stable for his horses, and then
an addition to the stable for more horses. All he's ever done for the town
is to make a big show up on the hill, with his sky-scraper and sky
rockets. He has never benefited the people except with the kind of benefit
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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