Brann The Iconoclast, vol 12 | Page 8

a phenomenal circulation, having readers all over this country. The tragedy of Friday can be traced to the attack which was made on Baylor University in the ICONOCLAST. It was in Brann's peculiar style, and attracted considerable attention throughout the country. Mr. Brann is a native of Southern Illinois.
* * * DAVIS FOLLOWS BRANN.
THE DEATH STRUGGLE AND KINDRED INCIDENTS.
While breaking hearts watched by Mr. Brann's bedside there was a loving wife, a dutiful son and kind friends sitting by the bedside of Tom E. Davis. For the first six hours Dr. J. C. J. King, Dr. Curtis and Dr. Olive endeavored to bring their patient about. He was perfectly conscious, but was yet suffering from the shock. At midnight he was no better and a change for the worse was soon noted. The patient would awake from the effect of opiates, talk with those about him and then relapse again into slumber. He knew his son and wife, friends who called and friends who spoke to him, but there was rapid pulse and a labored breathing that indicated the approach of death. Throughout the small hours of the new-born day the wife sat by that couch, and with her sat kind friends. Everything known to science was done to save the life that fleeting breath told was fast ebbing away. There was not a continued loss of blood, but with a perforated frame, the creature of nature could not exist, and it was evident he was fast nearing the end. The dawn of early morning found the faithful watchers yet at the bedside, and the rising sun peeped into the room and shed a glow about the sick room, appearing to light the way for the soul which was soon to wing its flight to realms beyond. The circle about the couch enlarged, children of the wounded man gathering about their weeping mother, his sister and other relatives coming to watch and wait. During the early hours of the morning and until the forenoon was advanced, friends paced the lobby of the Pacific hoping every moment for a report that the patient was better. Each minute passed as an hour, and the hours seemed as long drawn out days. Each report from the sick room was "no change."
At noon it became evident that but a short time remained. A. C. Riddle sat upon one side of the couch and Richard Selman at the other, the first rubbing the injured portion of the wounded right arm, while the other moistened the parched lips with constant applications of cold water. By Mr. Riddle sat the weeping wife, soon to be a widow, and about the apartment were gathered the children. The last hour of the citizen was one which will never be forgotten by those who watched his last moments. Labored was the breathing and every breath was a gasp and a groan. His children stood by the couch and saw the pain-racked form, and his wife held his hand and prayed to the God of all people to spare him to her for a longer time. Prayers were of no avail and tears did not soothe the pain. He was in agony, and accompanied with that agony was a desire to say something. He relapsed into slumber at times and would at intervals awake. His eyes would roll about the gathered friends and relatives, and an unintelligible sound would escape. There seemed to be no control of the tongue except at times he could utter the words, "Wife" and "Molly." The silence in the sick room was disturbed by the gasp of the dying man and the weeping of his family.
The hour of 2 o'clock came and the breath was shorter and harder. Little Nellie, 2 years of age, was brought to the bedside, and looking at her father in childish innocence smiled, and cried, "Mama, is that my papa?" Did papa hear those words? It is to be hoped he did. They rung out loud within the quiet room, the walls caught them and echoed the music of the child's voice, and probably that music joined the music of the great beyond, where the soul was soon to be. If the ear of the dying man, who gave every indication of consciousness, caught the words of his baby, his death was made happy, even with the pain that racked his wounded form. He saw the anguish of the wife and children, it was to comfort them with a last word that he sought to speak the last word that he could not utter. At 2.20 it was seen that death was upon him, and the rapid gasp for breath plunged the entire family into violent weeping. Mrs. Davis had controlled herself as best she could. The long hours were spent