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Updated: May 31, 2025
But there was more in the eye's cast than beauty of sea and sky and setting sun. From their seats they could look down on the curious jumble of long sheds and giant scaffolding that was the great Coughlan steel shipyard in False Creek.
"He is dying yonder. Dr. Coughlan is with him and Pete Pete is there, too. I I came for you. He is calling for you. I came to tell you. All that a man may suffer here, he has suffered, sir. Your prayer has been doubly answered, Mr. Matthews. Both father and son are dead. The name the old name is perished from the face of the earth. For Christ's dear sake, forgive my boy, and let him go.
The old mine which he had discovered was reached by one of the side passages far below in the depth of the mountain. The grave would never be disturbed. For two weeks longer, Dr. Coughlan staid with his friend; out on the hills with him all day, helping to cook their meals at the ranch, or sitting on the porch at the Matthews place when the day was gone.
Coughlan stopped short and leaned against a convenient tree for support, looking up at his big host, with merriment he could not hide; "Parson, parson! Daniel Howitt talk as good as a parson! Blast it all! Dan is one of the biggest D. D.'s in the United States; as good as a parson, I should think so! Why, man, he's my pastor; my pastor. Biggest church, greatest crowds in the city.
Man at the Postoffice is a savage, sir; blasted, old incorrigible savage. My name is Coughlan; Dr. David Coughlan, of Chicago; practicing physician for forty years; don't do anything now; not much, that is. Sarah and the girls won't let me. Your name, sir?" "Grant Matthews. My boy there has the same. We're mighty glad to meet any friend of Dad's, I can tell you.
Too bad, too bad," muttered the physician, laying his hand upon his friend's shoulder. The shepherd tried again, "Who does Pete say it is?" "Oh, Pete says it's him, just him." "But who does Pete say he is?" suggested Dr. Coughlan. Again the boy's voice lowered to a whisper, "Sometimes Pete says it must be God, 'cause he's so good.
The first missionary Lawrence Coughlan went there in 1765, and remained seven years, amid great persecutions, being prosecuted in the highest court, an attempt made to poison him, yet not only was he able to rejoice in many conversions, but his enemies were silenced, as the Governor acquitted him, and made him a justice of the peace. His health failed, and he was compelled to return to England.
You will help us both, just as you have always done. Will you excuse us, father, while Dr. Coughlan looks at this thing here in my side?" The physician arranged the light so that it shone full upon the man on the bed, then carefully removed the bandages from an ugly wound in the artist's side. Dr. Coughlan looked very grave. "When did this happen, Howard?" "I I can't tell exactly.
The artist nodded. "Tell me the truth, now, Doctor. I know that I am going. But how long have I? Wait a minute first. Where's Pete? Come here, my boy." The lad drew near. "Father." Mr. Howitt seated himself on the bedside. "You'll be strong, father? We are ready now, Dr. Coughlan." "Yes, tell us, David," said the shepherd, and his voice was steady.
My senior aide, after my brother's promotion, was Lieutenant Coughlan of the Twenty-fourth Kentucky, a handsome young Irishman of very humble origin, to whom the military service had been the revelation of his own powers and a noble inspiration.
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