The flags fluttered listlessly in the warm spring air, and the little
group on Jean Perry's piazza was scarcely more energetic. There was
a martial significance in the atmosphere, for the heavy tread of
battalions reverberated in the hearts of those who had seen one war,
and came forth with sudden force to those who were about to live
through it for the first time. Yet, the few who lounged in hammocks
spoke in depreciation.
"The regular army is enough," said one; "that's what those fellows
are for. As for me, I'm not anxious to be shot at. I would rather be
excused."
Two or three of the others agreed, but Jack Terrence was watching
Jean with grave trouble in his face. At the first sneering comment
her eyes had flashed and then filled; now her breast was heaving with
excitement, and her sensitive mouth was quivering.
A passing breeze stirred the scarlet veined folds of the flag above
her, and for a moment it seemed to wave in proud defiance. But even as
the century of its glorious history came back to her, one of the men
looking at it reminiscently, was moved to languid speech.
"Funny thing, that rag up there--I suppose it really means a great deal
to some people!"
"Do you honestly think so?" Jean's voice carried a note of fearful
scorn. "I am proud to say that I am one of the people to whom it means
something--more than your little mind can comprehend. If I could die
fighting for it, and have it wrapped round me at the last, it would be
glory enough for one small life, but I'm only a miserable woman, and I
have to stay at home. Why ar'n't you in the ranks, fighting like a man?
What do you think would become of your country if all the men were like
you?" She ended convincingly.
The astonished individual whom she addressed made the earliest exit
compatible with his dignity. The girls followed by twos and threes,
and at last the time came to which Terrence had looked forward for an
hour--a solitary moment with Jean.
"Let's go down to the river," he said, after waiting for her to speak.
He took possession of her in the calm, masterful way that rests and
soothes a nervous woman, and as his ring on her finger gave him the
right to do. He found her hat and put it on her unresisting head
without jabbing her with the pins, for which, even in her excitement,
she was dimly grateful.
"You're such a comfort, Jack," she sighed restfully, as they strolled
in the afternoon sunshine to the bank of the little noisy stream, that
by courtesy was called a river.
"I get tired and fretted, and when you come it's just like putting on a
pair of old shoes after you've been wearing new ones."
Terrence laughed. He was used to Jean's queer similes, and loved her
all the more for her unexpectedness.
"You take things too seriously, dear, but just the same I was very
proud of you this afternoon. You scattered the enemy's forces neatly."
He laughed again, but this time there was no mirth in his face. "I was
glad, too, Jean, because it makes it easier to speak of something I've
been thinking about for the last two weeks."
For an instant her heart stood still. She did not need to be told what
had made him unlike his sunny self for the past few days. He turned
his face away that he might not see the trouble in hers. She began to
understand.
After a little he spoke again. "Dear little woman," he said softly, "it
all rests with you. It is for you to decide--not me. If you feel that
my first duty is to you, you have only to say the word; if you feel
that, dearly as I love you, there is something beyond that, you--you
need not speak at all."
They were sitting on the bank of the stream now, and the late afternoon
light was playing upon its rippling surface, while a glory of crimson
and gold touched each rock and tree.
Half-way up the hill beyond, was a tiny two-story house in process of
construction. On the crest, where the sun might shine on it longest,
the flag seemed beckoning to them both. They felt its meaning.
"Jean," said Jack again, and his lips trembled as they said the little
name, "is the roof of our home coming between us and our flag?"
"If it did," she answered slowly, "it could only be a house--not a
home."
In those few moments she had fought a gallant battle with herself. She
was white now, but there was new strength in her voice.
"Brave heart," said Terrence tenderly, "I knew what you would say!"
Then he went on to tell her of the regiment that was forming, and in
which he had been offered a position in the line of promotion.
Something of the old fire came into her eyes. "Never mind position or
promotion. Put on the private's uniform and fight in the ranks and be
glad you've got the health and the strength and the right to do it.
Though," she added, as an afterthought, "I'd try to be reconciled to
it, even if you were a major-general." She smiled slyly.
There was no one to see him put his arm around her in the twilight and
draw her close. The soft melody of the little stream, as it hurried
noisily away, and the drowsy chirp of the birds came dreamily into the
summer stillness. Up on the hill, like a parting benediction, a soft
sunset glow trembled and shone around the flag.
"My sweetheart," he said, "I want to tell you something for you to
remember for all time." A lump came into his throat, but he choked it
down and went on. "It sounds like a joke in a comic paper for me to say
you're the only woman I ever loved; but it's true, and you know it is,
and it's the kind of love that couldn't die with the body of either of
us, don't you know that, dear?"
A sob from Jean made him draw her closer still. "So I want to tell you
now that, whatever happens, that will always be the same--nothing can
ever change that. I want you to remember that. I haven't half deserved
the love you've given me, but it's the sweetest thing God ever let a
man dream of, and it's made me a better man, Jean, and there won't be
a moment while I'm away that I won't see your dear face, because I'm
fighting for you as well as for my dear country--to be the man you want
me to be, and to make you proud of your volunteer."
The succeeding days were all confusion and preparation. To Terrence,
they were days of drill, recruiting and unaccustomed labour; to Jean
they were days of heartache, mingled with a strange pride that was
neither wholly happiness nor wholly pain.
The day came at last when the regiment was ordered forward, and the
whole town turned out to give its boys a rousing farewell. The love
of fight, mingled with the stern discipline and cool courage of the
Anglo-Saxon, was in the face of every man in the regiment.
Jean never forgot the spectacle as they formed in marching ranks. In
spite of the pain at her heart, she was unreasonably proud at the sight
of Jack in his new uniform--not that of a private, as she had wished
him to go, but as first lieutenant, looking very handsome.
The long column swung into line. Quick and short came the word of
command. Her eyes were upon her volunteer, and across the crowd of
waiting thousands, he saw only her--cheeks crimson with pride, eyes
sweet with love, and lips that trembled and tried to be brave in spite
of all.
"Forward, march!" It was the summons to the glory and the agony of
battle for those who kept time with the music. It was the summons to
as brave a faith to those who remained behind.
After the first shock was over, Jean became almost happy. Jack wrote
letters full of hope and good spirits. Every amusing thing that
happened in camp, he stored away to write to Jean. He even had a little
note-book in which to jot down, from time to time, things which would
interest her. This was a never failing source of pleasure to his mates,
and he was enthusiastically "guyed" by every man in the company. Of
course he told her this, and, womanlike, Jean was much pleased.
Boxes of home delicacies sent to Jack filled the entire company with
a beautiful admiration for "Terrence's girl." Magazines, papers and
letters almost flooded the mails.
"Poor Terrence is getting pale," said one of them at mess.
"Separation," suggested the corporal.
"Naw," rejoined the other. "It's carryin' his mail from the post-office
to his tent. That's what's wearin' on him."
Like a happy lover, Terrence took the jokes cheerfully. The routine of
camp life made some of the men complain bitterly, but he said never a
word. It was for his country--and Jean.
After two months of waiting, the regiment was ordered to the front
and the old confusion began again. The night in camp was a memorable
one. Already the star-spangled flag had been planted in new places,
and the thirst for conquest, which is perhaps, more Anglo-Saxon than
exclusively British, was upon every man in the army.
There is no need to write of the gallant charge at Santiago; no need
to speak of the steadfast courage of those who faced three times their
number in the narrow pass; no need to say that every lad in Uncle
Sam's uniform proved himself to be the stuff of which Republics are
built--for the world knows it all. Whatever criticism the strategists
of the future, sitting in comfortable chairs, may make, as to tactics
and military skill, the valour of the American army has been proved
anew.
Up the burning, blazing heights, Lieutenant Terrence rushed with his
men, stopping not for strange pitfalls and unknown dangers, facing
volley after volley of explosive bullets, heeding not those who fell
by the way, as long as through the smoke of battle, dimly lit by flash
and flame, the flag called--"Follow!"
The orders had been brief: "Take the blockhouse on the height by
storm." And the charge began with a cheer. But only twenty-two
of the seventy-five men reached the summit, and after a fierce
hand-to-hand conflict, dislodged the superior force. The rest lay
upon the hillside,--some past help, and all exposed to the fire of an
unchivalrous foe.
Lieutenant Terrence was among those reported "missing." The corporal
spent the night in the underbrush with a lantern, but to no avail.
"Don't be so cut up, Johnny," said a messmate, "you can't do him no
good."
"Maybe he fell off the side," replied the corporal, after a long
silence, "and, anyway, it's his girl I'm thinking of. I'm going to find
him for her."
Over the wire from headquarters came the list of killed, wounded and
missing. Jean grasped the morning paper eagerly and then grew white
"Missing! Missing!"
A dull dead weight settled down upon her like a suffocating pall. With
sudden meaning, what he had said came back to her: "It's you I'm
fighting for as well as for my country--to be the man you want me to
be, and to make you proud of your volunteer."
The strained nerves and tortured heart could bear no more, and she was
mercifully unconscious when they found her lying with the paper in her
hands.
There were hushed whispers in the house for days to come, and the wires
were kept busy with eager questionings. The old family physician was
fighting an unequal battle with death for Jean had no desire to live.
After a week, a telegram came for Jean. It was the old doctor who
opened it with trembling hands, dreading to give her the message he
knew it must contain. After the first eager glance, his face changed
mysteriously, and then became transfigured with a radiant smile as he
read:
"Wounded, but not seriously. Home on _Olivette_. Terrence."
The little blind god has a healing power quite beyond prosaic belief
and in a very short time Jean was able to go out and once more the
sound of building came from the hillside. All through the days that
followed she listened to it with joy. Every ring of metal or shout of
command was a distinct pleasure.
It was evening when Terrence reached the town unannounced and
unheralded with his right arm in a sling. Those on the piazza merely
knew that some one had entered the gate, but a white-robed figure flew
down the steps with a cry of gladness that sent the family into the
house.
Human hearts did not need to be told that a bronzed and bearded soldier
was holding his sweetheart close, and that a woman was sobbing out more
happiness than one heart could hold, on the shoulder of her volunteer.