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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
5
Love’s Vow.
®y eyes are closed torevei
• m 7 tears the angels dry,
” m 7 prayer at evening ever
Bear your name to him on high!
If no other tie connect us
While we walk the rounds of care,
'*ir- s . ou ^ B ^ or heaven to bless, protect ns,
will talk o’er telephones of prayer.
Atlanta, Ga.
Andrew M. McConnell.
The Lieutenant’s Love,-
• • ORj • •
WHAT FOLLOWED THE FLIGHT OF A
YOUNG ARMY OFFICER.
BY J. M. BARRON.
A TELEGRAM for Lieuten
ant Mell, Company A,”
said Corporal Wood, as he
tipped his cap and entered
the tent door, holding in his
hand a yellow envelope.
Lieutenant Mell was seated at the “mess”
table with a half-dozen brother officers, where
a heated discussion of the fight of the morn
ing had taken place.
The discussion developed quite a diversity
of opinion as to who was responsible for the
disastrous results of the day.
The troops had come out of the battle with
twenty killed and twice that number wounded,
and the young officers were naturally anxious
to fix the blame, but they had been unable to
agree as to who should be held responsible,
inasmuch as each one had his individual and
fixed theory as to how the campaign should
have been planned. Their superiors were
scored right and left, the young officers being
about equally divided on the subject.
“There is no use to argue the question,”
said Lieutenant Harwood, “but if Battery B,
had been placed on the hill to the right—”
“There he goes,” broke iti Second Lieu
tenant Ray, “when every man here knows
that Battery B was in the very best position
and did—”
It was at his point that the corporal entered
with the telegram, which ended further dis-
(lieutenant Mell arose and, saluting^he
corporal, took the message from his hand.
Every eye was turned on the handsome
lieutenant as he broke the seal.
“I wish people would use the mails,” said
he, smiling, “these things always suggest
bad news to me. I never receive one without
predicting the most terrible things before
f reading it. Now, this one—why, it’s from
lv home,” he said, as he pulled the sheet .from
4* the envelope and glanced at the date line,
■■ “and—”
He stopped, read the few lines, the p.aper
• fell to the floor; he .arose, reeled, staggered
back a step, and grasped the tent-pole for sup
port.
“Why, what is the matter, Will? Nothing
serious, I hope?” said Lieutenant Harwood,
rushing to the assistance of his brother officer.
For answer, the lieutenant pointed to the
telegram and said :
“Read that.”
Lieutenant Harwood picked up the paper
and read:
“To Lieutenant Mell, Co. A:—Julia not
expected to live. She calls for you. If possi
ble, come at once.
“Jeannette.”
The message was passed around in silence
to the other officers. As each one read it they
turned away with an expression of the deepest
sorrow and sympathy.
Lieutenant Mell was one of the most popu
lar officers in the regiment, among the
officers and men alike, and he was soon sur
rounded by a crowd of-sympathetic soldiers.
Company A had been sent to reinforce
companies B and D, who had been sent out
a month before to suppress an uprising of the
Indians, who had given the two companies
no end of trouble, the last battle resulting,
as stated, rather disastrously to the regulars.
A great crowd was at the depot in Stanford
to bid adieu to Company A two weeks before.
Among the number was Julia Manning, who
was there to say good-bye to her soldier lover
Lieutenant Mell.
“Will,” Julia said, as the former stood on
the car step, “I feel so apprehensive for your
safety. If you were going to battle with a
civilized foe, I would not feel so, but the In
dians are so treacherous.”
“Don’t bother your little head about me,
darling, there is no danger; you can rest as
sured of that. I expect to return in a week or
ten days. Just you take care of your dear,
darling self, and everything will turn out
til right. Besides, you know, duty calls and
l must go.”
“Yes, I know that, Will, still I will be so
uneasy about you. I am going right home
and to bed. I know I am going to be just
as sick as I can be. I feel that I will never
see you again. ”
“My precious little child,” said Will,
clasping her hands in his own, “you must
not talk like that. If you do, I will be sick
myself, and you know it would never do for a
soldier to get sick before he reached the field
of action. So cheer up, my dear, and remem
ber how much I love you and how constantly
you will be on my mind while I am away
from you. That ought to keep you well,
while I know it will protect me from all dan
ger.”
“I will try,” and tears came into the big
brown eyes, “but I am sure it will be useless.
I will be perfectly miserable until you re
turn.”
A long, loud blast from the locomotive ;
good-byes were hastily said, and amid the
waving of handkerchiefs the long train pulled
out to the scene of the Indian uprising, two
hundred miles distant. As Will held Julia’s
little hand in a warm, last clasp, she pressed
into his palm a crumpled envelope, which he
hastily opened as he took his seat in the car.
“The little darling,” he said, as he finished
the missive, “she is such a nervous little
creature, I am really, uneasy about her.”
This is what Will read:
“My Darling: You do not know it, but
you are leaving me sick unto death ! I was
delirious last night with a raging fever.
Your visit seems like a sweet dream. I do
not remember your good-bye. Mother tells
me this morning that the doctor says I am
threatened with brain fever, and that unless
I am perfectly quiet the case will be difficult
to manage. I am determined to see you once
more, however, and will be at the depot this
morning to tell you good-bye. I am so sick,
but I must see you.
“Julia.”
Lieutenant Mell thrust tne note into his
pocket and tried to forget its contents, but it
was impossible. He read and re-read it, try
ing in vain to make up his mind that after
all it was only natural she should have writ
ten as she did, under the circumstances. But
still its contents haunted him by day and by
night; he could not shake off a feeling of im
pending evil; therefore, he was in a measure
prepared for the shocking intelligence con
tained in the telegram.
Seating himself at the table he hastily
wrote out an application for a ten days’ fur
lough and, handing it to the corporal, in
structed him to take it at once to the general
commanding. So certain was he that his rre-
quest would be granted that he lost no time
in packing his valise, preparatory to taking
the journey that very night.
In an hour the corporal returned with an
answer from the general, bearing his disap
proval of the application.
J This was a crushing blow to Will Mell.
His sweetheart lay dying at home. He had
asked for a furlough that he might go to her
side. It had been refused. It was possible
that this might prove her last night on earth.
Then began a struggle between love and duty
and—
Love won!
Lieutenant Mell made up his mind what to
do.
“To the winds with the consequences!”
he exclaimed. “I am going to the bedside of
my darling, and this night, too!”
The 10:30 express numbered among its
passengers William L. Mell, lieutenant in
Company A, United States troops—a deserter
and yet he did not look upon his act in that
light; rather he felt that he was performing
the most sacred duty, and he consoled him
self with the assurance that his conscience
approved of his action, whether the rigid
rules of military life did or not, and with
these reflections Lieutenant Mell leaned back
on the cushions while the fast express bore
him to the bedside of his affianced bride
Julia Manning.
It was 8: 30 the next morning when the
express steamed into the station at Stanford.
Jumping into a cab, Will Mell was soon at
the door of all he held in this life.
Jeannette, Julia’s young sister, met him at
the door. Her face was pale and her hand
trembled perceptibly as he took it in a silent
grasp.
“We think she is better,” she said, in
answer to his inquisitive look. “But she is
very sick. Not since last Tuesday has she
spoken a rational word, and to-day is Mon
day. But Will, she keeps calling for you.
She just asked me if you had arrived, and
wanted to know why I did not show you in.
Poor thing, if she could only recognize you
I am sure it would help her.”
Tears came to the lieutenant’s eyes as he
listened to Jeannette’s story.
“Can I go in?” he asked.
“Wait a moment.”
She disappeared into the house and in a
few moments the doctor came out.
“She has reached the crisis,” he said.
“It depends. We will know by noon, perhaps
sooner. I have reason for hoping for a favora
ble turn in her case; however, we can’t tell.”
“The chances are in favor of her recovery,
doctor ?”
“Slightly—yes.” .
“Thank God,” muttered the lieutenant,
turning aside.
All efforts of the physician to get the lieu
tenant to talk of the Indian uprising having
proven futile, he retired to the sick room.
Minutes seemed hours to the fevered brain
of the handsome officer, as he paced up and
down the veranda, anxiously waiting for news
from his irrational darling. Not a thought
had he given to the terrible step he had taken
the night previous, so perfectly at ease was
his conscience on the subject.
“I shall probably be court-martialed,” he
said to himself as he boarded the train at the
seat of war, “but surely discipline will be
tempered with mercy when my absence is
explained to my superiors. However, I stand
ready to face the consequences, whatever they
may be. My first duty is here, and here I
am !”
The lieutenant’s miserable reverie was in
terrupted by the reappearance of Jeannette,
whose face was all aglow with suppressed ex
citement. She ran to him with the exclama
tion :
“Oh, Will, sister is better! When the doc
tor came in just now, she spoke, to him and
asked for me.”
“For you ?”
“Yes—oh, she has been calling for you
ever so many times.”
“Then I shall go to her,” said the lieuten
ant, and acting on this resolution, he went
quietly to the sick chamber, followed by
Jeannette. He hesitated on the threshold, but
the physician beckoned him forward.
Stepping to the side of the bed the lieuten
ant looked with pitying eyes upon the emaci
ated form of his beautiful sweetheart, for
whose sake he had just deserted his post of
duty as a soldier.
It was a full minute before the great brown
eyes of the patient were turned upon the
white face of the lieutenant, who had stood
perfectly motionless since his entrance.
When they rested upon his face the light of
reason was in their depths while her recogni
tion for her lover was shown too plainly by
the lovelit beams which shot from her own
to the lieutenant’s eyes.
Kneeling by the bed the lieutenant took
her soft, transparent hand in his own and
with suppressed emotion, said :
“My darling Julia.”
“And my precious Will,” was the°soft re
sponse ( tiW£ame in almost inaudible .topes
from the *icK bed.
There -s no use to dwell on the convales
cence of Julia Manning. Suffice it, that it was
rapid from the day of the lieutenant’s ar
rival, and, with him constantly by her side,
it is not strange that she was entirely well
within three weeks and seemed more beauti
ful than ever before, as she stood at the train
steps again bidding adieu to her handsome
lover, who was for the second time taking
leave of her for the purpose of rejoining the
army.
Lieutenant Mell had acquainted Julia with
all the circumstances of his visit to her, in
cluding the manner in which he took his
leave. It was a great joke with Julia, who
knew little of the stern realities of army
discipline.
“Well, if they condemn you to be shot,
Will, send for me, and I will act as substi
tute,” and Julia laughed heartily at her prop
osition.
Not so with Will Mell.
When he took final leave of Julia Manning,
there was a serious look on his countenance
which worried her no little.
Lieutenant Mell alighted at the scene of
war in the afternoon at 3 o’clock, going at
once to the headquarters of the general com
manding.
He was promptly placed under arrest, on
the charge of desertion from the United
States army, while in temporary command
of Company A.
He made no defense.
He had none to make, in fact. In as few
words as possible he explained his action,
never quailing before the stern, steady gaze
of the haughty colonel.
The trial lasted only ten minutes.
Lieutenant Mell was found guilty of will
ful desertion while on duty in the army, and
was sentenced to be shot one week from that
day ! He was placed in the care of two officers
and marched to prison.
The news of the verdict spread consterna
tion among the rank and file of the soldiers.
It was the sole theme of conversation in
every tent that night. Lieutenant Mell
was the most popular man in the army, and
the indignation of the men threatened open
revolt.
“Boys, do you suppose the colonel will
have that boy shot?” asked Frank McClure
of Company B.
“Will powder burn?” replied Mike Mc-
Elherty. “Then, be jabbers, you may listen
for the guns next Wednesday at sundown !”
“It is a damn shame!” declared another,
excitedly.
“Discipline must be maintained,” put in
one of the conservative* members of Com
pany D.
“Damn discipline!” hotly replied Mc
Clure, “when it comes to such an outrage as
this, discipline is a misnomer, and should
be treated as such !”
“I’d like to know who will shoot him?’’
asked Charlie Lane, rising and shaking his
fist at the air. “Here is one who will die
before he will pull a trigger on Lieutenant
Mell !”
“And here’s another!”
“And another!” came from all parts of
the indignant audience. And this sentiment
had spread until there was not a man in the
regiment who, if he had not openly said
so, had secretly made up his mind that he
would have no hand in the execution of the
condemned lieutenant.
As for poor JuLia, she was prostrated at the
terrible news and refused to be comforted.
She felt that she was to blame for her lover’s
perilous position, and would listen to no
argument to the contrary.
But what could she do to save him ? The
thought that she was powerless to help him
was maddening, and her great grief was ter
rible to behold.
Lieutenant Mell had not uttered one word
of complaint. He knew the rules and regula
tions of army life and felt that the colonel
had only done his duty. No one was allowed
to see him. His prison cell was guarded
night and day by trusty sentinels, who halted
the approach of every visitor.
Thus the time passed until Tuesday night
—the night before Lieutenant Mell’s execu
tion.
Private McClure was on duty.
He was sleepily pacing back and forth be
fore the prison door when he was suddenly
confronted by a visitor in civilian’s dress.
“Halt!”
The man stopped.
“I wish to see Lieutenant Mell, who is
sentenced to be shot.”
“Yez is not the fust one, ayther,” replied
McClure, “but I have me orders, and yer
can’t see him.”
“I am his spiritual adviser,” persisted the
stranger, “and am very anxious to extend
what comfort I can towards his spiritual wel
fare,” and as he finished speaking he took
from his bosom a small crucifix and held it
up to the astonished eyes of the Irishman.
That was sufficient. McClure crossed his
breast and bade the priest to enter.
Morning dawned and everything was ex
citement among the soldiers, partly because
of an impending battle with the Lillians, and
partly because it marked the day of Lieuten
ant Mell’s execution.
The Indians were ambushed on a hill about
a mile distant and the colonel could tell by
their movements that they were planning for
an attack. It was difficult from the distance
for the officers to locate their position.
By ten o’clock the hillside was - literally
covered with the treacherous redskins, while
a few seemed to be crossing the valley below.
The whole regiment was drawn up in line,
waiting and ready for the attack, which
seemed certain to take place before noon.
The colonel at this juncture called for Ser
geant Williams.
A moment of hasty conversation and the
sergeant, saluting, left in a double-quick
toward the prison.
Five minutes and he returned, accompanied
by Lieutenant Mell and—-a stranger.
“Who have we here?” demanded the col
onel, eyeing the priest, for he it was.
“A good man who spent the night with
me in spiritual advisement, sir,” answered
the condemned man, saluting the colonel.
“By whose authority was he admitted to
the prison?” demanded the colonel, angrily.
“By the authority of a humanitarian,”
replied the priest, testily, coloring percepti
bly.
The colonel, scowling, turned to Lieuten
ant Mell.'
“Lieutenant, I have a duty for you to per
form, and upon its success depends a great
deal to you.”
“I have never yet shirked a duty, sir,”
answered the lieutenant.
“Don’t say that, sir!”
Lieutenant Mell was silent. Every eye in
the regiment was on the two.
“I am very anxious to learn the strength
and position of the Indians massed on that
hill,” said the colonel, pointing in the direc
tion indicated. “You see that big tree about
midway the distance? Go climb that and as
certain the desired information, and you are
a free man!”
A perceptible shudder passed through every
one who heard the colonel’s proposition.
“Allow me to go in his stead?” asked the
priest excitedly.
“You had better go the other way,”
answered the colonel “as Indians are no re
specters of persons.”
To this Lieutenant Mell smiled and, shak
ing the hand of the priest warmly, took up
his march to the tree.
Continued on Twelfth page. •