Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1890-05-29

So Hugh Heriot enlisted with .
Northern regiment, parted with his
sweetheart bravely, and left her 20 wait
a. hundreds like her were left in those
dreadful days
Did we know then, shall we ever
know-we who came out scathless
what those women suffered, who. tied
hand and foot maddened by the poor
recurrent routine of daily life, filled
with vague imaginative terrors. had yet
to live and do their petty duties under
the edge of sword worse than the
tabled blade of Damocles?
Honor for ever to that noble army of
martyrs! To them, no less than to
those who lost their lives on the actual
battlefield, should monuments arise
and wreaths be offered They were
the beating heart that sent strong life
blood into the battling hand, and, oh,
how often persisted with it. not in the
pallor and decay of physical death, not
in the rest and shelter of the flower
strewn grave. but in the broken heart,
| the joyless life, the desperation of
! memory. the ''dying, yet behold we
live" that death in life that is the
greatest if not the last enemy!
If there were other women who suf-
this dire suspense she did not know it;
it seemed to her no heart could be more
torn with anxiety, more tortured by
the silence that yet thrilled with dread
| full possibilities than hers She did
| not consider that her love for Hugh
| Heriot was young passion scarcely
| rooted in her breast; that she was
| bound to him by none of the strong
| ties of those who had sent their hus-
bands out to war, and crouched on desc
| late hearth-stones with clinging chill
| dren about them, who might the mex,
hour be wai1ing orphans; she thought
she suffered all she could, and as week
after week grew into month after
month, and the second year came lin
| gering on, she grew thin, pale and list
less.
| For Hugh Heriot had yet no fur
| Tough; the few times Marion had heard
from him he had spoken of his inten-
ton to apply for one at the years end.
but he had enlisted for the war, and
felt that while his strength lasted he
must fight; he was more needed on the
| field than even Marion needed him.
| Yet after that first year began there
were no more letters, and, after the
battle of Lookout Mountain, the lists
of killed and wounded came in so slowly
that it was a long week before the
very last showed among the list of
missing" ''Hugh Heriot, Major c,
Tenth Infantry"
'sMissing," Can words expound what
that one word meant in those days?
Not the sharp blow of Wounded, .
which implied possible life, and even a
hope of immediate repair to the sufferer
|
one and console the other. blessed in
| giving or taking. Not the stun and
desolation of Dead" that left no worse
to fear, nor tantalized with the ignis
.fdtuus of hope; but that one fatal word
| that tortured but did not slay; that
bound the victim to the stake and piled
the fagots. but delayed to light the fire
till the waiting grew to be madness.
Marion was warRhearted imagi-
native girl, and missing" meant to her
a long chapter of surmised agonies. In
her waking hours she figured so many
and such dreadful possibilities that her
sleep renewed and exaggerated, she
painted such sufferings for her lost
| lover, such terrific and harassing stu
! atoms, that it would have been a pos
| tive relief to her to know Of his death;
yet she would not admit it TO herself.
| She lost all that held her to- life. when,
/ just as the war ceased, her widowed
mother died suddenly and without one
| farewell word. 1t would have been be ter
for Marion had necessity forced her to
| exertion, but she had enough money to
| live on comfortably, and she shut
herself In her tiny house with her old
servant and made herself solitary
mOurner. Her beautiful and abundant
| brown hair grew white as snow, and
her eyes lost their sparkle;, but her
| health gradually asserted itself anew,
her constitution was strong, and she al
most lived out of doors, either il her
garden. which was her sole amusement
and pleasure, or walking over the
| breezy hills of the country about She
had never been half so beautiful when
Hugh Heriot knew her as she was,
eight years after. when, one exquisite
morning in May, she stood by her door
| clipping boughs of hawthorn from her
one cherished tree, and placing them
| beside the apple blossoms she had al
ready gathered in large basket There
| too were sheaves of pale narcissus,
| trails of heaven blue myrtle, punches
of the later snow-drops and gorgeous
tulips: for it was Memorial Day and
|
Marion failed to carry whatever bios
| SONS she could find to the cemetery,
| and add her share to the honors of the
few dead soldiers who slept i'm that
small and shaded place of rest.
1t smote her every year to THINK of
that unhonored place where her lovers
body rested, for long ago she had given
up hope for his life. Who covered his
grave with flowers or fo1iagee Who
prayed over his last sleep? The thought
stung her again as she took from the
doorstep a smaller basket ef wild
flowers, With which she always dressed
the bow mound above her mother. and
taking the larger one on her arm, went
over to the school-house. where the
young village girls were making wreaths
and bouquets. From there she went to
her mothers grave, and began 30 adorn
it with all the blossoms of wood and
field her mother had loved so much in
her life; she heard the distana music of
the band begin to send its wailing re-
QUEEN from the church steps, where the
procession was just entering, she heard
4 Ill Ill