Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 104: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

94 AINSLEE’S equal rights? In your country every schoolboy can tell of the rise and fall of empires, the conquests of weak na- tions by strong ones, but not one can give you a clear idea of the growth of the spirit of liberty and the belief :n, and success of, popular government, or the beauty and justice of the principles that lay behind the French Revolution over which the Reign of Terror hangs like a hideous curtain over a priceless treasure. “But these things will come. South America is a wonderful place. The fu- ture of the Latin race lies there. Lib- erty is a Latin word. A free Rome once conquered the world; a free France defied it and forced liberty upon it. Spain alone of the Latin sisters has never been strong or free—great, per- haps, but never strong or free. And Spanish will be the tongue of the great republic that will stretch from Tierra del Fuego to Panama.” When General Zumalacarregui sailed for South America Tarquin went with him, fascinated alike by the man and the idea. The man himself was so fine, so unquestioning and dauntless, so sure of the thing that he was about to do; and the idea was so dazzling, and it - opened up such a luminous vista of pos- sibilities. They landed on the great river far above San Felipe y Santiago, and at their coming the revolution swept over the republic like the flame of a powder train. There was desperate fighting, and Tarquin saw most of it. And then he met a girl. -There had been an epic struggle for the possession of the plaza of a little town on the Rio Yi. An old church that had witnessed many-such scenes in the days when Spaniard and Portuguese struggled for the possession of Soriano was used as a hospital, and Tarquin en- tered it to have an arm, pierced by a ball, dressed. The flags were covered with wounded and dying. Men groaned in agony, and called on Heaven. At the foot of the crucified Christ that stood at the altar rail a man with his stomach torn open by a piece of shell clung to the cross, and raised his bloodless and pain-con- torted face in the endeavor to kiss the nailed, bleeding feet of the Savior, perhaps as a last prayer for pardon. As Tarquin stared at him his grasp re- laxed, and he fell dead in a red puddle on anather man, who screamed with pain and blasphemed horribly. A priest was among the wounded, ad- ministering the sacraments and dressing wounds, and the girl was helping him. She came quickly to Tarquin to band- age his arm. She was young, slim, and had curious, half-slanted eyes, like a gypsy of Albaicin. The hands that deftly and calmly bound up his arm were scarce as wide as Tarquin’s two fingers. “Who are you?” said Tarquin in a whisper. The slanted eyes looked into his, and he saw that they were of that rare green color that is considered the ultimate beauty in Spain. The color fled from her face, and she strove to answer. “T will come back when it is over,” said Tarquin, and then he went forth to the battle to be swept on in the march that they had commenced to San Felipe y Santiago, while she returned to her task of succoring the wounded. They had seen each other but a mo- ment; they had met and known and loved each other in a single glance. It was the last spark of magic that kindled into flame the youth that he thought had been burned out seven years before. Life? Had he ever thought it was a problem, an enigma? He loved a friend—Zumalacarregui; he loved a girl—he did not even know her name; and he had an idea to fight and live or die for. That was the answer to the problem of life; to love and to work. — The revolution had run over Soriano like a train of powder, but it had died in one locality as soon as it lighted in another. After the first success of sur- prise, the insurrectionists were every- where defeated. Tarquin, separated from Zumalacar- EORNICLOOLK (C@