ST. CHARLES HOTEL, NEW ORLEANS
Six months ago had anyone told me that the day would come when I wouldfeel thankful for the loss of my grandfather, I would have struck him.But for the last week I have been almost thankful that he is dead. Theworst that could occur has happened. I am in bitter disgrace, and Iam grateful that grandfather died before it came upon me. I have beendismissed from the Academy. The last of the "Fighting" Macklins hasbeen declared unfit to hold the President's commission. I am cast outirrevocably; there is no appeal against the decision. I shall neverchange the gray for the blue. I shall never see the U. S. on mysaddle-cloth, nor salute my country's flag as it comes fluttering downat sunset.
That I am on my way to try and redeem myself is only an attempt to patchup the broken pieces. The fact remains that the army has no use for me.I have been dismissed from West Point, in disgrace. It was a girl whobrought it about, or rather my own foolishness over a girl. And beforethat there was much that led up to it. It is hard to write about it, butin these memoirs I mean to tell everything--the good, with the bad. Andas I deserve no excuse, I make none.
During that winter, after the death of my grandfather, and the springwhich had followed, I tried hard to do well at the Point. I wantedto show them that though my grandfather was gone, his example and hiswishes still inspired me. And though I was not a studious cadet, I wasa smart soldier, and my demerits, when they came, were for smoking in myroom or for breaking some other such silly rule, and never for slouchingthrough the manual or coming on parade with my belts twisted. And at theend of the second year I had been promoted from corporal to be a cadetfirst sergeant, so that I was fourth in command over a company ofseventy. Although this gave me the advantage of a light after "taps"until eleven o'clock, my day was so taken up with roll-calls, riding andevening drills and parade, that I never seemed to find time to cram mymechanics and chemistry, of which latter I could never see any possiblebenefit. How a knowledge of what acid will turn blue litmus-paper red isgoing to help an officer to find fodder for his troop horses, or inspirehim to lead a forlorn hope, was then, and still is, beyond my youthfulcomprehension.
But these studies were down on the roster, and whether I thought wellof them or not I was marked on them and judged accordingly. But I cannotclaim that it was owing to them or my failure to understand them that mydismissal came, for, in spite of the absence of 3's in my markings andthe abundance of 2's, I was still a soldierly cadet, and in spite of thefact that I was a stupid student, I made an excellent drill-master.
The trouble, when it came, was all my own making, and my dismissal wasentirely due to an act of silly recklessness and my own idiocy. I hadtaken chances before and had not been caught; several times I ran thesentries at night for the sake of a noisy, drunken spree at a road-sidetavern, and several times I had risked my chevrons because I did notchoose to respect the arbitrary rules of the Academy which chafed myspirit and invited me to rebellion. It was not so much that I enjoyedthose short hours of freedom, which I snatched in the face of suchserious penalties, but it was the risk of the thing itself whichattracted me, and which stirred the spirit of adventure that at timessways us all.
It was a girl who brought about my dismissal. I do not mean that she wasin any way to blame, but she was the indirect cause of my leavingthe Academy. It was a piece of fool's fortune, and I had not even theknowledge that I cared in the least for the girl to console me. She wasonly one of the several "piazza girls," as we called certain ones ofthose who were staying at Cranston's, with whom I had danced, to whomI had made pretty speeches, and had given the bell button that was sewnjust over my heart. She certainly was not the best of them, for I cansee now that she was vain and shallow, with a pert boldness, which Imistook for vivacity and wit. Three years ago, at the age of twenty, myknowledge of women was so complete that I divided them into six classes,and as soon as I met a new one I placed her in one of these classes andcreated her according to the line of campaign I had laid down as properfor that class. Now, at twenty-three, I believe that there are as manydifferent kinds of women as there are women, but that all kinds aregood. Some women are better than others, but all are good, and all aredifferent. This particular one unknowingly did me a great harm, butothers have given me so much that is for good, that the balance sideis in their favor. If a man is going to make a fool of himself, Ipersonally would rather see him do it on account of a woman than for anyother cause. For centuries Antony has been held up to the scorn of theworld because he deserted his troops and his fleet, and sacrificed theRoman Empire for the sake of Cleopatra. Of course, that is the one thinga man cannot do, desert his men and betray his flag; but, if he is goingto make a bad break in life, I rather like his doing it for the loveof a woman. And, after all, it is rather fine to have for once feltsomething in you so great that you placed it higher than the RomanEmpire.
I haven't the excuse of any great feeling in my case. She, the girl atCranston's, was leaving the Point on the morrow, and she said if all Ihad sworn to her was true I would run the sentries that night todance with her at the hop. Of course, love does not set tests nor asksacrifices, but I had sworn that I had loved her, as I understood theworld, and I told her I would come. I came, and I was recognized asI crossed the piazza to the ball-room. On the morning following I wascalled to the office of the Commandant and was told to pack my trunk. Iwas out of uniform in an hour, and that night at parade the order of theWar Department dismissing me from the service was read to the assembledbattalion.
{Illustration: We walked out to the woods.}
I cannot write about that day. It was a very bright, beautiful day, fullof life and sunshine, and I remember that I wondered how the world couldbe so cruel and unfeeling. The other second classmen came in while I waspacking my things to say that they were sorry. They were kind enough;and some of them wanted me to go off to New York to friends of theirsand help upset it and get drunk. Their idea was, I suppose, to show theauthorities how mistaken they had been in not making me an officer. ButI could not be civil to any of them. I hated them all, and the place,and everyone in it. When I was dismissed my first thought was one ofutter thankfulness that my grandfather died before the disgrace cameupon me, and after that I did not much care. I was desperate andbitterly miserable. I knew, as the authorities could not know, that noone in my class felt more loyal to the service than myself; that I wouldhave died twenty deaths for my country; that there was no one companypost in the West, however distant from civilization, that would not havebeen a paradise to me; that there was no soldier in the army who wouldhave served more devotedly than myself. And now I was found wantingand thrown out to herd with civilians, as unfit to hold the President'scommission. After my first outbreak of impotent rage--for I blamedeveryone but myself--remorse set in, and I thought of grandfather andof how much he had done for our country, and how we had talked soconfidently together of the days when I would follow in his footsteps,as his grandchild, and as the son of "Fighting Macklin."
All my life I had talked and thought of nothing else, and now, just asI was within a year of it, I was shown the door which I never can enteragain.
That it might be easier for us when I arrived, I telegraphed Beatricewhat had happened, and when I reached the house the same afternoonshe was waiting for me at the door, as though I was coming home fora holiday and it was all as it might have been. But neither of us wasdeceived, and without a word we walked out of the garden and up the hillto the woods where we had last been together six months before, Sincethen all had changed. Summer had come, the trees were heavy with leaves,and a warm haze hung over the river and the Palisades beyond We seatedourselves on a fallen tree at the top of the hill and sat in silence,looking down into the warm, beautiful valley. It was Beatrice who wasthe first to speak.
"I have been thinking of what you can do," she began, gently, "and itseems to me, Royal, that what you need now is a good rest. It has been ahard winter for you. You have had to meet the two greatest trials that Ihope will ever come to you. Y
ou took the first one well, as you should,and you will take this lesser one well also; I know you will. But youmust give yourself time to get over this--this disappointment, and tolook about you. You must try to content yourself at home with mother andwith me. I am so selfish that I am almost glad it has happened, for nowfor a time we shall have you with us, all to ourselves, and we can takecare of you and see that you are not gloomy and morbid. And then whenthe fall comes you will have decided what is best to do, and you willhave a rest and a quiet summer with those who understand you and loveyou. And then you can go out into the world to do your work, whateveryour work is to be."
I turned toward her and stared at her curiously.
"Whatever my work is to be," I repeated. "That was decided for me,Beatrice, when I was a little boy."
She returned my look for a moment in some doubt, and then leaned eagerlyforward. "You mean to enlist?" she asked.
"To enlist? Not I!" I answered hotly. "If I'm not fit to be an officernow, I never shall be, at least not by that road. Do you know what itmeans? It's the bitterest life a man can follow. He is neither the onething nor the other. The enlisted men suspect him, and the officers maynot speak with him. I know one officer who got his commission that way.He swears now he would rather have served the time in jail. The officersat the post pointed him out to visitors, as the man who had failed atWest Point, and who was working his way up from the ranks, and the menof his company thought that _he_ thought, God help him, that he was toogood for them, and made his life hell. Do you suppose I'd show mymusket to men of my old mess, and have the girls I've danced with see memarching up and down a board walk with a gun on my shoulder? Do you seeme going on errands for the men I've hazed, and showing them my socksand shirts at inspection so they can give me a good mark for being aclean and tidy soldier? No! I'll not enlist. If I'm not good enough tocarry a sword I'm not good enough to carry a gun, and the United StatesArmy can struggle along without me."
Beatrice shook her head.
"Don't say anything you'll be sorry for, Royal," she warned me.
"You don't understand," I interrupted. "I'm not saying anything againstmy own country or our army--how can I? I've proved clearly enough thatI'm not fit for it. I'm only too grateful, I've had three years in thebest military school in the world, at my country's expense, and I'mgrateful. Yes, and I'm miserable, too, that I have failed to deserveit."
I stood up and straightened my shoulders. "But perhaps there are othercountries less difficult to please," I said, "where I can lose myselfand be forgotten, and where I can see service. After all, a soldier'sbusiness is to fight, not to sit at a post all day or to do a clerk'swork at Washington."
Even as I spoke these chance words I seemed to feel the cloud of failureand disgrace passing from me. I saw vaguely a way to redeem myself, and,though I had spoken with bravado and at random, the words stuck in mymind, and my despondency fell from me like a heavy knapsack.
"Come," I said, cheerfully, "there can be no talk of a holiday for meuntil I have earned it. You know I would love to stay here now with youand Aunt in the old house, but I have no time to mope and be petted. Ifyou fall down, you must not lie in the road and cry over your bruisedshins; you must pick yourself up and go on again, even if you are a bitsore and dirty."
We said nothing more, but my mind was made up, and when we reachedthe house I went at once to my room and repacked my trunk for a longjourney. It was a leather trunk in which my grandfather used to carryhis sword and uniform, and in it I now proudly placed the presentationsword he had bequeathed to me in his will, and my scanty wardrobe and$500 of the money he had left to me. All the rest of his fortune, withthe exception of the $2,000 a year he had settled upon me, he had, I amglad to say, bequeathed with the house to Aunt Mary and Beatrice. When Ihad finished my packing I joined them at supper, and such was my elationat the prospect of at once setting forth to redeem myself, and to seekmy fortune, that to me the meal passed most cheerfully. When it wasfinished, I found the paper of that morning, and spreading it out uponthe table began a careful search in the foreign news for what tidingsthere might be of war.
I told Beatrice what I was doing, and without a word she brought out myold school atlas, and together under the light of the student-lamp wesought out the places mentioned in the foreign despatches, and discussedthem, and the chances they might offer me.
There were, I remember, at the time that paper was printed, strainedrelations existing between France and China over the copper mines inTonkin; there was a tribal war in Upper Burmah with native troops; therewas a threat of complications in the Balkans, but the Balkans, as I havesince learned, are always with us and always threatening. Nothing inthe paper seemed to offer me the chance I sought, and apparently peacesmiled on every other portion of the globe.
"There is always the mounted police in Canada," I said, tentatively.
"No," Beatrice answered, quietly, and without asking her reasons Iaccepted her decision and turned again to the paper. And then my eyesfell on a paragraph which at first I had overlooked--a modest, briefdespatch tucked away in a corner, and unremarkable, except for itsstrange date-line. It was headed, "The Revolt in Honduras." I pointedto it with my finger, and Beatrice leaned forward with her head close tomine, and we read it together. "Tegucigalpa, June 17th," it read. "Therevolution here has assumed serious proportions. President Alvarez hasproclaimed martial law over all provinces, and leaves tomorrow for SantaBarbara, where the Liberal forces under the rebel leader, ex-PresidentLouis Garcia, were last in camp. General Laguerre is coming fromNicaragua to assist Garcia with his foreign legion of 200 men. He hasseized the Nancy Miller, belonging to the Isthmian Line, and has fittedher with two Gatling guns. He is reported to be bombarding the townson his way along the coast, and a detachment of Government troops ismarching to Porto Cortez to prevent his landing. His force is chieflycomposed of American and other aliens, who believe the overthrow of thepresent government will be beneficial to foreign residents."
"General Laguerre!" I cried, eagerly, "that is not a Spanish name.General Laguerre must be a Frenchman. And it says that the men withhim are Americans, and that the present government is against allforeigners."
I drew back from the table with a laugh, and stood smiling at Beatrice,but she shook her head, even though she smiled, too.
"Oh, not that," she said.
"My dear Beatrice," I expostulated, "it certainly isn't right thatAmerican interests in--what's the name of the place--in Honduras, shouldbe jeopardized, is it? And by an ignorant half-breed like this PresidentWhat's-his-name? Certainly not. It must be stopped, even if we have torequisition every steamer the Isthmian Line has afloat."
"Oh, Royal," Beatrice cried, "you are not serious. No, you wouldn't,you couldn't be so foolish. That's no affair of yours. That's notyour country. Besides, that is not war; it is speculation. You are agentleman, not a pirate and a filibuster."
"William Walker was a filibuster," I answered. "He took Nicaraguawith 200 men and held it for two years against 20,000. I must beginsomewhere," I cried, "why not there? A girl can't understand thesethings--at least, some girls can't--but I would have thought you would.What does it matter what I do or where I go?" I broke out, bitterly. "Ihave made a failure of my life at the very start. I am sick and sore anddesperate. I don't care where I go or what---"
I would have ranted on for some time, no doubt, but that a look fromBeatrice stopped me in mid-air, and I stood silent, feeling somewhatfoolish.
"I can understand this much," she said, "that you are a foolish boy. Howdare you talk of having made a failure of your life? Your life has notyet begun. You have yet to make it, and to show yourself somethingmore than a boy." She paused, and then her manner changed, and she cametoward me, looking up at me with eyes that were moist and softened witha sweet and troubled tenderness, and she took my hand and held it closein both of hers.
I had never seen her look more beautiful than she did at that moment.If it had been any other woman in the world but her, I
would have caughther in my arms and kissed her again and again, but because it was sheI could not touch her, but drew back and looked down into her eyes withthe sudden great feeling I had for her. And so we stood for a moment,seeing each other as we had never seen each other before. And then shecaught her breath quickly and drew away. But she turned her face towardme at once, and looked up at me steadily.
"I am so fond of you, Royal," she said, bravely, "you know, that--thatI cannot bear to think of you doing anything in this world that is notfine and for the best. But if you will be a knight errant, and seek outdangers and fight windmills, promise me to be a true knight and thatyou will fight only when you must and only on the side that is just, andthen you will come back bringing your sheaves with you."
I did not dare to look at her, but I raised her hand and held thetips of her fingers against my lips, and I promised, but I would havepromised anything at that moment.
"If I am to be a knight," I said, and my voice sounded very hoarse andboyish, so that I hardly recognized it as my own, "you must give me yourcolors to wear on my lance, and if any other knight thinks his colorsfairer, or the lady who gave them more lovely than you, I shall killhim."
She laughed softly and moved away.
"Of course," she said, "of course, you must kill him." She stepped a fewfeet from me, and, raising her hands to her throat, unfastened a littlegold chain which she wore around her neck. She took it off and held ittoward me. "Would you like this?" she said. I did not answer, nordid she wait for me to do so, but wound the chain around my wrist andfastened it, and I raised it and kissed it, and neither of us spoke.She went out to the veranda to warn her mother of my departure, and I totell the servants to bring the carriage to the door.
A few minutes later, the suburban train drew out of the station atDobbs Ferry, and I waved my hand to Beatrice as she sat in the carriagelooking after me. The night was warm and she wore a white dress andher head was uncovered. In the smoky glare of the station lamps I couldstill see the soft tints of her hair; and as the train bumped itselftogether and pulled forward, I felt a sudden panic of doubt, a piercingstab at my heart, and something called on me to leap off the car thatwas bearing me away, and go back to the white figure sitting motionlessin the carriage. As I gripped the iron railing to restrain myself, Ifelt the cold sweat springing to the palm of my hand. For a moment Iforgot the end of my long journey. I saw it as something foolish, mad,fantastic. I was snatching at a flash of powder, when I could warm myhands at an open fire. I was deserting the one thing which counted andof which I was certain; the one thing I loved. And then the train turneda curve, the lamps of the station and the white ghostly figure were shutfrom me, and I entered the glaring car filled with close air and smokeand smelling lamps. I seated myself beside a window and leaned far outinto the night, so that the wind of the rushing train beat in my face.
And in a little time the clanking car-wheels seemed to speak to me,beating out the words brazenly so that I thought everyone in the carmust hear them.
"Turn again, turn again, Royal Macklin," they seemed to say to me. "Sheloves you, Royal Macklin, she loves you, she loves you."
And I thought of Dick Whittington when the Bow bells called to him, ashe paused in the country lane to look lack at the smoky roof of London,and they had offered him so little, while for me the words seemed topromise the proudest place a man could hold. And I imagined myself stillat home, working by day in some New York office and coming back by nightto find Beatrice at the station waiting for me, always in a whitedress, and with her brown hair glowing in the light of the lamps. AndI pictured us taking long walks together above the Hudson, and quiet,happy evenings by the fire-side. But the rhythm of the car-wheelsaltered, and from "She loves you, she loves you," the refrain now camebrokenly and fiercely, like the reports of muskets fired in hate andfear, and mixed with their roar and rattle I seemed to distinguish wordsof command in a foreign tongue, and the groans of men wounded anddying. And I saw, rising above great jungles and noisome swamps, along mountain-range piercing a burning, naked sky; and in a pass in themountains a group of my own countrymen, ragged and worn and with eyeslit with fever, waving a strange flag, and beset on every side bydark-faced soldiers, and I saw my own face among them, hollow-cheekedand tanned, with my head bandaged in a scarf; I felt the hot barrel ofa rifle burning my palm, I smelt the pungent odor of spent powder, mythroat and nostrils were assailed with smoke. I suffered all the fiercejoy and agony of battle, and the picture of the white figure of Beatricegrew dim and receded from me, and as it faded the eyes regarded mewistfully and reproached me, but I would not heed them, but turned myown eyes away. And again I saw the menacing negro faces and the burningsunlight and the strange flag that tossed and whimpered in the air abovemy head, the strange flag of unknown, tawdry colors, like the paintedface of a woman in the street, but a flag at which I cheered and shoutedas though it were my own, as though I loved it; a flag for which I wouldfight and die.
The train twisted its length into the great station, the men about merose and crowded down the aisle, and I heard the cries of newsboys andhackmen and jangling car-bells, and all the roar and tumult of a greatcity at night.
But I had already made my choice. Within an hour I had crossed to theJersey side, and was speeding south, south toward New Orleans, towardthe Gulf of Mexico, toward Honduras, to Colonel Laguerre and his foreignlegion.
Captain Macklin: His Memoirs Page 2