Part 27

A gold fringe on the purpling hem Of hills the river runs, As down its long green valley falls The last of summer suns. Along its tawny gravel bed Broad-flowing, swift, and still, As if its meadow-levels felt The hurry of the hill, Noiseless between its banks of green From curve to curve it slips; The drowsy maple shadows rest Like fingers on its lips.

--WHITTIER.

To come down from two girls of your own to none, is a long step; and I think if ever Cadet Charlemagne was ready to put the full value on the many fair and gay women at the Point, it was just then, when his sisters had gone. Not another sight of his own to be hoped for till a whole long year should roll away. First-class camp though it was, I think he would have liked the busy term-time better.

But he talked with Miss Lane, he walked with Miss Newcomb; and did the civil thing to a handful of new visitors; went to picnics, teas, and such like merrymakings; and through it all found himself pining for Cherry, and wondering what they were all about at home. In the very midst of the frolic, with bright eyes and soft hands on every side, the refrain of the old song would keep coming up:

"O this is no' my ain lassie! Fair though the lassie be."

Such a mood works differently with different men; with Magnus it wrought in a very becoming fashion. For the high mark put upon the three girls far away, set the standard for his behaviour to those near by. "Help them," Cherry had said. And so, over his ordinary good manners and winning ways, there had come that grave air of chivalry, that deference to women _because_ they were women, which sets off a man's own manhood as nothing else can. His heart was elsewhere, but his best service was theirs to command. Now and then he ventured a reproof.

"You must not do that," he said one day to Miss Lane; receiving an instant "Thank you!" which spoke her good stuff. And even when he came between Miss Saucy and some lawless escapade with a firm: "You shall not do that!" the words were so courteous and earnest that the girl yielded with:

"There, there--I won't. Hush up!"

It was kind work to do, and the giving pleasure was always pleasant; but for his own delights Magnus fell back into his solitary woodside walks, with now and then a long pull upon the river. Up and down the shining current; fighting the wind, breasting the tide; tossed with mimic billows, or shivering a mirror of blue; so he went. Now coasting along at oar's length from the shore, where the hills rose up in castellated masses of rock and the cool shadow lay deep; then resting on his oars, and gazing through the peerless north gateway at the flood of sunset over Newburgh Bay. Sometimes showing it all to Cherry, "on their wedding trip"; or again, sent back here as Commandant, with Cherry the fair Frau Commander of the Post. And then--

A faint strain of music broke in upon his dream; the oars hung motionless, dripping their bright drops.

A soldier's funeral was passing slowly up the winding Camptown road; the grave notes of the band coming clear and soft across the water; the flag drooped midway. Magnus reverently bared his head. Then he sat listening.

There was so little tide that a dip of the oars now and then kept the boat in place; and Magnus sat there motionless, until the third volley rang out among the echoes, and to the usual lively racket the men came marching home.

"Yes!" he said to himself, as he began to pull down stream again. "When the time comes for Old Glory to wrap me up, let them bring me here and lay me there, to sleep among the hills."

And with a shake of the head at his own musings, Cadet Charlemagne made the boat fairly spin till it reached the landing, and dashed into the sallyport with full five minutes to spare.

The Fourth of July that year rose exceedingly hot. A misty haze veiled the mountains, the dew lay thick on every blade of grass; the silent black-mouthed guns were dripping with moisture.

Being a holiday, even the reveille gun took an extra nap; and the camp lay in absolute stillness for a half hour beyond its usual time. Only the sentries paced up and down in the heightening glare; and far away in the Logtown regions you could hear the sputtering of fire-crackers and know that Independence Day was begun.

Meanwhile, by the same token, a lively ambush was preparing in the quiet camp--a thing not distinctly set down and forbidden in West Point rules, and with what we call constructive evidence cadets concern themselves but little. And so with happy unconcern, Magnus and Twinkle, and pretty much all the first class who were not on duty, arranged the frolic. And for once the plebs liked their orders.

Up came the sun, touching Crownest, gilding Fort Putnam, peering into every bush and tree; and from the other side up came the band, their white helmets making a winding line of light across the plain. They took post at one corner of the camp; and then, as the Stars and Stripes swung slowly up to the head of the flagstaff, began their march and their music, saluting the colours.

You have all heard how the piper of Hamelin played the rats out, where none were seen before; and something like that happened now. The camp was for all useful purposes asleep. But as soon as the inspiring notes of "The Red, White, and Blue" broke up the stillness, there came a stir.

At quick step, and to a full-blast medley of national airs, the band passed through the camp; up A Company Street and down B Company Street; and as they went, out poured a chance-medley crowd to match. A crowd of plebs, wrapped in sheets, in blankets, in every sort of harum-scarum costume; with brooms for muskets, and the strict orders of upper classmen for regulations.

With all other cadet eyes peering through tent curtains to watch, the crazy throng came after the band in full procession. And even when the officer in charge woke up to the state of things, these agile boys kept out of the way; slipped through between tents to the next Company street, and then re-forming and marching on joyously, until, as the band came round to its starting point, and "Yankee Doodle" filled all the air, the queer contingent drew up in order before them, solemnly presented arms (alias broom-sticks) scattered, dived, and disappeared. And only the most sedate and orderly faces could be seen at roll-call.

That was great fun. Better than the Fourth of July dinner, Magnus declared.

The usual festivities graced the morning. The muster, and the march across the plain to the old trees before the library. The band played, Magnus read the "Declaration," and Mr. Bouché made a speech which proved him, in theory, a model patriot.

Then the midday salute of forty odd guns thundered out among the hills; returned by them in six times as many echoes; and the work of the day was done. Once upon a time, when powder was cheap, there used to be a salute at sunrise, too, and at sundown.

Magnus strolled away to one of his haunts by the river, and sat himself down to watch the tide come in. It was almost full flood; the water creeping silently up, hiding every mud-stained rock, floating off the drift from every corner. One could see how it picked up its freight of chips and sticks and sawdust; but the current was so strong, the water so bright, that the dark streaks hardly counted. In fact, Magnus enjoyed the whole process, finding fair images for himself.

"Just so," he thought, "would the June-tide set in, when:

"Whatever of life has ebbed away Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer, Into every green inlet, and creek, and bay."

Bearing away then, of course, to parts unknown, all the disagreeables of life; studies, drills, and regulations. Wave motion giving place to Cherry. "It is so pleasant," said one of these pre-graduates to me, "to think of never again having to do anything I don't want to do!"

Magnus was so deep in his dreams down there one day that a step close by made him start. This was no gauze-winged vision, however, but a poor, homesick pleb. In the gray, baggy suit of first initiation, with clouded brow and an air of general forlornness, he looked as little like flood tide as a fellow could do.

He glanced at the trim first classman down among the bushes, went a few steps on, turned, hesitated, and finally came up behind Magnus.

"Shall I disturb you, sir?" he said deprecatingly.

"No; come on. Rocks are Government property. You're Mr. Renwick, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

The boy sat himself down at the water's edge, and looked gloomily off. He was a slight fellow, just touching the regulation age; fair-skinned, soft-haired, with an unmistakable air of love and petting about him. "A mother's boy" all over. There were hearts aching for a sight of him somewhere, without a doubt.

Magnus eyed him a while from a first-class standpoint; then his look softened. What wretched, desperate hours he himself had spent in that very dress among those very rocks. And then of a sudden Cadet Kindred fell to wondering what the Lord would say to this poor heart, were he there himself in bodily presence? And the reply was instant:

"Be pitiful, be courteous."

"You were in the pleb formation on the Fourth?" he said abruptly.

"Yes, sir."

"Liked it?"

"No, sir. At least I liked it well enough, but I didn't enjoy it."

"Why not?"

"Last Fourth was better."

"Oh, was it!" said Magnus ironically. "Did you think to bring home-doings in your pocket when you came to West Point?"

"No, sir," said Renwick, with a sigh. "I suppose not."

"If you had all you wanted at home, why didn't you stay there?"

"I had _not_ all I wanted," said the boy, rousing up. "I wanted an education, and we were too poor for me to get it anywhere else."

"My case precisely. And to-day you think home is worth all the education that ever was heard of. So have I, a thousand times. But it isn't, for all."

"Did _you_ ever feel so, Mr. Kindred?" said the boy, changing his seat for one a little nearer. "Everybody says you've had a clear run of luck, straight through."

"Stuff!" Magnus answered him. "Are you a Christian, Mr. Renwick?"

"I hope so, sir."

"Hope so! Well, are you an American?"

"Why, of course I am."

"How do you know? You may be a Chinese."

"Well, I know--whether I can tell how or not," said the boy.

"Certain sure where you belong in this world, and not sure at all where you belong in the next. Unsound business, Mr. Renwick."

Renwick looked at him.

"You are a queer man!" he said.

"My one distinction. Found I couldn't lead off in anything else, here. What are _you_ going to be?"

"A success--if I can, sir."

"Well, the only way to success is, to succeed."

"I know as much as that myself, sir."

"Practise it then. You might as well try to take that hill at one jump, as think to be a success in January and June, and a failure all the rest of the time. Unless you're a fine mixture of laziness and mathematics. I am not myself."

"Very little mathematics about me," said Renwick; "and they speak as if that was everything here. So I don't see what I am to do."

"Do?" Magnus said. "Why, dig like a prairie dog! Things are not so deep down that they _can't_ be routed out. And get all the help you can, and take all you can get."

"Do you mean 'ponies'?" said Renwick with a doubtful look.

"I do _not_ mean 'ponies'!"

"But they say _you_ are always so busy?"

"O yes, I'm busy enough; have to look out for my own scalp, you know. My advice is always at your service, but my time most generally not."

"Then I don't see what you mean, sir."

"Have you a Bible, Mr. Renwick?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

"Read it?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, at one of those rare intervals," said Magnus, "put three marks in it. A red one here:

"'Call upon me here in the day of trouble. I will deliver thee.'"

The boy drew a long sigh.

"Mother's verse," he said. "But that will not bring me home."

"No, and you don't want to go. Then a long blue one here:

"'What time I am afraid I will trust in thee.'"

"Hold on there," said Renwick. "I'm not afraid, sir, and I don't expect to be."

"You will be, quite unexpectedly, some day, when you get into the section room and find you have left your wits in barracks. But put a broad white mark here, and _keep_ it white:

"'Walk in the light.'"

"Keep out of all dark ways, Mr. Renwick. You can have the Lord's help every time and all the time, on those terms."

Renwick looked at him again.

"Well, that's the first time I ever heard of getting through West Point _so_," he said.

"Tiptop way, you'll find," said Magnus.

"And that is your whole list of directions?"

"Finished up with the first one: dig! You must work like all the beavers between whiles, or you'll never have the face to pray such prayers."

"I heard you were odd," was Renwick's comment.

"And now you think the half wasn't told you. Sound doctrine, nevertheless."

"But mathematics!" said the boy; "and natural philosophy! and Spanish!"

"Know them all through now, don't you?" said Magnus; "and so want no help."

"No, no, sir! of course not. But I mean--Mr. Kindred, do all the head men get to the top of the class your way?"

"Probably not."

"Then why do you lay it out for me?"

"Only sure way I know."

"To push me up head?"

"To put you somewhere where it's worth while for a man to stand," said Magnus. "You might come out head--and be a disgrace to the service. You might go down before French twistifications, get dropped--and live to bless the country some other way."

"I thought you meant I should be sure to graduate," said Renwick, disappointed.

"There's but one thing sure." And rising to his feet, Cadet Kindred chanted out a scrap of an old hymn.

"Looking off unto Jesus, I go not astray: My eyes are on him And he shows me the way. The path may seem dark As he leads me along; But following Jesus, I cannot go wrong."

"Does it ever seem dark to you, sir?" Renwick said wistfully.

"Lots of times."

"It is so hateful here," the boy burst forth; "the place, and the drills, and the cadets, and everything!"

"Yes, isn't it!" said Magnus heartily. "I have felt just so. Why, there are days when I should like to shoot the cadets, burn down the barracks, pitch all those old study books into the blaze, and tie the Tacs within roasting distance."

The two looked at each other, and then both broke into a laugh.

"Splendid old place, isn't it?" said Mr. Kindred. "And the drills are as good as the rack for stretching a man. And the cadets aren't much worse than the rest of the world. You and I are two of them. Come on! Let's go take a look at the flag. That always puts me to rights when I turn sour. 'Hail, Columbia, happy land!' and West Point is part of it."

"The sweet red, white, and blue, The brave red, white and blue, Has done so much for me, And done so much for you."

LII

THE BIG RECEPTION

When shall I come to the top of that same hill? ----You do climb up it now; look how we labour.

--SHAKESPEARE.

A very busy six months followed first-class camp; the autumn full of drills and study, the winter of examination, hard work, and the Hundredth Night. With the opening spring poured in the usual flood of tradesmen and their wares; company drills began, early visitors came, and June was coming. The lower classmen, as usual, were on tiptoe with glee and excitement; and, also as usual, were the ballasting thoughts in many a first-class head. Questions of regiments, of posts, and of girls.

But for Charlemagne Kindred all that was settled. If he were ordered to the North Pole, and stationed on the tip end of it, he should still take Cherry. And if he could not keep the wind from roughening her soft hair, Lieutenant Kindred would be a much more incompetent person than Cadet Charlemagne thought possible. Cherry was just the girl for Arctic regions; she would sketch the icebergs, sing to the seals, and teach them Greek. And in the long evenings by their driftwood fire, they could plan out where to live when he wore three stars on his shoulder, and was retired on full pay for special services as yet unknown. A little soon for that, to be sure; but there is no harm in being beforehand, even "quite some," as they say in New Jersey. They could draw plans for the house, and so save on architects when the time came.

Other big questions came up for other men. Should this one assume at once the debt which the dear home people shouldered so patiently to send him to West Point? And how much can this other save from his slender pay, to help educate his young brothers and sisters? It touches one's heart to see the dainty articles of dress that are bought for the girls at home, whose life has been chiefly homespun.

Then what work will they find to do at the strange, far-away posts? Work in that other army to which, as boys, they were mustered in? For there are many church members in the corps; and I doubt if there is one to whom the old vows do not come up in mind before graduation. Sometimes, perhaps, with a never-so-keen perception of what Paul meant when he said: "I have finished my course; I have kept the faith." Paul could have claimed the lower honours too; learned, skilled, an acute theologian, a matchless writer. But no earthly plaudits were in his thoughts; only the Lord's "Well done"; the crown which those Royal hands would give him "at that day."

The spring flew on, tossing off its freight of snowdrops, violets, columbine, and apple blossoms. Twenty-three days to June, twenty-two days; then came more tidings.

Mr. Erskine was failing, so the mother wrote; failing steadily and fast. It was doubtful if Magnus would see his friend again; and the young cadet's heart went out with a great yearning to the lonely girl of whom he would so soon be the chief earthly protector. And once again Magnus gave thanks for that grace which had brought him through the fire, and made him fit to take such a charge. But none of them could come for graduation.

"Of course we cannot leave Cherry," so Violet wrote; "one of us is up there all the time. Cherry looks like a white wind-flower. O, Magnus, I wish you were here!" And Magnus gave a groan and turned to his tally: twenty-one days to June.

But he did what he could. He wrote Cherry a letter every day, saying everything he could to beguile her thoughts. He sent the last picture of himself, and the class picture, and a photograph of the up-river view. In every letter went his marks for the day, with what bits of mischief or of news the Post could furnish. He told what girls he had walked with, and of his rambles alone; giving her much to read and to talk of. With all this he studied untiringly, refused invitations, went up in his marks, and was often fagged enough when tattoo beat; but less with the work than with excitement and tension.

He had applied for a regiment not then near San Carlos; but so much depended upon how many men went to Willet's Point that he could guess little as to his own placing. One thing was sure, he was learning fast. Lessons of patience, of self-control, of trust; so winning true promotion, day by day. Finding out also, with new understanding, the exceeding helpfulness of prayer; learning to lay down cares and questions at the feet of that blessed Lord Jesus who "doeth all things well." Rank and post, life and death, could safely be left with Him! A great peace and a great strength were in the face of Magnus Kindred in those days.

If he seemed graver than usual, it was that with every chance his thoughts flew away. Or, rather, were some of them always in that far-off sick-room. For whoever else might be with her, Magnus knew, unerringly, how Cherry's heart reached out for him. How, in every hard moment, with every new token of the coming sorrow, the longing for him leaped up and grew. Sometimes it made him almost desperate enough to go, at all risks.

As a last comfort to himself and to her, Magnus took off his class ring and expressed it on, bidding her wear it till he came to put another in its place. She would not take it last summer, but she must _now_. And there was no telling what that ring was to the girl, and to her father as well, making the bond so tangible and real. Cherry studied it in her lonely night watches, and Mr. Erskine's heart gave thanks at every gleam of the stone as her hands' sweet ministry came about him. While far away, Magnus, on his part, was verifying and honouring all their trust.

So came on June, with her rose-trimmed slippers; and it seemed that first summer afternoon as if the whole countryside poured down upon West Point. Long before four o'clock the seats were full, then crowded; the wagon-load of campstools vanished as they came; and soon even standing-room was at a premium. And when the Board of Visitors had reviewed the Corps, and the Corps the Board, everybody who had the right crowded in to the reception, while the left-out throng whirled round with one accord, and sat staring with all its eyes at the open door and solid front of the Superintendent's quarters. If only X-rays had been on hand! The interest grew to a keen point when the first class (all together then, though now they go scattering in) passed through the gate, doffed their plumed hats, and vanished within the doorway.

Magnus was claimed by old friends and presented to new, had a great grip of Mr. Wayne's hand, and brought little Miss Bee a plate of lobster salad deeply bordered with sunshine.

I think Cadet Charlemagne had learned a little more about girls than he once knew; and the light and colour that came into this particular shy face at sight of him, smote him with a sense of at least possible past mistakes. She had no need to think so much of his small civilities. And Mr. Kindred bowed himself away, and made merry in a gauzy circle of colours near by. And then, when Miss Bee looked so left out in the cold, Magnus rushed up again, took her plate, brought her an ice, and made things worse than ever. Manlike, he thought the fast-and-loose plan worked to admiration.

Now privately, Miss Bee cared nothing for lobster and very little for ice; but it felt so good to be noticed and to have something to do, that I think she hardly knew what she had. And had not Mr. Kindred said the ice would "refresh" her? So she ate a little, played with it a little, and heard, nolens-volens, a good deal of talk.

"Why, here is Mr. Kindred!" said one of his Christmas friends. "All on tiptoe for shoulder-straps."

"Mr. Kindred has small occasion to stand on 'tiptoe' for anything," said Miss Lane. "But what have you done with your beautiful class ring? Not lost it?"

"Hardly, since I know where it is. Lost things are said to keep cool company in the moon."

"What is keeping company with your ring?" said Miss Saucy. "Your heart, of course?"

"Of course."

"Will she be here for the hop?"

"Since when were hearts feminine? No, I do not think 'she' will," said Magnus. "Hearts are best at home, hop nights."

The talk went on, the crowd drifted; and little Miss Bee in her corner held her plate and ate her ice, and tasted nothing. Of course, she had seen that the ring was missing; but then no girl had boasted its possession. And men took whims.

What tales dark corners could tell; of hard-pressed fights, of struggles, of victory! The band played, the throng increased--then began to thin out. Presently Magnus came and took the plate from the weary fingers, asking if she would have anything more.