DOBBS FERRY, Sunday, Midnight
It's all over. It will be a long time before I add another chapter tomy "Memoirs." When I have written this one they are to be sealed, andto-morrow they are to be packed away in Aunt Mary's cedar chest. I amnow writing these lines after everyone else has gone to bed.
It happened after dinner. Aunt Mary was upstairs, and Beatrice was atthe piano. We were waiting for Lowell, who had promised to come up andspend the evening. I was sitting at the centre-table, pretending toread, but watching Beatrice. Her back was turned toward me, so I couldstare at her as long as I pleased. The light of the candles on each sideof the music-rack fell upon her hair, and made it flash and burn. Shehad twisted it high, in a coil, and there never was anything morelovely than the burnished copper against the white glow of her skin,nor anything so noble as the way her head rose upon her neck and slopingshoulders. It was like a flower on a white stem.
She was not looking at the music before her, but up at nothing, whileher hands ran over the keyboard, playing an old sailor's "chantey" whichLowell has taught us. It carries with it all the sweep and murmur of thesea at night.
She could not see me, she had forgotten that I was even in the room,and I was at liberty to gaze at her and dream of her undisturbed. I feltthat, without that slight, white figure always at my side, the life Iwas to begin on the morrow, or any other life, would be intolerable.Without the thought of Beatrice to carry me through the day I could notbear it. Except for her, what promise was there before me of reward orhonor? I was no longer "an officer and a gentleman," I was a copyingclerk, "a model letter-writer." I could foresee the end. I would becomea nervous, knowing, smug-faced civilian. Instead of clean liquors, Iwould poison myself with cocktails and "quick-order" luncheons. I wouldcarry a commuter's ticket. In time I might rise to the importance ofcalling the local conductors by their familiar names. "Bill, what wasthe matter with the 8.13 this morning?" From to-morrow forward I wouldbe "our" Mr. Macklin, "Yours of even date received. Our Mr. Macklin willsubmit samples of goods desired." "Mr." Macklin! "Our" Mr. Macklin! YeGods! Schwartz any servitude, I would struggle to rise above the mosthateful surroundings.
I had just registered this mental vow, my eyes were still fixedappealingly on the woman who was all unconscious of the sacrifice I wasabout to make for her, when the servant came into the room and handedme a telegram. I signed for it, and she went out. Beatrice had not heardher enter, and was still playing. I guessed the telegram was from Lowellto say he could not get away, and I was sorry. But as I tore open theenvelope, I noticed that it was not the usual one of yellow paper, butof a pinkish white. I had never received a cablegram. I did not knowthat this was one. I read the message, and as I read it the blood inevery part of my body came to a sudden stop. There was a strange buzzingin my ears, the drums seemed to have burst with a tiny report. The shockwas so tremendous that it seemed Beatrice must have felt it too, and Ilooked up at her stupidly. She was still playing.
The cablegram had been sent that morning from Marseilles. The messageread, "Commanding Battalion French Zouaves, Tonkin Expedition, holdingposition of Adjutant open for you, rank of Captain, if accept joinMarseilles. Laguerre."
I laid the paper on my knee, and sat staring, scarcely breathing, asthough I were afraid if I moved I would wake. I was trembling and cold,for I was at the parting of the ways, and I knew it. Beyond the lightof the candles, beyond the dull red curtains jealously drawn against thewinter landscape, beyond even the slight, white figure with its crownof burnished copper, I saw the swarming harbor of Marseilles. I saw theswaggering turcos in their scarlet breeches, the crowded troop-ships,and from every ship's mast the glorious tri-color of France; the flagthat in ten short years had again risen, that was flying over advancingcolumns in China, in Africa, in Madagascar; over armies that for AlsaceLorraine were giving France new and great colonies on every seaboardof the world. The thoughts that flew through my brain made my fingersclench until the nails bit into my palms. Even to dream of suchhappiness was actual pain. That this might come to me! To serve underthe tri-color, to be a captain of the Grand Armee, to be one of the armyreared and trained by Napoleon Bonaparte.
I heard a cheery voice, and Lowell passed me, and advanced bowing towardBeatrice, and she turned and smiled at him. But as she rose, she saw myface.
"Roy!" she cried. "What is it? What has happened?"
I watched her coming toward me, as someone projected from another life,a wonderful, beautiful memory, from a life already far in the past. Ihanded her the cablegram and stood up stiffly. My joints were rigid andthe blood was still cold in my veins. She read the message, and gave alittle cry, and stood silent, gazing at me. I motioned her to give it toLowell, who was looking at us anxiously, his eyes filled with concern.
He kept his head lowered over the message for so long, that I thoughthe was reading it several times. When he again raised his face it wasfilled with surprise and disapproval. But beneath, I saw a dawning lookwhich he could not keep down, of a great hope. It was as though he hadbeen condemned to death, and the paper Beatrice had handed him to readhad been his own reprieve.
"Tell me," said Beatrice. Her tone was as gentle and as solemn as thestroke of a bell, and as impersonal. It neither commended nor reproved.I saw that instantly she had determined to conceal her own wishes, toobliterate herself entirely, to let me know that, so far as she couldaffect my choice, I was a free agent. I looked appealingly from her toLowell, and from Lowell back to Beatrice. I still was trembling with thefever the message had lit in me. When I tried to answer, my voice washoarse and shaking.
"It's like drink!" I said.
Lowell raised his eyes as though he meant to speak, and then loweredthem and stepped back, leaving Beatrice and myself together.
"I only want you to see," Beatrice began bravely, "how--how serious itis. Every one of us in his life must have a moment like this, and, ifhe could only know that the moment had come, he might decide wisely. Youknow the moment has come. You must see that this is the crisis. Itmeans choosing not for a year, but for always." She held out her hands,entwining the fingers closely. "Oh, don't think I'm trying to stop you,Royal," she cried. "I only want you to see that it's final. I know thatit's like strong drink to you, but the more you give way to it--. Don'tyou think, if you gave your life here a fairer trial, if you bore withit a little longer--"
She stopped sharply as though she recognized that, in urging me to achoice, she was acting as she had determined she would not. I did notanswer, but stood in silence with my head bent, for I could not look ather. I knew now how much dearer to me, even than her voice, was the onewhich gave the call to arms. I did indeed understand that the crisis hadcome. In that same room, five minutes before the message arrived, I hadsworn for her sake alone to submit to the life I hated. And yet in aninstant, without a moment's pause, at the first sound of "Boots andSaddles," I had sprung to my first love, and had forgotten Beatriceand my sworn allegiance. Knowing how greatly I loved her, I now couldunderstand, since it made me turn from her, how much greater must be mylove for this, her only rival, the old life that was again inviting me.
I was no longer to be deceived; the one and only thing I reallyloved, the one thing I understood and craved, was the free, homeless,untrammelled life of the soldier of fortune. I wanted to see the shellssplash up the earth again, I wanted to throw my leg across a saddle,I wanted to sleep on a blanket by a camp-fire, I wanted the kiss andcaress of danger, the joy which comes when the sword wins honor andvictory together, and I wanted the clear, clean view of right and wrong,that is given only to those who hourly walk with death.
I raised my head, and spoke very softly:
"It is too late. I am sorry. But I have decided. I must go."
Lowell stepped out of the shadow, and faced me with the same strangelook, partly of wonder, and partly of indignation.
"Nonsense, Royal," he said, "let _me_ talk to you. We've been shipmates,or comrades, and all that sort of thing, and you've got to listen to m
e.Think, man, think what you're losing. Think of all the things you aregiving up. Don't be a weak child. This will affect your whole life. Youhave no right to decide it in a minute."
I stepped to its hiding-place, and took out the sword my grandfather hadcarried in the Civil War; the sword I had worn in Honduras. I had hiddenit away, that it might not remind me that once I, too, was a soldier. Itacted on me like a potion. The instant my fingers touched its hilt, theblood, which had grown chilled, leaped through my body. In answer I heldthe sword toward Lowell. It was very hard to speak. They did not knowhow hard. They did not know how cruelly it hurt me to differ fromthem, and to part from them. The very thought of it turned me sick andmiserable. But it was written. It had to be.
"You ask me to think of what I am giving up," I said, gently. "I gave upthis. I shall never surrender it again. I am not deciding in a minute.It was decided for me long ago. It's a tradition. It's handed down tome. My grandfather was Hamilton, of Cerro Gordo, of the City of Mexico,of Gettysburg. My father was 'Fighting' Macklin. He was killed at thehead of his soldiers. All my people have been soldiers. One fought atthe battle of Princeton, one died fighting the king at Culloden. It'sbred in me. It's in the blood. It's the blood of the Macklins that hasdecided this. And I--I am the last of the Macklins, and I must live anddie like one."
The house is quiet now. They have all left me to my packing, and areasleep. Lowell went early and bade me good-by at the gate. He was verysad and solemn. "God bless you, Royal," he said, "and keep you safe,and bring you back to us." And I watched him swinging down the silent,moon-lit road, knocking the icicles from the hedges with his stick. Istood there some time looking after him, for I love him very dearly, andthen a strange thing happened. After he had walked quite a distance fromthe house, he suddenly raised his head and began to whistle a jolly,rollicking sea-song. I could hear him for some minutes. I was glad tothink he took it so light-heartedly. It is good to know that he is notjealous of my great fortune.
To-night we spared each other the parting words. But to-morrow they mustbe spoken, when Aunt Mary and Beatrice come to see me sail away on theFrench liner. The ship leaves at noon, and ten days later I shall be inHavre. Ye gods, to think that in ten days I shall see Paris! And then,the Mediterranean, the Suez Canal, the Indian Ocean, Singapore, and, atlast, the yellow flags and black dragons of the enemy. It cannot lastlong, this row. I shall be coming home again in six months, unless theMahdi makes trouble. Laguerre was three years in the Khedive's service,and with his influence an ex-captain of the French army should havelittle difficulty in getting a commission in Egypt.
Then, after that, I really will come home. But not as an ex-soldier.This time I shall come home on furlough. I shall come home a realofficer, and play the prodigal again to the two noblest and sweetest andbest women in God's world. All women are good, but they are the best.All women are so good, that when one of them thinks one of us is worthyto marry her, she pays a compliment to our entire sex. But as they areall good and all beautiful, Beatrice being the best and most beautiful,I was right not to think of marrying only one of them. With the worldfull of good women, and with a fight always going on somewhere, I amvery wise not to "settle down." I know I shall be very happy.
In a year I certainly must come back, a foreign officer on leave, andI shall go to West Point and pay my respects to the Commandant. The menwho saw me turned out will have to present arms to me, and the oldermen will say to the plebs, "That distinguished-looking officer with theFrench mustache, and the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor, is CaptainMacklin. He was turned out of here. Now he's only a soldier of fortune.He belongs to no country."
But when the battalion is drawn up at retreat and the shadows stretchacross the grass, I shall take up my stand once more on the old paradeground, with all the future Grants and Lees around me, and when the flagcomes down, I shall raise my hand with theirs, and show them that I havea country, too, and that the flag we salute together is my flag still.
THE END
Captain Macklin: His Memoirs Page 11
