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A SOLDIER'S TRIAL
An Episode of the Canteen Crusade
by
GENERAL CHARLES KING
Author of "A Daughter of the Sioux," "Comrades in Arms," "The Medal of
Honor," Etc.
New York
The Hobart Company
1905
Copyright, 1905,
by the Hobart Company
Brig.-Gen. Frederick D. Grant, U.S.A., says: "It is distressing that the
prosperity of the keepers of vile resorts is due to the activity of good
and worthy though misguided citizens, who have succeeded in abolishing
the canteen in the army."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. TWO ANNOUNCEMENTS
CHAPTER II. A FACE FROM THE PHILIPPINES
CHAPTER III. A NIGHT AT NAPLES
CHAPTER IV. "SHE IS COMING HERE!"
CHAPTER V. PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS
CHAPTER VI. A BRIDE--AND A BEAU
CHAPTER VII. THE WOLF IN THE SHEEPFOLD
CHAPTER VIII. ACCUSING LETTERS
CHAPTER IX. AN INVITATION--TO GO
CHAPTER X. A GATHERING STORM
CHAPTER XI. DEEPER IN THE TOILS
CHAPTER XII. WHAT THE WOMEN TOLD THE MAJOR
CHAPTER XIII. WORST DEED OF HIS LIFE
CHAPTER XIV. REACTION
CHAPTER XV. RETRIBUTION
CHAPTER XVI. MY LADY'S MAID
CHAPTER XVII. A MOMENTOUS DAY
CHAPTER XVIII. BLENKE COVERS HIS TRACKS
CHAPTER XIX. AGAIN THE SALOON
CHAPTER XX. A MOTHER'S DREAD
CHAPTER XXI. LOVE'S LAST APPEAL
CHAPTER XXII. THE LOST FOUND
CHAPTER XXIII. A WELCOME PERIL
CHAPTER XXIV. CRISIS
CHAPTER XXV. BLACK WOLF'S BATTLE
CHAPTER XXVI. TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION
CHAPTER XXVII. EXEUNT OMNES
A SOLDIER'S TRIAL
CHAPTER I
TWO ANNOUNCEMENTS
The war with Spain was at an end, and so were the hopes and aspirations
of many a warrior. For several reasons Colonel Ray of the ----th
Kentucky was a disappointed man. One of the best soldiers doing duty
with the volunteers, he had had some of the worst luck. Through long
years of service in the regular cavalry he had borne the reputation of
being a most energetic and valuable officer. He had won a name as an
Indian fighter the Indians themselves respected. He had campaigned all
over the frontier before the railways came and conquered. He knew
Arizona and New Mexico even better than his native State, and was known
from the upper Missouri to the lower Colorado far more generally than in
the "blue grass" country of his boy days. Apache and Arapahoe, Comanche
and Cheyenne, Sioux and Shoshone, they all had met, and many had
measured spear with, the dark-eyed, curly-headed Kentucky
light-horseman. He bore the scars of more than one sharp encounter; had
given more than he had received, yet found himself in no wise blessed
with profit or promotion. The Civil War was fairly ended when he stepped
from the Point into his first commission. Over thirty years had he done
valiant and faithful duty in the line, yet was he only just wearing the
gold leaves as junior major of his regiment, when the long-expected
happened in the spring of '98, and the nation called out its first levy
of volunteers. Slow as had been his advancement, it was phenomenally
swift as compared with that of classmates who, choosing the artillery
arm, had languished those thirty years in the line of file closers. Ray
had no complaint to make. He was even rejoiceful in his luck when called
to Kentucky to command one of her regiments of volunteer infantry. He
was, indeed, among the few envied men in the army where so very few have
anything to excite the cupidity of their kind. His record and reputation
were things no man could undermine, though some might underestimate. His
temperament was sweet and sunny. He had long been happily, most happily,
married. His wife was charming, admired, and beloved. His children were
all a father's heart could wish. Health and competence had always been
theirs. They had, indeed, for years known the joys of moderate wealth,
for Mrs. Ray had brought her husband something besides beauty and grace,
physical and spiritual. The Marion Sanford of the Centennial year of '76
was reputed an heiress, and the children that had come in course of time
to bless their union were certainly born to the purple. But army people
of those days lived long years in the far West, had to trust their
business affairs to agents in the far East, and some agents could not
stand such prosperity. Mrs. Ray's property was mainly in real estate,
some of which became gradually unproductive. Then there came the
financial storm of '93, and a subsequent flitting of financial agents,
some to the convenient Canadas, some to the Spanish Main.
Then another thing happened, almost whimsical in the way of retributive
justice where Mrs. Ray's relatives were concerned. That the resultant
burden should have been saddled on her cavalry husband was perhaps not
quite so diverting. There were several of Mrs. Ray's nearest of kin who
had by no means approved of her marriage in the army, and to a nameless,
moneyless subaltern at that. "He will make ducks and drakes of her
fortune," said they. "He will drink and gamble it away," said certain
others. Ray had possibly heard, had probably expected this. At all
events he had steadfastly declined to use his wife's money. He had gone
so far as to grieve her not a little by very gently, but very firmly,
declining to undertake the management of her property. That was all left
in the hands of her people. It was the agent of their choice who made
ducks and drakes of much of it, as well as of their own, and, at the
time the Spanish War broke out, from his pay as major in the line of the
army "Billy" Ray was contributing to the support of certain of the
children of his former detractors.
Then came partial relief. "Sandy" Ray, their eldest son, commissioned
like his father in the cavalry, was no longer to be provided for.
Indeed, he was sending every month a certain quarter of his salary
direct to his mother to repay her for moneys advanced for him when they
were much needed. Maidie Ray, their lovely dark-eyed daughter, had
married the man of her choice, a well-to-do young New Yorker of most
excellent family. There was only Billy, Junior, among their olive
branches now to be provided for until he could look out for himself.
There was even prospect of his being sent to West Point within the year
to make a try at that which had proved too hard a problem for his
unmathematical elder brother, for Sandy had worn cadet gray long enough
to get much of the practical teaching of our famous school, though he
could not assimilate the requisite amount of the theoretical. It was the
year after the surrender of Santiago and the muster out of most of the
State volunteers that, in the goodness of his heart, Colonel Ray turned
to Marion, his wife, and said:
"Why not have Beth and 'Cilla come to us?"--and thereby hangs very much
of this tale.
"Beth," be it said at once, did not come, for, even in her reduced
circumstances and somewhat mature years, this excellent woman was sought
by an old admirer, once deemed ineligible. Beth wrote thankfully and
appreciatively to Uncle Will and dear Aunt Marion: "The Doctor has
returned to New Jersey and--the old subject." There was now no stern
parent to say him nay, and she--could not. But Priscilla would gladly
and gratefully come, and, whether or no Priscilla was grateful,
Priscilla proved assuredly glad, for Priscilla was a woman with a
mission and long in search of a field. Priscilla had often marveled at
Aunt Marion's blindness in not having earlier looked to her as the best
possible guide, example, and companion for Aunt Marion's most
interesting if much-indulged brood. Priscilla never doubted her powers,
and never dreamed of the instant protests developed when, in mischievous
mood, probably, papa had suggested having Cousin 'Cilla come to the
frontier to help mother school the little Rays. All their recollections
of that prematurely mature young kinswoman were somewhat appalling. They
regarded her as healthy children are sure to look upon an elder cousin
who seeks ever to improve her opportunities and their moral nature. Life
had had no greater trial to the trio than those rare and even
regrettable visits to mother's home and kindred where first they learned
to know the superior gifts and graces of Cousin 'Cil.
It has been said that Colonel Ray, the Spanish part of the war ended,
was a disappointed man, and that so was many another. Never waiting to
see what might result from the general rally of the Filipino insurgents,
following speedily the first general scatter, the government swiftly
mustered out all the State volunteers not actually on duty in the
distant islands, filled up the regulars with raw recruits, and shipped
them straightway, undisciplined, undrilled, across the wide Pacific.
Then new regiments of volunteers were authorized,--National volunteers,
instead of State,--and, though their field officers as a rule were
chosen from the regular service, there were by no means enough to go
around among the many deserving applicants. The forty odd colonelcies
went, in most cases, to the right men, but there were many "left," and
Billy Ray was one. He had had no luck whatever with his Kentucky
regiment. He had been sent to Chickamauga, and thence to Florida, and
thence nowhere worth mentioning. They saw no service without the States;
heard no hostile bullets whistle; found, like most of the State
volunteers, they were to have no part in the Cuban campaign, and, that
being the case, they wished to go home. They hadn't enlisted to play
soldier, said they, and much as they admired and honored Colonel Ray,
they could not be made to love soldier life that had no fighting. "Give
us a chance to _do_ something," was their cry, "and we'll stay till hell
freezes over; but no more of this sort of thing for us." Ray had tried
hard to keep alive regimental interest and enthusiasm, but few could
feel either interest or enthusiasm in a daily routine of drill, parade,
and police duty in a hot, malarious Southern camp under Southern summer
skies. Other regiments about them were getting orders to go home for
muster out, and some of these individual Kentuckians had begun to go,
too. If Ray could have moved them a few miles away from the other camps,
and close to the sparkling sea water, things might have gone better, but
his original brigade commander, a regular whom he knew, and who knew
him, had gotten orders for the Philippines, and gone.
He was succeeded by a brigadier whom Ray had never heard of, nor
apparently had anybody else outside the contracted limits of his
commonwealth, and this gentleman, having never before served with
troops, and knowing nothing about modern military conditions, had
imbibed his impressions from foreign pictorial papers. His conception of
the functions of a general officer found concrete form in a daily
circuit of his camps, mounted and accompanied by his full staff and
escort. When not so occupied he sat in much state under the fly of his
marquee, and had his colonels come and stand attention and listen to his
homilies on the military art, which differed from anything they had
previously conceived upon the subject. It was this unschooled, unskilled
brigadier who turned down Ray's appeal to march his regiment five miles
over to the seashore. The colonel of over thirty years' practical
experience was being lectured by the general who had none. The
unterrified Kentucky rank and file took to guying their civilian
star-bearer. There were presently demonstrations that Ray could neither
foresee nor prevent. The general thought he could and should, and so
informed him, and likewise the division commander. Ray demanded
investigation. The division commander sought to smooth matters over, and
failed. Ray resigned in disgust, sought orders to his own regiment, and
found himself once again at the head of his squadron of regular troopers
in the midst of scenes he loved. But his soul longed for action. He was
offered a lieutenant-colonelcy of one of the national regiments of
volunteers, but that was a step down, not up. It would have placed him
under a colonel ten years younger than himself, and he said he preferred
the gold leaves in the regulars to the silver in the volunteers, which
ended for the present his prospects. Maidie's wedding, too, had
something to do with the decision. But now that was over with, and here
were he and Marion occupying delightful quarters at old Fort
Minneconjou, with every prospect of soon being sent to the Philippines,
where their colonel was commanding a division in the field, leaving
Major Ray to look after the post, its men, and its military morals. Here
it was, in the bracing air of the Dakotas and within range of the bold
foothills and remoter pine-crested heights of the Sagamore, that they
opened their hearts and doors to Mrs. Billy's niece, Priscilla Sanford,
and affairs at Minneconjou, stagnant a while after the departure of the
----d Infantry, once more became alive with interest, for Miss 'Cilla,
as has been said, was a woman with a mission and, as perhaps should be
said, with some thirty years to her credit, rather more than she had
dollars.
Time had been when, with abundant means and few cares, Miss Sanford
busied herself in local charities and became a social power in her
community. But with loss of money came lack of appreciation. She who had
long managed the Mission kindergarten, and mainly financed it, was
presently superseded as president of the board. She who had ever been
foremost in the counsels of the Infants' Home and the St. Mary's Guild
found herself gradually slighted in the matter of entertainments, etc.,
though still graciously permitted to do most of the clerical work.
For nearly a dozen years she had served as secretary and treasurer of
the Young Woman's Church Aid and Temperance Union, a beneficent
organization that still held many meetings but few converts. It had the
backing of three or four wealthy congregations, however, and the control
of a generous fund. When the year '94 was ushered in and the victims of
the panic of '93 were enumerated, the case of Priscilla Sanford had
excited prompt and rather widespread interest; but the sympathy that
might have been as readily accorded was tempered by the reflection that
Miss Sanford had ever been what they termed "bossy," by which it was by
no means meant to imply that bovine sluggishness and submission were
Miss Sanford's marked characteristics, for Miss Sanford was energy
personified in petticoats. It had been moved, seconded and carried, in a
spasm of feminine generosity, that the secretary and treasurer should be
paid a salary, small, to be sure, but something, and Priscilla Sanford,
who had labored without fee or financial reward a dozen years, was
permitted to hold the position as a salaried official just one year
longer, by which time it was determined that Miss Sanford had really
been secretary much too long, and, anyhow, that somebody else stood much
more in need of it. So Priscilla's party found itself outvoted at the
annual election, and the Young Woman's Church Aid ceased, except in
name, to be a temperance union. With much that was intemperate in tone
and language, the union burst its bonds and flew to pieces, one or more
to each congregation. Then Priscilla tried her hand at writing for the
various journals of the clerical order. Some few published, but none
paid for, her contributions. Then Aunt Marion began sending occasional
drafts that were not to be mentioned to anybody. Then came Priscilla's
bid to join Uncle Will and Aunt Marion at Minneconjou, and
then--Priscilla herself.
She had been there barely forty-eight hours when there arrived from the
Philippines a bulky letter from Lieutenant Sandy Ray, eldest son and
hope and heir, dated "Camp Lawton, Benguet." It had been nearly three
months on the way. It brought tidings that made his mother's soft cheek
pale with anxiety and caused Colonel Ray to look up startled as he read
it, to go over and take his wife in his arms, lead her to the sofa, and
hold her close as he went on with the final pages--a boy's rhapsody over
a boy's first love:
MY OWN MUMMIE:--Not until I could send you the inclosed, the
portrait, and by no means flattering one, of the loveliest girl
that ever lived, could I write to tell you of my almost delirious
happiness. But _look_ at her--_look_ at her, and see for yourself
and rejoice with me, best, blessedest, dearest of mothers, that
this exquisite creature loves me--_me_, your no 'count, ranch boy
Sandy--loves _me_, and will soon, please God, be my own wife.
Mother, mother, I have hardly slept in my wild joy, and now I can
hardly wait for your approval and blessing. Dad will love and
admire her, I know, but mothers, they say, never think any woman
good enough for their boys, while I--I could kiss the very ground
she treads so lightly. I almost worship the very glove she left me
for a souvenir.
As yet I can't quite realize my wondrous luck. Why, Mummie, the
other fellows were simply mad about her during her brief stay at
Manila. Quite a lot of us, you know, were ordered there when poor
Jack Bender was court-martialed. He got a stay of proceedings of
some kind, so while the witnesses should have been back with
General Young here, they were dancing attendance on her, and the
way I got the inside track was, when her parents had to go over to
Japan, I coaxed a ten days' leave out of the General and went with
them--her father, mother and her own sweet self--on the _Hancock_
to Nagasaki, and came back desolate on the--I don't know what.
I met her at a dance at the Club. She attracted me the instant I
set eyes on her, so like is she to Maidie, only darker, perhaps,
and taller, and a bit more slender. But her eyes, hair, teeth,
coloring, are all so like Maidie's. Her features, perhaps, are more
regular. Shannon, of the Twenty-third, was doing the devoted, and
he presented me. She danced like a sylph, she danced right into my
heart, Mummie, and there she lives and reigns and has her being--my
queen! my queen!
Oh, what nonsense this must sound to you! All my wise resolutions
as to young men marrying on lieutenant's pay thrown to the wind!
That, however, need not worry us. The major, her father, is
well-to-do, and she's an only child; but this is sordid. It is
_she_ that I love, and the man does not live who could see and know
her and not worship. Why, even our old friend Captain Dwight was
fascinated and didn't half like it that I should have gone with her
to Nagasaki, and he was stiff as a ramrod when I came back. But to
return to her father. He, of course, doesn't expect to remain in
the army after the war. He was made major and quartermaster, I
presume because of his financial experience and worth, and he was
so patriotic he felt he had to get into the field as something. He
is a Texan by long residence, if not birth; owns two or three
ranches, and his wife, my darling's mother, is a Spanish lady whom
he met years ago in Cuba, then Senorita de la Cruz y Mendoza y
Fronteras, etc., etc., but she, my lady, never speaks of this. She
is simplicity and sweetness itself. She bears her father's honored
name, and that alone, except for her own Christian name, the
sweetest ever--Inez.
The major's health has suffered much in Manila, but it is hoped
that six weeks in Japan may restore him entirely. If not, they will
take the homeward voyage by way of Vancouver in one of the fine
ships of the Empress line instead of our crowded transports.
Hundreds of State volunteers are going back by every one of these
and, being discharged, or as good as discharged, they consider
themselves relieved from all discipline--which makes it unpleasant
for families of officers. They (the Farrells) may winter in
'Frisco, where I hope to join them in the spring, and where you
will be sure to see them when you and Dad and the squadron embark
for the Islands. There won't be anything left of the insurrection,
or much of the insurrectos, at the rate things are going, by the
time you come, but meanwhile, like the loving Mummie you are, write
to them, especially to _her_, that your future daughter may know a
loving welcome awaits her. She seems timid as to that and fears you
may not like her, and Dad will, of course, write to Major Farrell,
who is as keen a lover of horses as ever he was, and who owns some
of the finest blooded stock ever seen in the South. This letter
goes registered because of the priceless photograph, which was
taken at Hong Kong, Inez tells me, just after their voyage over,
when she was looking like a fright. Being registered, it must go
slowly and may be long in reaching you, but fancy your Sandy's joy,
if you can. Send this to Maidie, if you will, for I have no time to
write to both. I am commanding my troop and we march at dawn for
the mountains, and may be weeks now in the jungle, chasing
Aguinaldo. Several of our fellows have broken down and had to go to
the sea or back to Corregidor, even over to Japan, to recuperate,
but I feel like a fighting cock and am going in now to win a name
for myself, and for her, that you'll all be proud of. One thing I
can tell you proudly, mother dear: never since that day at the
Presidio, ever so much more than a year ago, have I let even a sip
of wine pass my lips, the first and only teetotaler among the Rays,
and perhaps _that_ has something to do with my perfect physical
trim. I owe you this, and have gladly kept the faith. Now in my
new-found happiness I feel as if I could keep that and every other
faith to the end. Lovingly, devotedly, your boy,
SANFORD RAY.
P. S.--Inez says it should not be announced until you all have
approved, whereas I wished and would be for shouting the news from
the housetops. There is a chance of getting this to you quicker
than I thought. Captain Dwight has never been himself since
Bender's trial and conviction. General Young wanted him to take
sick leave last month and go to Japan, but he wouldn't. Now he's
fairly broken down and has to be left behind, so this will go to
Manila with him. I wonder--I can't help wondering--what he'd think
if he knew what was in it. The fellows do say she could have had
him and his money, yet she chose your boy, SANDY.
For a moment after reading the final page Colonel Ray sat in silence.
Aloft could be heard the firm footfalls of Miss Sanford as she bustled
about her room unpacking her belated trunks. Within, with merry snap and
sparkle, the fresh-heaped wood fire blazed in the broad open fireplace.
Without, the orderly trumpeter, away over by the flagstaff, was winding
the last note of stable call. The late afternoon sunshine flooded the
valley of the Minneconjou. The mountain air, cool, bracing, redolent of
pine and cedar, stirred the tracery of the white curtains at the open
southward window and fluttered the silken folds of the standard and
guidons at the parlor archway. Anxiously the mother heart was throbbing
by his side, and the fond eyes sought the soldier's strong, storm-beaten
face. Then she noted the look of bewilderment in his gaze, for again he
was studying that postscript. Then suddenly he stretched forth his hand,
took from the little pile of newspapers on a chair a copy of a recent
army journal, swiftly turned over a page or two, searching the columns
with half doubtful eyes; then, finding what he needed, thumbed the
paragraph and held it where she could easily see. "Read that," said Ray,
and Marion read aloud:
"SAN FRANCISCO, ---- 18.--Among the arrivals at the Occidental by
the _Sheridan_ from Manila and Nagasaki are Major, Mrs. and Miss
Farrell and Captain Oswald M. Dwight, the latter of the --th
Cavalry. Major Farrell, Quartermaster U. S. Volunteers, is the
owner of valuable properties in Texas, whither he is soon to
return. Captain Dwight, one of the most distinguished of our
squadron leaders, is rapidly recuperating from serious illness
contracted in the Philippines. The voyage proved a blessing in more
ways than one, for the dinner given by Major and Mrs. Farrell last
night, to a select coterie at the Bohemian Club, was to announce
the engagement of their lovely daughter, Inez, to this gallant
trooper, who won his spurs in the Apache campaign of the '80's, and
the sympathy of hosts of friends on the Pacific coast in the death
of his devoted wife six years ago. They will now rejoice with him
in his joy, and unite with us in wishing him and his young and
beautiful bride all possible felicity."
Mrs. Ray turned, all amaze, incredulity and distress; then, with
something like a sob, buried her face on the sturdy blue shoulder. There
was suspicious moisture about her husband's blinking eyes, and he for a
moment could hardly trust himself to speak.
"Is it--_our_ boy now, dear?" he gently asked, and her head came up at
the instant, her blue eyes welling over with indignant tears:
"Oh, Will," she answered, "you know well what I'm thinking. It is of
_her_--of Margaret--it is of _their_ boy--poor little motherless Jim!"