Whither I must, I must.
--_King Henry IV._
If love does sometimes contrive to do for itself what the poet wished,
and "annihilate time," over the "space," alas! it has generally no
power. Those last days at home were to Magnus only quarter-days; but
once in the cars, and the miles drew out a lengthening chain that
fairly seemed to clank in his hearing. Two years now, almost, away from
those dear faces; two years more without Cherry.
To be sure, she was coming to first-class camp; that was something. She
had not said she would, but she must; or he should simply die, and the
authorities would have to send him home.
As the train flew on, tossing everything behind its back, classmates
began to straggle in, catching the express from one point or another;
each State giving up its contingent of much-disgusted men, all equally
gloomy and rebellious. What was the use of the old concern, anyhow? So
they grumbled, keeping down each other's low spirits, and ever and anon
launching forth upon the departed joys of the last eight weeks; opening
their hearts less or more, according to the man. For in some coat
pockets lay hid a little glove, carefully wrapped in rosy thoughts, and
(I was going to say) here and there also a mitten, in different-hued
tissue paper. But no, I take that back; nobody ever gets a mitten on
furlough, which is perhaps the reason why so many engagements date back
to just that point.
They felt very small just now, with love and home behind them; speeding
away towards drums, Tacs and the reveille gun. I think some of them
would have liked to slide off on a railroad "Y," and so ride backwards
all the rest of the way, as under protest.
Through all the grumbling Charlemagne Kindred was profoundly silent,
only jerking his words out when they must come, in a way that made the
others pronounce him "a gingersnap." But snaps are sweet, and he was
not.
"Just think," Rig said lugubriously, as he dropped into the seat by
Magnus, "this time to-morrow I shall not have even the show of a
pocket."
"That's square; you'll have nothing to put in it."
"And I've got three confinements to serve out the first thing," said
Crane, in front.
"All right--you went in for them," said Magnus, with a comfortable
consciousness of his own clear score.
"Didn't; I went out."
So the talk went on, and Magnus sat vaguely listening, seldom joining
in, his whole self reaching back towards that beloved region whither
he could not go. He longed to have the talk stop, the train stop, the
world stop--almost: anything, to change the pitiless rush and roar with
which he was speeded away from all he loved best.--Mile after mile,
hour after hour; till he felt ready to start up and cuff somebody, if
only so he could make a change. They talk of homesick plebs, and those
fellows have it hard enough; but I doubt if it compares with the _mal
de pays_ of the furlough men when they come back.
Cadet Kindred fought it, wrestled with it; then suddenly turned and
began to fight himself. For was not this West Point life the very
thing singled out just now for him? The surest, best, and quickest
way in which he could win education, position, and the means to live?
The shortest road to that fair home for Cherry which tinted even his
dreams? Had it not been the Lord's appointment, far more than that
which dated back to Congressman Ironwood? I do not think the ache died
out, a bit; but the antagonism did. Ready for duty, ready for all that
might come with duty; yes, that should be true of him. As clearly as
to-morrow he would answer to his name at roll-call, so now in his heart
Charlemagne Kindred said: "Yes, Lord, here!" What were they all praying
for him at home? Not only, not chiefly, that he might win the honours;
but that his daily life might _be_ an honour to the cause of Christ.
The miles did not shorten after that; home still shone oh, how vividly!
and shoulder-straps looked dim and hazy in the distance, and graduation
but a myth; but the brave heart addressed itself to wait, and to work,
and to endure.
The great city was reached, and trunks and men conveyed across to where
the swift steamer lay taking in her living freight. The whole class,
gathered now from all sides of the great country, mustered in "cits"
for the last time.
As I think, it was a happy thing for these young schoolmen, that in
the year of which I write, the "rush" was still in its glory; not yet
found out to be unmilitary and dangerous. But now the first classman is
supposed to forget that he ever was a boy.
For my part, I am glad to know this for a clear fallacy. No power on
earth, not even time, can ever drive the mischief out of some men, or
kill the frolic that lies hid behind those sober suits of grey. The
most sedate bearing may belong to the plotter of the most consummate
exploits; and the gravest men take your breath away telling what they
have done. Ah, it is not the boy in them that needs watching, but the
undisciplined man.
But as I said, in those days the hopeless task was not begun. So when
the boat reached the landing, and her signal went sounding up the
hill, a rousing reception was ready.
The furlough men had been watching with sober eyes, as one grey wall
after another peered through the trees; and now they stepped wearily
along the steep, winding road, bags in hand; a dusty, rebellious lot.
Then paused at the top of the hill and clustered together in front of
the Library.
Before them lay the cavalry plain, brown and powdery with sun and
riding; the black guns of the Light Battery; then the camp. Rank after
rank, in their exact order, the white tents gleamed in the sunshine. A
moment the travellers saw it all.
Then on the nearer side there gathered a grey and white swarm of
figures; the furlough men spread themselves in a long single line,
and, joining hands, began to double-time it across the plain. The grey
figures dashed out across what was afterwards the famous "Post No. 6,"
swooped down upon the furlough men, and "rushed them into camp."
There followed ten minutes of utter Babel-like confusion; hats, caps,
handbags, and men were on the ground or in the air, as the case might
be. I think Mr. Starr lost his foothold on firm earth several times,
while Magnus Kindred made things just as lively for one or two small
first classmen. Men hugged each other or shook hands, according to the
various degrees of size and friendship. The ladies on the seats clapped
hands; the yearlings, on their way to dancing, turned and gave a cheer.
Then the hubbub was over. The furlough men dived into their tents,
and came forth to dinner roll-call full blown cadets, with very sober
faces. The rush helped them for the minute, but it could not last; they
were a sorry-looking lot.
Charlemagne Kindred came out too, after a while (anything but his own
thoughts!), and was most effusively greeted by Miss Beguile and Miss
Saucy. But being promptly bid to stand and deliver a full, true, and
unvarnished account of the summer's work and play, he got off as soon
as he could and took his sergeant's chevrons and his loneliness down
Flirtation for a walk.
How unbearable these average girls were to him after Cherry! Cherry,
with her quaint, womanly ways, and low-toned voice, and earnest eyes; a
hundred times fairer in her fresh print dress than they with all their
silks and streamers! "A trust"--ah, she was one worth having. And it
was with a very moved and joyful heart that Cadet Kindred realised how
surely upon his keeping of that trust, hung all the joy and brightness
of her sweet life. Hers--and theirs; four true women looking up to him.
On the whole, it was a very good bit of thinking the young sergeant did
there, with the lovely river sweeping by at his feet, and the leaves in
a glad rustle behind him. Yes, every new bit of honour that he could
win, in any line, would be gilded anew for them. He must send them a
correct drawing of even the new chevrons.
Magnus again mounted the hill, but at the edge of the broken ground he
faced about and took off his cap to the flag.
"Glad to see you, old friend!" he said. "Henceforth, you and I are
going to run things together. I'm enlisted now, for all the storms that
blow."