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."