The "understanding" remained _in statu quo_ (whatever that means; the
expression was his) between Tony and me, when Mrs. Dalziel and Milly and
I turned our backs on El Paso. We had a night at Albuquerque, which made
me homesick for past days, because the hotel where we stopped had the
name of Alvarado. I hadn't known that I was happy at the Springs, but in
looking back it seemed as though I must have been without a care.
Milly and her mother bought wonderful Indian curios and gorgeous Mexican
opals and silver spoons set with turquoises at Albuquerque, and Milly
was almost feverishly gay; but I guessed that at heart, if she had an
organ worth the name, she was nearly as wretched as I. For she had
failed; and she had let the venom of her spite poison her nature, trying
to tell herself that she rejoiced because of Eagle's misfortunes, and
that it was very good, as things turned out, to be free of him and his
fate. No one can really be happy with such poison in the veins, and
there can't possibly be deep-down, soul-satisfying enjoyment from
revelling in another's misfortunes. Underneath my fury, when Milly said
little veiled, spiteful things about Captain March, was pity for her,
the kind of pity you have for an irritable invalid who snaps.
When Father and Mrs. Main and Diana (Di in great beauty) came to
Albuquerque on the "Limited," and we three took up our quarters in
staterooms on board, Milly Dalziel and Di struck up a great friendship,
almost as if they were new acquaintances who had just been introduced
and fallen in love with each other's unexpectedly charming qualities.
This was quite funny, because Milly had found it hard work to be civil
to Di at Alvarado Springs, and Di had been rather contemptuously amused
at Milly's badly disguised jealousy. Now, with Eagle March eliminated
from the scheme of life for both of them, each discovered that the other
was a delightful creature.
Milly accounted to me for her change of mind by exclaiming: "I do think
Lady Di has got heaps prettier since she went to California, don't you?
And she's just as sweet as she's pretty. Perhaps it's being engaged to
the man she loves that has made the difference. And no wonder, with such
a gorgeous lover as Major Vandyke! He's something to be proud of--even
for a beauty and a 'swell' like your sister."
Di accounted for the change in _her_ mind by saying to me: "I don't know
what you've done to that Dalziel girl, Peggy, but you seem to have made
her all over. She used to be a thorough-paced cat. Now she's quite a
darling, and if you're ever sensible enough to marry Tony, I shall love
to have such a fascinating sister-in-law. I've asked her to be one of my
bridesmaids."
I suppose changing your mind often is a good, clean thing for your soul,
just as changing your clothes is for your body.
We had a few hours to flash round Chicago in a motor car, seeing pretty,
young-looking parks, and a great lake like the sea with wonderful
buildings along its shore, and a sky like a painting by Turner. I was
bitterly disappointed not to get the telegram Tony had promised to send,
addressed to the Blackstone Hotel, where it had been arranged beforehand
that we should lunch and dine. The court-martial was to have been held
on the eighth day after Eagle March's arrest, the day before our arrival
in Chicago, and meanwhile I had lived only for the telegram. My
impatience to know the worst--or best--had been like a flame in my blood
and brain. When it was time to take the fast train to New York in the
evening, and no telegram had come, it seemed as if that flame gave a
devouring leap, and then went out, leaving my body a burnt-up shell.
The next morning we were in New York, where Mr. Dalziel met his wife and
Milly. I hoped that he might have read some news of El Paso in the
morning papers, and that he would spring it upon us in the railway
station where we paused, being charming and affectionate to each other,
and making plans to meet again before our party sailed. I couldn't have
questioned him to save my life, any more than I could have cried out in
fearful nightmares which I remembered, when the earth was about to
swallow me up, or a mountain fall on to my head. Surely, I thought, if
there were news about the court-martial it would be interesting enough
to the Dalziel family for the man to mention it, if only because Tony
was to be a witness in the case! But the affair might have been more
remote from us all than a destructive tidal wave in China, judging by
Mr. Dalziel's oblivion of it. He and Father talked about our luck in
grabbing cabins at short notice on the _Mauretania_; his wife and Mrs.
Main discussed getting seats for that night at D'Annunzio's great
moving-picture play, which had come on at a theatre in New York; his
daughter and Diana chatted about the earliest date when Milly could
persuade her mother to sail for England. I longed to scream at them,
"Oh, you hard, unfeeling _wretches_!" But instead I stood outwardly
patient, a good, well-behaved young girl with a little mincing smile on
my face. Only the smile was frozen so hard you could have knocked it off
with a hammer.
We were going to Kitty Main's flat, which she called her "apartment,"
and the Dalziels were going to their house, but it was not to be a
regular parting. We were to dine with them (somehow the idea was borne
in upon me that dear Mrs. Dalziel wanted naughty, shilly-shallying Peggy
to see what lovely surroundings might be hers as Tony's wife); all of us
were to lunch next day at Delmonico's, as Kitty's guests; the Dalziels
were to motor us over to Long Island for a glimpse of their country
place there; and they were to see us off on the _Mauretania_. But that
would not be until five days had passed. Meanwhile, there would be time
for telegrams and even letters from El Paso.
At last, after all the noisy planning of things to do, the two parties
contrived to tear themselves from one another, and we got away from the
wonderful station in Mrs. Main's motor car, which had come to meet us--a
most impressive motor car which needed only a coronet or at worst a
crest, on its door. Perhaps, however, judging from present signs, that
lack might be supplied later.
Her "apartment" was in a marvellously ornate sky-scraper; a huge brown
block like a plum cake for a Titan tea party, which would have made
Buckingham Palace or any other royal residence in Europe look a toy. It
was in the highest story, according to Kitty the most desirable, because
you had all the air there and none of the noise; just like living on a
mountain, with a lift to the top. I wondered what she would think of
poor old Ballyconal, when she came to see it!
The first thing I did was to wire my temporary address to Tony, and hate
myself because I hadn't done it before. Until I met Father and Di I
didn't know where we were to stay in New York, for everything had been
settled through letters and telegrams, with as little useful information
as possible. If I had remembered in Chicago that Tony had no idea where
I would be in New York, there need have been no more delay in my getting
the news. But something seemed to be strangely wrong at his end of the
line, for even when there had been time for him to get my telegram and
send another, no answer came. Nothing arrived for Di, either; but
apparently she was expecting no wire. She must have had some human
curiosity, if not anxiety, to know the fate of a man who had been as
much to her as Eagle March had been; but she was thinking of his trial,
I suppose, entirely from Sidney Vandyke's point of view, and she had no
uneasiness as to the result for Sidney. As for the papers, though I
quite cleverly managed to find other things than football news, I could
discover nothing about the court-martial on Captain March. I had to tell
myself that perhaps they didn't put such affairs in newspapers, for I
was too ignorant to think of trying to hunt up the army and navy
official journals.
We had been three days in New York in great heat, which Kitty took pains
to tell us was most unseasonable, when one morning a thunderstorm
accompanied by terrific wind came up, preventing us from going out as we
had intended. Kitty's floor at the top of the building, with its steel
supports, actually gave the effect of swaying in the blast like an
overgrown spear of wheat, a phenomenon Kitty took as a matter of course.
So we Britishers had to do the same, no matter how we felt, to show that
we were as brave as Americans. In the midst of the storm the postman's
ring sounded reassuringly, as if to say that we were not cut off from
earth; and a calm maid, used to hanging on insectlike by her antennæ to
the top grain on the wheat stalk, quietly presented a silver tray with
letters to her mistress.
"One for dear Diana," Kitty announced, picking up a large purple-sealed
and monogrammed envelope, such as Sidney Vandyke had made peculiarly his
own. And I had only time for a heartbeat before she added, "Two for
little Peggy!"
I never much relished being patronized as "little Peggy" by my would-be
stepmother, but she might safely have called me anything from a
pterodactyl to a hippopotamus just then. I had caught a glimpse of the
uppermost envelope of the two as she doled the letters out. In a flash I
knew that Eagle March had written to me.
Just to save the scarlet flag my cheeks flung out from Father's stare, I
pretended great interest in the other envelope. It had been addressed to
me by Tony.
"My letter is from Sidney. I thought I should have one from him to-day,"
said Di, with the brazen boldness of the legitimately engaged girl who
has a right to expose her feelings. "Now he'll tell me, perhaps, when he
will be able to get leave and follow us."
She proceeded to tear open the envelope in the ruthless violating way of
which I could never be guilty except with a soulless circular. A letter
from a lover, or a friend, full of thoughts and touched by a dear hand,
is too sacred for such usage. Fearing from Di's expression that she
would be capable of reading aloud choice selections from Major Vandyke's
version of events, I simply couldn't stay to risk hearing them. I jumped
up and fled with my two prizes.
Locked safely in my room, delicately I cut the edge of Eagle's envelope.
I was on the point of drawing out the letter, which appeared to be
meagrely thin, when something within me seemed to faint. Reading what he
had to say, I should know in a very few words, I was sure, the fate to
which he looked forward. There would be no working up, no preamble, to
prepare my mind. I wasn't strong enough to bear it. I should have to
take Tony's letter first, like a dose of sal volatile.
"Dear, dear Peggy," my benevolent Billiken addressed me, and as I read,
the thunder rolled like the far-away drums of Fort Alvarado or El Paso.
"This is my first real letter to you, for I don't count notes; and I
wish it could be a better one. I'm afraid you must be pretty mad about
not getting a telegram at Chicago, or anyhow at Mrs. Main's, when you'd
taken all the trouble to wire me your address. But it was intimated to
all of us concerned that we weren't to telegraph news about _you know
what_ to our families or friends, and that we were even to be discreet
about our letters. I've been so indiscreet with you on that subject
already, on a never-to-be-forgotten night, however, that the latter bit
of fatherly instruction doesn't hold good in my case. Only, before
telling you what I have to tell, I'll just take the liberty of reminding
you once again of your promise to keep mum till Gabriel's trumpet
sounds--or till I take off the embargo (is that the way to spell it, I
wonder, and what exactly does it mean?). As matters look at present, one
thing is liable to happen about the same time as the other. Well, now
I'm going to tell you news of the court-martial as best I can. I'm no
great shakes at telling things, you know. Vandyke was 'seedy' (as you
say in your truly British fashion) the day appointed for the trial, and
as he was the principal witness it had to be put off for twenty-four
hours. You'd have thought it would be March, if anybody, who was on the
sick list, wouldn't you? But he was all right in health. I don't know
what was the matter with Vandyke, except that I happened to hear our old
Doc say he had a temperature way up in C. Maybe it was stage fright. I
felt like that myself--queer all over when the time came, as a fellow
does when he's just going to be seasick.
"The court-martial was what you call a 'field-general court-martial,'
which can be convened when forces are on active service, as of course we
are now (though we've had nothing very active to do, except on a certain
night none of us will forget, and on Army Day when we all marched and
sweated to give the populace an impressive show). A field general
court-martial can try cases just as grave as a general court-martial
can, and its proceedings are conducted with more secrecy. It consists of
not less than three officers, none of them under the rank of captain,
but the president of the court may be a general officer, a colonel, or
lieutenant-colonel. In this case, which was considered very important,
both on account of March's fine record and the necessary secrecy that
had to be maintained, we had the general commanding the Fort for
president, and the other two officers of the court were a colonel and a
major. I don't think you met either of them when you were here, so their
names wouldn't interest you.
"The courtroom was just a plain ordinary room in the barracks at Fort
Bliss; but there wasn't a map or copy of 'rules and regulations' hanging
on the yellowish white walls that I can't see now, whenever I shut my
eyes. I guess they were all photographed on my 'mental retina,' as the
writing folks say. The three officers were in full uniform, to do honour
to the case, and of course there wasn't a man present dressed in 'cits.'
All were army chaps, even to the headquarters clerk who took notes of
the proceedings, the orderly who kept the door, and the witnesses. There
weren't many of those. I was one of the principal witnesses and you've
heard from me before how little I had to say.
"March, who as prisoner had to be formally conducted in by an officer,
had a seat on the left of the judges' table, and his friend, Major Dell,
sat beside him. If you could have been a fly on that beastly wall,
looking down at your hero, I guess you'd have been proud of the way he
held himself. If he'd been brought there to receive a medal of honour
instead of to be tried for a big, insane sort of offence calculated to
bring about international complications he couldn't have had a prouder
bearing. And he wasn't even pale. He looked just brown and calm and
natural. I had to confess to when you asked me a point-blank question
that night in the park, that I was all muddled up in my mind about his
conduct in ordering the gunfire. I didn't know whether he'd gone off his
chump, or been fooled, or what. But I can tell you one thing: I felt
proud of him as a man and as my superior officer when I saw the way he
bore himself for his trial. I don't know now the rights of the matter
any more than I did then, in spite of the court's findings; but
something tells me--as girls say--that March _wasn't to blame_. There's
a black mystery in this, and I don't see how it's ever going to be
cleared up, as things are. But to go back to the court-martial.
"March was accused by the prosecutor of having fired without orders
three charges from field guns into a country living at peace with the
United States, to the detriment of its inhabitants and property, and to
the imminent peril of disturbing international relations. He could have
objected legally to any of the judges and stated his objections. But he
didn't object to them, nor to the shorthand-writer, whom he had a right
to throw out if he could show reasons for thinking that the man was
likely to be partial in his notes of the proceedings.
"Of course, I as a mere witness wasn't present all the time; but I know
what took place, because I've heard some of it from different quarters.
I know that when 'the court had been duly sworn, the accused was
arraigned,' which means that the president read out the charges against
March, and asked him whether he pleaded guilty or not guilty. Can't you
just hear March answering steadily in that pleasant, quiet voice of his:
'Not guilty!' The next thing to follow was the prosecutor's address,
outlining the case against the prisoner, and mentioning the witnesses he
meant to summon. Then he called the evidence for the prosecution, and
that's where, as I've heard from other witnesses, those present got
their first big surprise.
"Naturally there'd been no end of whispering among those in the know
before the court met; and it was discussed whether or not March would
bring into his defence the state of feeling between Vandyke and himself.
Some thought he would be justified in doing so, and quixotic not to, as
the bad blood between them, and the cause of it (I hope you don't mind
my saying this?) was already a sort of open secret. Others argued that
if the ill-feeling were once lugged in, the name of the lady concerned
and other details would certainly be dragged into the case through
inquiries which would have to be made; and that March wasn't the man to
run such a risk even if it were likely to do him any good. The surprise
of the court came when Vandyke accused March of giving the order for
firing the guns without authority, but deliberately putting the
responsibility on him--Vandyke--with the object of ruining him. Did you
ever know the like of that?
"From one way of looking at the thing, it was a jolly smart way for
Vandyke to turn the tables, because it would take all the wind out of
March's sails, in case he meant to accuse Vandyke of the same intention
toward him. I don't suppose there ever was such a queer case between
officers as this one; both men highly placed and popular in the service
and society.
"I believe March brought out his notebook in evidence (the
khaki-coloured one with his monogram on it in silver, which I'd often
seen, and which you say you gave him) to show the newly torn-out leaf;
and his friend, Major Dell, who was his classmate at West Point (you've
seen him here; fine-looking cavalry chap), suggested that the page
underneath should be examined with a magnifying glass for the impression
of writing on the missing page with a blunt pencil which had borne
heavily on the paper. No words could be definitely made out, even with
the magnifier, and even if they could have been, I'm afraid that
wouldn't have made much difference in the case. March had had the
notebook in his possession after the gunfiring, you see, and could
easily have written what he liked and then torn out the leaf.
"Vandyke's orderly being dead, there was no evidence as to the part he
had played for either side; but I suppose he would have been a witness
for the prosecution, so his disappearance off the scene was perhaps a
good thing for March. I was called for the defence, but nothing I had to
say was of any good. I felt that; and being keen to serve March's
interest if I could with truth, put such a strain on me to be careful of
each word that you could have knocked me down with a feather after I was
released. When my evidence was read over (they always do that to every
witness before he leaves the court) it seemed to me I'd given the most
rotten answers every time; but I couldn't have made them any better if
I'd tried to explain them away, or amend them as I should have had the
right to do; so I let them go as they were.
"March cross-examined me himself, about the distance he was from the
guns when the orderly was supposed to come up; and the darkness of the
night; and the nature of the ground for muffling the sound of footsteps.
He didn't seem a bit disgusted or hurt with me because I could not do
better for his case. He had a real friendly look in his eyes whenever
they met mine; and I tell you, Peggy, I could have blubbed like a kid
when I thought of it later, after I knew what the verdict was.
"Once I saw him cross glances with Vandyke, and if you won't think I'm
getting sentimental on top of all the rest, I'll tell you I thought
March's look was like a sword. Vandyke was yellow and bloodshot as if
he'd had a bilious attack, and perhaps bile had been the trouble when he
went on sick report and the case had to be delayed for him.
"The findings were considered in closed court. And now you must take
this one bit of comfort to yourself, Peggy, in your trouble about your
friend Captain March: things might have gone a lot harder for him than
they did in such a serious case. Vandyke's accusation against him was
mighty bad, and there was some evidence to support it. March didn't seem
to use such weapons as he had to hit back with, quite as smartly as he
might have done, though that was, no doubt, in his determination to keep
your sister's name from coming into the affair. He did defend himself to
the extent of saying he'd tried to save the situation by firing blank
instead of shell; but that didn't help him much, for the whole point of
the accusation against him was that he had had no right to fire at all.
None of his witnesses could help him any more than I could, whereas
Vandyke had several who took their oath to seeing him in the auto with
his orderly, leaving old Fort Bliss at much about the time when March
said Johnson came to him with the second verbal order. March could have
been sentenced to imprisonment or chucked out of the army if the court
had believed in his giving the order to fire the guns on his own
responsibility out of sheer madness, or spite against Vandyke. As it
was, they accepted the theory that he had been hoaxed by some one
unknown, purporting to be the orderly of Major Vandyke, then acting as
colonel. Owing to the comparative darkness of the night (luckily there
wasn't a moon, only stars) it would have been possible for a nervous,
jumpy man to mistake the identity of a person masquerading as another
person. Now _you_ know, and _I_ know, and everybody who knows him knows
March is the last fellow in the world to get nerves or jumps in any
circumstances whatever. All the same, giving him credit for them on a
night when a Mexican raid on the town had been predicted offered the
court an excuse to let the accused down lightly. He was sentenced merely
to 'severe censure for rashness and carelessness,' etc., etc. In
sequence to this our Old Man--the colonel, I mean--has had to advise
March to resign. That's part of the programme. And equally it is part of
the programme that March should take the advice.
"Now, dear, I've told you the story as well or as badly as I can.
Anyhow, you know as much as I do, and that is a good deal more than you
ought to know, or others are likely to know. If you hear anything
further, it will be from March himself.
"When the Mexican bees have settled down in their hive again, and we're
back at Fort Alvarado, I'm going to have a good try for a month's leave
or longer, so as to cross the blue with the mater and sis. Of course,
entirely with the object of looking after them, and perhaps getting an
invitation to Lady Di's wedding, and not a bit for the sake of seeing
you or jogging your memory about a certain decision! Yours till the end
of beyond, Billiken."
For a while, after I had read this long letter through, to the
accompaniment of thunder, lightning, and rain, I sat with the four
closely written sheets of paper in my hand, not thinking, only feeling.
I could not console myself with "the one bit of comfort" which Tony
waved under my eyes. Eagle March was a born soldier. He cared more for
his career than for his life, and it had been taken from him. Though the
world was not to know what he was accused of doing, all the world would
know that he had left the army because his country no longer needed his
services. And he owed this to his love for my sister! This was what
Diana and I had brought upon the bravest and best man we should ever
meet.
"What will he do? What will become of him?" I asked myself miserably;
and the rain beating on the window seemed to give a desolating answer.
But there was still the letter I had waited to read until I learned the
best or worst from Tony. Perhaps that would tell me what I wished to
know!