I
Caspar Cadogan resolved to go to the tropic wars and do something. The
air was blue and gold with the pomp of soldiering, and in every ear
rang the music of military glory. Caspar's father was a United States
Senator from the great State of Skowmulligan, where the war fever ran
very high. Chill is the blood of many of the sons of millionaires, but
Caspar took the fever and posted to Washington. His father had never
denied him anything, and this time all that Caspar wanted was a little
Captaincy in the Army--just a simple little Captaincy.
The old man had been entertaining a delegation of respectable
bunco-steerers from Skowmulligan who had come to him on a matter which
is none of the public's business.
Bottles of whisky and boxes of cigars were still on the table in the
sumptuous private parlour. The Senator had said, "Well, gentlemen, I'll
do what I can for you." By this sentence he meant whatever he meant.
Then he turned to his eager son. "Well, Caspar?" The youth poured out
his modest desires. It was not altogether his fault. Life had taught
him a generous faith in his own abilities. If any one had told him that
he was simply an ordinary d--d fool he would have opened his eyes wide
at the person's lack of judgment. All his life people had admired him.
The Skowmulligan war-horse looked with quick disapproval into the eyes
of his son. "Well, Caspar," he said slowly, "I am of the opinion that
they've got all the golf experts and tennis champions and cotillion
leaders and piano tuners and billiard markers that they really need as
officers. Now, if you were a soldier----"
"I know," said the young man with a gesture, "but I'm not exactly a
fool, I hope, and I think if I get a chance I can do something. I'd
like to try. I would, indeed."
The Senator lit a cigar. He assumed an attitude of ponderous
reflection. "Y--yes, but this country is full of young men who are not
fools. Full of 'em."
Caspar fidgeted in the desire to answer that while he admitted the
profusion of young men who were not fools, he felt that he himself
possessed interesting and peculiar qualifications which would allow him
to make his mark in any field of effort which he seriously challenged.
But he did not make this graceful statement, for he sometimes detected
something ironic in his father's temperament. The Skowmulligan
war-horse had not thought of expressing an opinion of his own ability
since the year 1865, when he was young, like Caspar.
"Well, well," said the Senator finally. "I'll see about it. I'll see
about it." The young man was obliged to await the end of his father's
characteristic method of thought. The war-horse never gave a quick
answer, and if people tried to hurry him they seemed able to arouse
only a feeling of irritation against making a decision at all. His mind
moved like the wind, but practice had placed a Mexican bit in the mouth
of his judgment. This old man of light quick thought had taught himself
to move like an ox cart. Caspar said, "Yes, sir." He withdrew to his
club, where, to the affectionate inquiries of some envious friends, he
replied, "The old man is letting the idea soak."
The mind of the war-horse was decided far sooner than Caspar expected.
In Washington a large number of well-bred handsome young men were
receiving appointments as Lieutenants, as Captains, and occasionally as
Majors. They were a strong, healthy, clean-eyed educated collection.
They were a prime lot. A German Field-Marshal would have beamed with
joy if he could have had them--to send to school. Anywhere in the world
they would have made a grand show as material, but, intrinsically they
were not Lieutenants, Captains and Majors. They were fine men, though
manhood is only an essential part of a Lieutenant, a Captain or a
Major. But at any rate, this arrangement had all the logic of going to
sea in a bathing-machine.
The Senator found himself reasoning that Caspar was as good as any of
them, and better than many. Presently he was bleating here and there
that his boy should have a chance. "The boy's all right, I tell you,
Henry. He's wild to go, and I don't see why they shouldn't give him a
show. He's got plenty of nerve, and he's keen as a whiplash. I'm going
to get him an appointment, and if you can do anything to help it along
I wish you would."
Then he betook himself to the White House and the War Department and
made a stir. People think that Administrations are always slavishly,
abominably anxious to please the Machine. They are not; they wish the
Machine sunk in red fire, for by the power of ten thousand past words,
looks, gestures, writings, the Machine comes along and takes the
Administration by the nose and twists it, and the Administration dare
not even yell. The huge force which carries an election to success
looks reproachfully at the Administration and says, "Give me a bun."
That is a very small thing with which to reward a Colossus.
The Skowmulligan war-horse got his bun and took it to his hotel where
Caspar was moodily reading war rumours. "Well, my boy, here you are."
Caspar was a Captain and Commissary on the staff of Brigadier-General
Reilly, commander of the Second Brigade of the First Division of the
Thirtieth Army Corps.
"I had to work for it," said the Senator grimly. "They talked to me as
if they thought you were some sort of empty-headed idiot. None of 'em
seemed to know you personally. They just sort of took it for granted.
Finally I got pretty hot in the collar." He paused a moment; his heavy,
grooved face set hard; his blue eyes shone. He clapped a hand down upon
the handle of his chair.
"Caspar, I've got you into this thing, and I believe you'll do all
right, and I'm not saying this because I distrust either your sense or
your grit. But I want you to understand you've _got to make a go of
it_. I'm not going to talk any twaddle about your country and your
country's flag. You understand all about that. But now you're a
soldier, and there'll be this to do and that to do, and fighting to do,
and you've got to do _every d----d one of 'em_ right up to the handle.
I don't know how much of a shindy this thing is going to be, but any
shindy is enough to show how much there is in a man. You've got your
appointment, and that's all I can do for you; but I'll thrash you with
my own hands if, when the Army gets back, the other fellows say my son
is 'nothing but a good-looking dude.'"
He ceased, breathing heavily. Caspar looked bravely and frankly at his
father, and answered in a voice which was not very tremulous. "I'll do
my best. This is my chance. I'll do my best with it."
The Senator had a marvellous ability of transition from one manner to
another. Suddenly he seemed very kind. "Well, that's all right, then. I
guess you'll get along all right with Reilly. I know him well, and
he'll see you through. I helped him along once. And now about this
commissary business. As I understand it, a Commissary is a sort of
caterer in a big way--that is, he looks out for a good many more things
than a caterer has to bother his head about. Reilly's brigade has
probably from two to three thousand men in it, and in regard to certain
things you've got to look out for every man of 'em every day. I know
perfectly well you couldn't successfully run a boarding-house in Ocean
Grove. How are you going to manage for all these soldiers, hey? Thought
about it?"
"No," said Caspar, injured. "I didn't want to be a Commissary. I wanted
to be a Captain in the line."
"They wouldn't hear of it. They said you would have to take a staff
appointment where people could look after you."
"Well, let them look after me," cried Caspar resentfully; "but when
there's any fighting to be done I guess I won't necessarily be the last
man."
"That's it," responded the Senator. "That's the spirit." They both
thought that the problem of war would eliminate to an equation of
actual battle.
Ultimately Caspar departed into the South to an encampment in salty
grass under pine trees. Here lay an Army corps twenty thousand strong.
Caspar passed into the dusty sunshine of it, and for many weeks he was
lost to view.