Читать книгу West Point Colors - Anna Bartlett Warner - Страница 14

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Twelve small strokes on the tinkling bell;

Midnight comes, and all is well! —Culprit Fay.

Yes, with the new uniform came also new work, as Magnus had been warned. Guard duty put in its claim, and the plebs were promoted to walk post, and to learn what upper classmen could do to make that duty unpleasant. "Jumping plebs" went on with variations. "Crawling" seems to be the favourite word now, but probably the thing itself is not much slower than it was of yore.

The first night on guard was a never-to-be-forgotten thing to Magnus Kindred.

It was a quiet night enough, so far as disturbances went, for this time the tide of mischief seemed to set in some other direction. But that only left the power of the night itself unchecked. So still, so solemn, so sweet, and yet with such a bitter flavour. Strange beyond description, and beautiful past all telling.

Charlemagne had gone on with the second relief, tattoo had beat, and taps had said its closing word; and now all private lights were out. The day had been hot, but the night came down dewy and cool; and the full summer moon was slowly flooding the world with glory, and lining out everything in clear black and white.

Every tent wall was raised to let in the air. The prostrate men on the floors were as still as the white canvas above their heads. Sleeping off drills and difficulties here, and there plotting and planning; or perhaps gazing out into the night with wide-open, homesick eyes.

A faint breath stirred the trees around Camp Hard; from across the plain one could just catch the sound of slow footsteps, where the enlisted sentry paced up and down the Officers' Row. Far below, on the river, boats went and came: a sloop, dreaming noiselessly along on the incoming tide; or two steamers, signalling before they met. You could hear the dash of the swell upon the shore, and the panting breath of the fierce little tugs, with the more stately beat of the paddles of a side-wheeler. Over all, the moon rode high and clear.

And, for this night, the Western pleb was unmolested. Not a stray ghost crossed his beat. Up and down, up and down, in company with his shadow, the slow, measured step leaving his thoughts free: and they had all gone home. And so it was, that by degrees Magnus Kindred fell into one of his desperate fits of lonely homesickness, ready to fire off his musket, or do any lawless thing, if only so he might be arrested and dismissed to freedom, mother, and the girls. And on post you cannot throw your arms into the air and yourself down on the ground; not get even the smallest bit of any such slight relief.

As Magnus turned on his beat, pacing now towards the western hills, the exceeding beauty of the bit of star-spangled sky to the north was full in view. The Great Bear and his associates held on their shining way, despite the moon, calm, high, lifted above all of earth's tears and turmoils. What was that his mother used to sing?

"Ye stars are but the shining dust

Of my divine abode;

The pavement of those heavenly courts

Where I shall see my God."

Magnus remembered with another of his sharp twinges.

"All right for her!" he thought, pacing back again to meet the moon, "all right for them all! But the folks that tread those pavements have gotten the victory."

"I do not think, myself," Cadet Kindred went on candidly, eyeing the stars once more, "that I am fighting for it hard enough to hurt, just at present. 'Gotten the victory,'" he repeated to himself, "won it, and kept it."

The dear folks at home might not even be thinking of him, just then; they were doubtless all peacefully asleep, each having laid down her heart's desire at the feet of Him "that keepeth Israel," so leaving the far-off young sentinel in His tender care. But Magnus knew, almost as if he had heard them, the prayers sent up for him that night.

A sharp, resonant cry brought him suddenly back to Camp Hard and duty. From the post in front of the camp the sentinel gave the hour.

"Number One! Half-past ten o'clock and all's--well!"

Then it came to Magnus.

Now the guard had been admonished, that very day, not to mumble the words, but to give each its full value, clear and strong. But this first man was sleepy, or lazy, and gave small heed to the order. His "All's well!" was loud enough, but seemed rather a matter of hope than of certainty.

I am not sure that Magnus even supposed that he himself was working out the spirit of the order, but he was homesick and disheartened, as well as ignorant of military affairs; and with that a little bit reckless, and ready to do anything for a change. What did it matter, anyhow? And so, as it came to his turn, he shouted forth the call at the top of his voice, and to the closing notes of the retreat bugle call at parade.

Number-two: Half-past ten o'clock and all is ... well!

[Listen]

And half the camp heard it.

Of course there was a stir, and Magnus was reported for "calling the hour in an improper manner." But he went scot-free, after all, by reason, doubtless, of his short acquaintance with guard duty.