the reveille at fort redwood had been supplemented full five minutes by the voice of lieutenant george calvert's servant, before that young officer struggled from his bed. his head was splitting, his tongue and lips were dry and feverish, his bloodshot eyes were shrinking from the insufferable light of the day, his mind a confused medley of the past night and the present morning, of cards and wild revelry, and the vision of a reproachfully trim orderly standing at his door with reports and orders which he now held composedly in his hand. for lieutenant calvert had been enjoying a symposium variously known as "stag feed" and "a wild stormy night" with several of his brother officers, and a sickening conviction that it was not the first or the last time he had indulged in these festivities. at that moment he loathed himself, and then after the usual derelict fashion cursed the fate that had sent him, after graduating, to a frontier garrison—the dull monotony of whose duties made the border horse-play of dissipation a relief. already he had reached the miserable point of envying the veteran capacities of his superiors and equals. "if i could drink like kirby or crowninshield, or if there was any other cursed thing a man could do in this hole," he had wretchedly repeated to himself, after each misspent occasion, and yet already he was looking forward to them as part of a 'sub's' duty and worthy his emulation. already the dream of social recreation fostered by west point had been rudely dispelled. beyond the garrison circle of colonel preston's family and two officers' wives, there was no society. the vague distrust and civil jealousy with which some frontier communities regard the federal power, heightened in this instance by the uncompromising attitude the government had taken towards the settlers' severe indian policy, had kept the people of logport aloof from the fort. the regimental band might pipe to them on saturdays, but they would not dance.
howbeit, lieutenant calvert dressed himself with uncertain hands but mechanical regularity and neatness, and, under the automatic training of discipline and duty, managed to button his tunic tightly over his feelings, to pull himself together with his sword-belt, compressing a still cadet-like waist, and to present that indescribable combination of precision and jauntiness which his brother officers too often allowed to lapse into frontier carelessness. his closely clipped light hair, yet dripping from a plunge in the cold water, had been brushed and parted with military exactitude, and when surmounted by his cap, with the peak in an artful suggestion of extra smartness tipped forward over his eyes, only his pale face—a shade lighter than his little blonde moustache—showed his last night's excesses. he was mechanically reaching for his sword and staring confusedly at the papers on his table when his servant interrupted:
"major bromley arranged that lieutenant kirby takes your sash this morning, as you're not well, sir; and you're to report for special to the colonel," he added, pointing discreetly to the envelope.
touched by this consideration of his superior, major bromley, who had been one of the veterans of last night's engagement, calvert mastered the contents of the envelope without the customary anathema of specials, said, "thank you, parks," and passed out on the veranda.
the glare of the quiet sunlit quadrangle, clean as a well-swept floor, the whitewashed walls and galleries of the barrack buildings beyond, the white and green palisade of officers' cottages on either side, and the glitter of a sentry's bayonet, were for a moment intolerable to him. yet, by a kind of subtle irony, never before had the genius and spirit of the vocation he had chosen seemed to be as incarnate as in the scene before him. seclusion, self-restraint, cleanliness, regularity, sobriety, the atmosphere of a wholesome life, the austere reserve of a monastery without its mysterious or pensive meditation, were all there. to escape which, he had of his own free will successively accepted a fool's distraction, the inevitable result of which was, the viewing of them the next morning with tremulous nerves and aching eyeballs.
an hour later, lieutenant george calvert had received his final instructions from colonel preston to take charge of a small detachment to recover and bring back certain deserters, but notably one, dennis m'caffrey of company h, charged additionally with mutinous solicitation and example. as calvert stood before his superior, that distinguished officer, whose oratorical powers had been considerably stimulated through a long course of "returning thanks for the army," slightly expanded his chest and said paternally:
"i am aware, mr. calvert, that duties of this kind are somewhat distasteful to young officers, and are apt to be considered in the light of police detail; but i must remind you that no one part of a soldier's duty can be held more important or honorable than another, and that the fulfilment of any one, however trifling, must, with honor to himself and security to his comrades, receive his fullest devotion. a sergeant and a file of men might perform your duty, but i require, in addition, the discretion, courtesy, and consideration of a gentleman who will command an equal respect from those with whom his duty brings him in contact. the unhappy prejudices which the settlers show to the military authority here render this, as you are aware, a difficult service, but i believe that you will, without forgetting the respect due to yourself and the government you represent, avoid arousing these prejudices by any harshness, or inviting any conflict with the civil authority. the limits of their authority you will find in your written instructions; but you might gain their confidence, and impress them, mr. calvert, with the idea of your being their auxiliary in the interests of justice—you understand. even if you are unsuccessful in bringing back the men, you will do your best to ascertain if their escape has been due to the sympathy of the settlers, or even with their preliminary connivance. they may not be aware that inciting enlisted men to desert is a criminal offence; you will use your own discretion in informing them of the fact or not, as occasion may serve you. i have only to add, that while you are on the waters of this bay and the land covered by its tides, you have no opposition of authority, and are responsible to no one but your military superiors. good-bye, mr. calvert. let me hear a good account of you."
considerably moved by colonel preston's manner, which was as paternal and real as his rhetoric was somewhat perfunctory, calvert half forgot his woes as he stepped from the commandant's piazza. but he had to face a group of his brother officers, who were awaiting him.
"good-bye, calvert," said major bromley; "a day or two out on grass won't hurt you—and a change from commissary whiskey will put you all right. by the way, if you hear of any better stuff at westport than they're giving us here, sample it and let us know. take care of yourself. give your men a chance to talk to you now and then, and you may get something from them, especially donovan. keep your eye on ramon. you can trust your sergeant straight along."
"good-bye, george," said kirby. "i suppose the old man told you that, although no part of a soldier's duty was better than another, your service was a very delicate one, just fitted for you, eh? he always does when he's cut out some hellish scrub-work for a chap. and told you, too, that as long as you didn't go ashore, and kept to a dispatch-boat, or an eight-oared gig, where you couldn't deploy your men, or dress a line, you'd be invincible."
"he did say something like that," smiled calvert, with an uneasy recollection, however, that it was the part of his superior's speech that particularly impressed him.
"of course," said kirby gravely, "that, as an infantry officer, is clearly your duty."
"and don't forget, george," said rollins still more gravely, "that, whatever may befall you, you belong to a section of that numerically small but powerfully diversified organization—the american army. remember that in the hour of peril you can address your men in any language, and be perfectly understood. and remember that when you proudly stand before them, the eyes not only of your own country, but of nearly all the others, are upon you! good-bye, georgey. i heard the major hint something about whiskey. they say that old pirate, kingfisher culpepper, had a stock of the real thing from robertson county laid in his shebang on the marsh just before he died. pity we aren't on terms with them, for the cubs cannot drink it, and might be induced to sell. shouldn't wonder, by the way, if your friend m'caffrey was hanging round somewhere there; he always had a keen scent. you might confiscate it as an "incitement to desertion," you know. the girl's pretty, and ought to be growing up now."
but haply at this point the sergeant stopped further raillery by reporting the detachment ready; and drawing his sword, calvert, with a confused head, a remorseful heart, but an unfaltering step, marched off his men on his delicate mission.
it was four o'clock when he entered jonesville. following a matter-of-fact idea of his own, he had brought his men the greater distance by a circuitous route through the woods, thus avoiding the ostentatious exposure of his party on the open bay in a well-manned boat to an extended view from the three leagues of shore and marsh opposite. crossing the stream, which here separated him from the dedlow marsh by the common ferry, he had thus been enabled to halt unperceived below the settlement and occupy the two roads by which the fugitives could escape inland. he had deemed it not impossible that, after the previous visit of the sergeant, the deserters hidden in the vicinity might return to jonesville in the belief that the visit would not be repeated so soon. leaving a part of his small force to patrol the road and another to deploy over the upland meadows, he entered the village. by the exercise of some boyish diplomacy and a certain prepossessing grace, which he knew when and how to employ, he became satisfied that the objects of his quest were not there—however, their whereabouts might have been known to the people. dividing his party again, he concluded to take a corporal and a few men and explore the lower marshes himself.
the preoccupation of duty, exercise, and perhaps, above all, the keen stimulus of the iodine-laden salt air seemed to clear his mind and invigorate his body. he had never been in the marsh before, and enjoyed its novelty with the zest of youth. it was the hour when the tide of its feathered life was at its flood. clouds of duck and teal passing from the fresh water of the river to the salt pools of the marshes perpetually swept his path with flying shadows; at times it seemed as if even the uncertain ground around him itself arose and sped away on dusky wings. the vicinity of hidden pools and sloughs was betrayed by startled splashings; a few paces from their marching feet arose the sunlit pinions of a swan. the air was filled with multitudinous small cries and pipings. in this vocal confusion it was some minutes before he recognized the voice of one of his out-flankers calling to the other.
an important discovery had been made. in a long tongue of bushes that ran down to the marsh they had found a mud-stained uniform, complete even to the cap, bearing the initial of the deserter's company.
"is there any hut or cabin hereabouts, schmidt?" asked calvert.
"dot vos schoost it, lefdennun," replied his corporal. "dot vos de shanty from der kingvisher—old gulbebber. i pet a dollar, py shimminy, dot der men haf der gekommt."
he pointed through the brake to a long, low building that now raised itself, white in the sunlight, above the many blackened piles. calvert saw in a single reconnoitring glance that it had but one approach—the flight of steps from the marsh. instructing his men to fall in on the outer edge of the brake and await his orders, he quickly made his way across the space and ascended the steps. passing along the gallery he knocked at the front door. there was no response. he repeated his knock. then the window beside it opened suddenly, and he was confronted with the double-muzzle of a long ducking-gun. glancing instinctively along the barrels, he saw at their other extremity the bright eyes, brilliant color, and small set mouth of a remarkably handsome girl. it was the fact, and to the credit of his training, that he paid more attention to the eyes than to the challenge of the shining tubes before him.
"jest stop where you are—will you!" said the girl determinedly.
calvert's face betrayed not the slightest terror or surprise. immovable as on parade, he carried his white gloved hand to his cap, and said gently, "with pleasure."
"oh yes," said the girl quickly; "but if you move a step i'll jest blow you and your gloves offer that railin' inter the marsh."
"i trust not," returned calvert, smiling.
"and why?"
"because it would deprive me of the pleasure of a few moments' conversation with you—and i've only one pair of gloves with me."
he was still watching her beautiful eyes—respectfully, admiringly, and strategically. for he was quite convinced that if he did move she would certainly discharge one or both barrels at him.
"where's the rest of you?" she continued sharply.
"about three hundred yards away, in the covert, not near enough to trouble you."
"will they come here?"
"i trust not."
"you trust not?" she repeated scornfully. "why?
"because they would be disobeying orders."
she lowered her gun slightly, but kept her black brows levelled at him. "i reckon i'm a match for you," she said, with a slightly contemptuous glance at his slight figure, and opened the door. for a moment they stood looking at each other. he saw, besides the handsome face and eyes that had charmed him, a tall slim figure, made broader across the shoulders by an open pea-jacket that showed a man's red flannel shirt belted at the waist over a blue skirt, with the collar knotted by a sailor's black handkerchief, and turned back over a pretty though sunburnt throat. she saw a rather undersized young fellow in a jaunty undress uniform, scant of gold braid, and bearing only the single gold shoulder-bars of his rank, but scrupulously neat and well fitting. light-colored hair cropped close, the smallest of light moustaches, clear and penetrating blue eyes, and a few freckles completed a picture that did not prepossess her. she was therefore the more inclined to resent the perfect ease and self-possession with which the stranger carried off these manifest defects before her.
she laid aside the gun, put her hands deep in the pockets of her pea-jacket, and, slightly squaring her shoulders, said curtly, "what do you want?"
"a very little information, which i trust it will not trouble you to give me. my men have just discovered the uniform belonging to a deserter from the fort lying in the bushes yonder. can you give me the slightest idea how it came there?"
"what right have you trapseing over our property?" she said, turning upon him sharply, with a slight paling of color.
"none whatever."
"then what did you come for?"
"to ask that permission, in case you would give me no information."
"why don't you ask my brother, and not a woman? were you afraid?"
"he could hardly have done me the honor of placing me in more peril than you have," returned calvert, smiling. "then i have the pleasure of addressing miss culpepper?"
"i'm jim culpepper's sister."
"and, i believe, equally able to give or refuse the permission i ask."
"and what if i refuse?"
"then i have only to ask pardon for having troubled you, go back, and return here with the tide. you don't resist that with a shotgun, do you?" he asked pleasantly.
maggie culpepper was already familiar with the accepted theory of the supreme jurisdiction of the federal sea. she half turned her back upon him, partly to show her contempt, but partly to evade the domination of his clear, good-humored, and self-sustained little eyes.
"i don't know anythin' about your deserters, nor what rags o' theirs happen to be floated up here," she said, angrily, "and don't care to. you kin do what you like."
"then i'm afraid i should remain here a little longer, miss culpepper; but my duty"—
"your wot?" she interrupted, disdainfully.
"i suppose i am talking shop," he said smilingly. "then my business"—
"your business—pickin' up half-starved runaways!"
"and, i trust, sometimes a kind friend," he suggested, with a grave bow.
"you trust? look yer, young man," she said, with her quick, fierce, little laugh, "i reckon you trust a heap too much!" she would like to have added, "with your freckled face, red hair, and little eyes"—but this would have obliged her to face them again, which she did not care to do.
calvert stepped back, lifted his hand to his cap, still pleasantly, and then walked gravely along the gallery, down the steps, and towards the cover. from her window, unseen, she followed his neat little figure moving undeviatingly on, without looking to the left or right, and still less towards the house he had just quitted. then she saw the sunlight flash on cross-belt plates and steel barrels, and a light blue line issued from out the dark green bushes, round the point, and disappeared. and then it suddenly occurred to her what she had been doing! this, then, was her first step towards that fancy she had so lately conceived, quarrelled over with her brother, and lay awake last night to place anew, in spite of all opposition! this was her brilliant idea of dazzling and subduing logport and the fort! had she grown silly, or what had happened? could she have dreamed of the coming of this whipper-snapper, with his insufferable airs, after that beggarly deserter? i am afraid that for a few moments the miserable fugitive had as small a place in maggie's sympathy as the redoubtable whipper-snapper himself. and now the cherished dream of triumph and conquest was over! what a "looney" she had been! instead of inviting him in, and outdoing him in "company manners," and "fooling" him about the deserter, and then blazing upon him afterwards at logport in the glory of her first spent wealth and finery, she had driven him away!
and now "he'll go and tell—tell the fort girls of his hairbreadth escape from the claws of the kingfisher's daughter!"
the thought brought a few bitter tears to her eyes, but she wiped them away. the thought brought also the terrible conviction that jim was right, that there could be nothing but open antagonism between them and the traducers of their parents, as she herself had instinctively shown! but she presently wiped that conviction away also, as she had her tears.
half an hour later she was attracted by the appearance from the windows of certain straggling blue spots on the upland that seemed moving diagonally towards the marsh. she did not know that it was calvert's second "detail" joining him, but believed for a moment that he had not yet departed, and was strangely relieved. still later the frequent disturbed cries of coot, heron, and marsh-hen, recognizing the presence of unusual invaders of their solitude, distracted her yet more, and forced her at last with increasing color and an uneasy sense of shyness to steal out to the gallery for a swift furtive survey of the marsh. but an utterly unexpected sight met her eyes, and kept her motionless.
the birds were rising everywhere and drifting away with querulous perturbation before a small but augmented blue detachment that was moving with monotonous regularity towards the point of bushes where she had seen the young officer previously disappear. in their midst, between two soldiers with fixed bayonets, marched the man whom even at that distance she instantly recognized as the deserter of the preceding night, in the very clothes she had given him. to complete her consternation, a little to the right marched the young officer also, but accompanied by, and apparently on the most amicable terms with, jim—her own brother!
to forget all else and dart down the steps, flying towards the point of bushes, scarcely knowing why or what she was doing, was to maggie the impulse and work of a moment. when she had reached it the party were not twenty paces away. but here a shyness and hesitation again seized her, and she shrank back in the bushes with an instinctive cry to her brother inarticulate upon her lips. they came nearer, they were opposite to her; her brother jim keeping step with the invader, and even conversing with him with an animation she had seldom seen upon his face—they passed! she had been unnoticed except by one. the roving eye of the deserter had detected her handsome face among the leaves, slightly turned towards it, and poured out his whole soul in a single swift wink of eloquent but indescribable confidence.
when they had quite gone, she crept back to the house, a little reassured, but still tremulous. when her brother returned at nightfall, he found her brooding over the fire, in the same attitude as on the previous night.
"i reckon ye might hev seen me go by with the sodgers," he said, seating himself beside her, a little awkwardly, and with an unusual assumption of carelessness.
maggie, without looking up, was languidly surprised. he had been with the soldiers—and where?
"about two hours ago i met this yer leftenant calvert," he went on with increasing awkwardness, "and—oh, i say, mag—he said he saw you, and hoped he hadn't troubled ye, and—and—ye saw him, didn't ye?"
maggie, with all the red of the fire concentrated in her cheek as she gazed at the flame, believed carelessly "that she had seen a shrimp in uniform asking questions."
"oh, he ain't a bit stuck up," said jim quickly, "that's what i like about him. he's ez nat'ral ez you be, and tuck my arm, walkin' around, careless-like, laffen at what he was doin', ez ef it was a game, and he wasn't sole commander of forty men. he's only a year or two older than me—and—and"—he stopped and looked uneasily at maggie.
"so ye've bin craw-fishin' agin?" said maggie, in her deepest and most scornful contralto.
"who's craw-fishin'?" he retorted, angrily.
"what's this backen out o' what you said yesterday? what's all this trucklin' to the fort now?"
"what? well now, look yer," said jim, rising suddenly, with reproachful indignation, "darned if i don't jest tell ye everythin'. i promised him i wouldn't. he allowed it would frighten ye."
"frighten me!" repeated maggie contemptuously, nevertheless with her cheek paling again. "frighten me—with what?"
"well, since yer so cantankerous, look yer. we've been robbed!"
"robbed?" echoed maggie, facing him.
"yes, robbed by that same deserter. robbed of a suit of my clothes, and my whiskey-flask, and the darned skunk had 'em on. and if it hadn't bin for that leftenant calvert, and my givin' him permission to hunt him over the marsh, we wouldn't have caught him."
"robbed?" repeated maggie again, vaguely.
"yes, robbed! last night, afore we came home. he must hev got in yer while we was comin' from the boat."
"did, did that leftenant say so?" stammered maggie.
"say it, of course he did! and so do i," continued jim, impatiently. "why, there were my very clothes on his back, and he daren't deny it. and if you'd hearkened to me jest now, instead of flyin' off in tantrums, you'd see that that's jest how we got him, and how me and the leftenant joined hands in it. i didn't give him permission to hunt deserters, but thieves. i didn't help him to ketch the man that deserted from him, but the skunk that took my clothes. for when the leftenant found the man's old uniform in the bush, he nat'rally kalkilated he must hev got some other duds near by in some underhand way. don't you see? eh? why, look, mag. darned if you ain't skeered after all! who'd hev thought it? there now—sit down, dear. why, you're white ez a gull."
he had his arm round her as she sank back in the chair again with a forced smile.
"there now," he said with fraternal superiority, "don't mind it, mag, any more. why, it's all over now. you bet he won't trouble us agin, for the leftenant sez that now he's found out to be a thief, they'll jest turn him over to the police, and he's sure o' getten six months' state prison fer stealin' and burglarin' in our house. but"—he stopped suddenly and looked at his sister's contracted face; "look yer, mag, you're sick, that's what's the matter. take suthin'"—
"i'm better now," she said with an effort; "it's only a kind o' blind chill i must hev got on the marsh last night. what's that?"
she had risen, and grasping her brother's arm tightly had turned quickly to the window. the casement had suddenly rattled.
"it's only the wind gettin' up. it looked like a sou'wester when i came in. lot o' scud flyin'. but you take some quinine, mag. don't you go now and get down sick like maw."
perhaps it was this well-meant but infelicitous reference that brought a moisture to her dark eyes, and caused her lips to momentarily quiver. but it gave way to a quick determined setting of her whole face as she turned it once more to the fire, and said, slowly:
"i reckon i'll sleep it off, if i go to bed now. what time does the tide fall."
"about three, unless this yer wind piles it up on the marsh afore then. why?"
"i was only wonderin' if the boat wus safe," said maggie, rising.
"you'd better hoist yourself outside some quinine, instead o' talken about those things," said jim, who preferred to discharge his fraternal responsibility by active medication. "you aren't fit to read tonight."
"good night, jim," she said suddenly, stopping before him.
"good night, mag." he kissed her with protecting and amiable toleration, generously referring her hot hands and feverish lips to that vague mystery of feminine complaint which man admits without indorsing.
they separated. jim, under the stimulus of the late supposed robbery, ostentatiously fastening the doors and windows with assuring comments, calculated to inspire confidence in his sister's startled heart. then he went to bed. he lay awake long enough to be pleasantly conscious that the wind had increased to a gale, and to be lulled again to sleep by the cosy security of the heavily timbered and tightly sealed dwelling that seemed to ride the storm like the ship it resembled. the gale swept through the piles beneath him and along the gallery as through bared spars and over wave-washed decks. the whole structure, attacked above, below, and on all sides by the fury of the wind, seemed at times to be lifted in the air. once or twice the creaking timbers simulated the sound of opening doors and passing footsteps, and again dilated as if the gale had forced a passage through. but jim slept on peacefully, and was at last only aroused by the brilliant sunshine staring through his window from the clear wind-swept blue arch beyond.
dressing himself lazily, he passed into the sitting-room and proceeded to knock at his sister's door, as was his custom; he was amazed to find it open and the room empty. entering hurriedly, he saw that her bed was undisturbed, as if it had not been occupied, and was the more bewildered to see a note ostentatiously pinned upon the pillow, addressed in pencil, in a large school-hand, "to jim."
opening it impatiently, he was startled to read as follows:—
"don't be angry, jim dear—but it was all my fault—and i didn't tell you. i knew all about the deserter, and i gave him the clothes and things that they say he stole. it was while you was out that night, and he came and begged of me, and was mournful and hidjus to behold. i thought i was helping him, and getting our revenge on the fort, all at the same time. don't be mad, jim dear, and do not be frighted fer me. i'm going over thar to make it all right—to free him of stealing—to have you left out of it all—and take it all on myself. don't you be a bit feared for me. i ain't skeert of the wind or of going. i'll close reef everything, clear the creek, stretch across to injen island, hugg the point, and bear up fer logport. dear jim—don't get mad—but i couldn't bear this fooling of you nor him—and that man being took for stealing any longer!—your loving sister,
maggie."
with a confused mingling of shame, anger, and sudden fear he ran out on the gallery. the tide was well up, half the marsh had already vanished, and the little creek where he had moored his skiff was now an empty shining river. the water was everywhere—fringing the tussocks of salt grass with concentric curves of spume and drift, or tumultuously tossing its white-capped waves over the spreading expanse of the lower bay. the low thunder of breakers in the farther estuary broke monotonously on the ear. but his eye was fascinated by a dull shifting streak on the horizon, that, even as he gazed, shuddered, whitened along its whole line, and then grew ghastly gray again. it was the ocean bar.
