every one who belonged to it his enemy。
He left San Francisco； where he was known to all； and travelled
south through Texas； and then to New Orleans and Florida。 He
never could recall this period with clearness。 He remembered
changing from one train to another； from one hotel to the next。
Nothing impressed itself upon him。 For what he had lost nothing
could give consolation。 Without honor life held no charm。 And
he believed that in the eyes of all men he was a thief； a pariah；
and an outcast。
He had been in Cuba with the Army of Occupation； and of that
beautiful island had grown foolishly fond。 He was familiar with
every part of it； and he believed in one or another of its pretty
ports he could so completely hide himself that no one could
intrude upon his misery。 In the States； in the newspapers he
seemed to read only of those places where he had seen service； of
those places and friends and associates he most loved。 In the
little Cuban village in which he would bury himself he would cut
himself off from all newspapers； from all who knew him； from
those who had been his friends； and those who knew his name only
to connect it with a scandal。
On his way from Port Tampa to Cuba the boat stopped at Key West；
and for the hour in which she discharged cargo Swanson went
ashore and wandered aimlessly。 The little town； reared on a flat
island of coral and limestone； did not long detain him。 The main
street of shops； eating…houses； and saloons； the pretty residences
with overhanging balconies； set among gardens and magnolia…trees；
were soon explored； and he was returning to the boat when the martial
music of a band caused him to halt。 A side street led to a great gateway
surmounted by an anchor。 Beyond it Swanson saw lawns of well…kept
grass； regular paths； pretty cottages； the two…starred flag of an admiral；
and； rising high above these； like four Eiffel towers； the gigantic masts
of a wireless。 He recognized that he was at the entrance to the Key
West naval station； and turned quickly away。
He walked a few feet； the music of the band still in his ears。 In
an hour he would be steaming toward Cuba； and； should he hold to
his present purpose； in many years this would be the last time he
would stand on American soil； would see the uniform of his country；
would hear a military band lull the sun to sleep。 It would hurt； but
he wondered if it were not worth the hurt。 A smart sergeant of marines；
in passing； cast one glance at the man who seemed always to wear
epaulets； and brought his hand sharply to salute。 The act determined
Swanson。 He had obtained the salute under false pretenses； but it had
pleased； not hurt him。 He turned back and passed into the gate of the
naval station。
From the gate a grass…lined carriage drive led to the waters of
the harbor and the wharfs。 At its extreme end was the band…stand；
flanked on one side by the cottage of the admiral； on the other
by a sail…loft with iron…barred windows and whitewashed walls。
Upon the turf were pyramids of cannon…balls and； laid out in rows
as though awaiting burial； old…time muzzle…loading guns。 Across
the harbor the sun was sinking into the coral reefs； and the spring
air； still warm from its caresses； was stirred by the music of the
band into gentle； rhythmic waves。 The scene was one of peace；
order； and content。
But as Swanson advanced； the measure of the music was instantly
shattered by a fierce volley of explosions。 They came so suddenly
and sharply as to make him start。 It was as though from his flank
a quick…firing gun in ambush had opened upon him。 Swanson smiled
at having been taken unawares。 For in San Francisco he often had
heard the roar and rattle of the wireless。 But never before had he
listened to an attack like this。
From a tiny white…and…green cottage； squatting among the four
giant masts； came the roar of a forest fire。 One could hear the
crackle of the flames； the crash of the falling tree…trunks。 The
air about the cottage was torn into threads； beneath the shocks
of the electricity the lawn seemed to heave and tremble。 It was
like some giant monster； bound and fettered； struggling to be
free。 Now it growled sullenly； now in impotent rage it spat and
spluttered； now it lashed about with crashing； stunning blows。 It
seemed as though the wooden walls of the station could not
contain it。
From the road Swanson watched； through the open windows of the
cottage； the electric bolts flash and flare and disappear。 The thing
appealed to his imagination。 Its power； its capabilities fascinated
him。 In it he saw a hungry monster reaching out to every corner
of the continent and devouring the news of the world； feeding
upon tales of shipwreck and disaster； lingering over some dainty
morsel of scandal； snatching from ships and cities two thousand
miles away the thrice…told tale of a conflagration； the score of a
baseball match； the fall of a cabinet； the assassination of a king。
In a sudden access of fierceness； as though in an ecstasy over
some fresh horror just received； it shrieked and chortled。 And
then； as suddenly as it had broken forth； it sank to silence； and
from the end of the carriage drive again rose； undisturbed； the
music of the band。
The musicians were playing to a select audience。 On benches
around the band…stand sat a half dozen nurse…maids with knitting
in their hands； the baby…carriages within arm's length。 On the
turf older children of the officers were at play； and up and down
the paths bareheaded girls； and matrons； and officers in uniform
strolled leisurely。 From the vine…covered cottage of Admiral
Preble； set in a garden of flowering plants and bending palmettos；
came the tinkle of tea…cups and the ripple of laughter； and at a
respectful distance； seated on the dismantled cannon； were
marines in khaki and bluejackets in glistening white。
It was a family group； and had not Swanson recognized among the
little audience others of the passengers from the steamer and
natives of the town who； like himself； had been attracted by the
music； he would have felt that he intruded。 He now wished to
remain。 He wanted to carry with him into his exile a memory of
the men in uniform； of the music； and pretty women； of the gorgeous
crimson sunset。 But； though he wished to remain； he did not wish
to be recognized。
From the glances already turned toward him； he saw that in this
little family gathering the presence of a stranger was an event；
and he was aware that during the trial the newspapers had made
his face conspicuous。 Also it might be that stationed at the post
was some officer or enlisted man who had served with him in Cuba；
China； or the Philippines； and who might point him out to others。
Fearing this； Swanson made a detour and approached the band…stand
from the wharf； and with his back to a hawser…post seated himself
upon the string…piece。
He was overcome with an intolerable melancholy。 From where he
sat he could see； softened into shadows by the wire screens of the
veranda； Admiral Preble and his wife and their guests at tea。 A
month before； he would have reported to the admiral as the
commandant of the station； and paid his respects。 Now he could
not do that； at least not without inviting a rebuff。 A month
before； he need only have shown his card to the admiral's orderly；
and the orderly and the guard and the officers' mess and the
admiral himself would have turned the post upside down to do
him honor。 But of what avail now was his record in three
campaigns？ Of what avail now was his medal of honor？ They
now knew him as Swanson； who had been court…martialled； who
had been allowed to resign； who had left the army for the army's
good； they knew him as a civilian without rank or authority； as an
ex…officer who had robbed his brother officers； as an outcast。
His position； as his morbid mind thus distorted it； tempted
Swanson no longer。 For being in this plight he did not feel that
in any way he was to blame。 But with a flaming anger he still
blamed his brother officers of the court…martial who had not
cleared his name and with a clean bill of health restored him to
duty。 Those were the men he blamed； not Rueff； the sergeant； who
he believed had robbed him； nor himself； who； in a passion of
wounded pride； had resigned and so had given reason for gossip；
but the men who had not in tones like a bugle…call proclaimed his
innocence； who； when they had handed him back his sword； had
given it grudgingly； not with congratulation。
As he saw it； he stood in a perpetual pillory。 When they had
robbed him of his honor they had left him naked； and life without
honor had lost its flavor。 He could eat； he could drink； he could
exist。 He knew that in many corners of the world white arms would
reach out to him and men would beckon him to a place at table。
But he could not cross that little strip of turf between him and
the chattering group on the veranda and hand his card to the
admiral's orderly。 Swanson loved life。 He loved it so that
without help； money； or affection he could each morning have
greeted it with a smile。 But life without honor！ He felt a sudden
hot n