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 nausea of disgust。 Why was he still clinging to what had
lost its purpose； to what lacked the one thing needful？
〃If life be an ill thing；〃 he thought； 〃I can lay it down！〃
The thought was not new to him； and during the two past weeks of
aimless wandering he had carried with him his service automatic。
To reassure himself he laid his fingers on its cold smooth surface。
He would wait； he determined； until the musicians had finished
their concert and the women and children had departed； and then
Then the orderly would find him where he was now seated； sunken
against the hawser…post with a hole through his heart。 To his disordered
brain his decision appeared quite sane。 He was sure he never had been
more calm。 And as he prepared himself for death he assured himself
that for one of his standard no other choice was possible。 Thoughts
of the active past； or of what distress in the future his act would bring
to others； did not disturb him。 The thing had to be； no one lost more
heavily than himself； and regrets were cowardly。
He counted the money he had on his person and was pleased to find
there was enough to pay for what services others soon must render
him。 In his pockets were letters； cards； a cigarette…case； each of
which would tell his identity。 He had no wish to conceal it； for of
what he was about to do he was not ashamed。 It was not his act。
He would not have died 〃by his own hand。〃 To his unbalanced
brain the officers of the court…martial were responsible。 It was
they who had killed him。 As he saw it； they had made his death
as inevitable as though they had sentenced him to be shot at
sunrise。
A line from 〃The Drums of the Fore and Aft〃 came back to him。
Often he had quoted it； when some one in the service had suffered
through the fault of others。 It was the death…cry of the boy officer；
Devlin。 The knives of the Ghazi had cut him down； but it was his
own people's abandoning him in terror that had killed him。 And so；
with a sob； he flung the line at the retreating backs of his comrades：
〃You've killed me； you cowards！〃
Swanson； nursing his anger； repeated this savagely。 He wished he
could bring it home to those men of the court…martial。 He wished
he could make them know that his death lay at their door。 He
determined that they should know。 On one of his visiting…cards he
pencilled：
〃To the Officers of my Court…Martial： 'You've killed me； you
cowards！'〃
He placed the card in the pocket of his waistcoat。 They would
find it just above the place where the bullet would burn the cloth。
The band was playing 〃Auf Wiedersehen；〃 and the waltz carried
with it the sadness that had made people call the man who wrote
it the waltz king。 Swanson listened gratefully。 He was glad that
before he went out； his last mood had been of regret and gentleness。
The sting of his anger had departed； the music soothed and sobered
him。 It had been a very good world。 Until he had broken the spine
of things it had treated him well； far better； he admitted； than he
deserved。 There were many in it who had been kind； to whom he
was grateful。 He wished there was some way by which he could let
them know that。 As though in answer to his wish； from across the
parade…ground the wireless again began to crash and crackle； but now
Swanson was at a greater distance from it； and the sighing rhythm of
the waltz was not interrupted。
Swanson considered to whom he might send a farewell message； but
as in his mind he passed from one friend to another； he saw that to
each such a greeting could bring only distress。 He decided it was
the music that had led him astray。 This was no moment for false
sentiment。 He let his hand close upon the pistol。
The audience now was dispersing。 The nurse…maids had collected
their charges； the musicians were taking apart their music…racks；
and from the steps of the vine…covered veranda Admiral Preble was
bidding the friends of his wife adieu。 At his side his aide； young；
alert； confident； with ill…concealed impatience awaited their departure。
Swanson found that he resented the aide。 He resented the manner in
which he speeded the parting guests。 Even if there were matters of
importance he was anxious to communicate to his chief； he need not
make it plain to the women folk that they were in the way。
When； a month before； he had been adjutant； in a like situation he
would have shown more self…command。 He disapproved of the aide
entirely。 He resented the fact that he was as young as himself；
that he was in uniform； that he was an aide。 Swanson certainly
hoped that when he was in uniform he had not looked so much the
conquering hero； so self…satisfied； so supercilious。 With a smile
he wondered why； at such a moment； a man he had never seen
before； and never would see again； should so disturb him。
In his heart he knew。 The aide was going forward just where he
was leaving off。 The ribbons on the tunic of the aide； the straps
on his shoulders； told Swanson that they had served in the same
campaigns； that they were of the same relative rank； and that
when he himself； had he remained in the service； would have been
a brigadier…gene