the lost road-第70部分

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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