it was a prodigious trip, but delightful, of course, through the rockies and the black hills and the mighty sweep of the great plains to civilization and the missouri border—where the railroading began and the delightfulness ended. but no one is the worse for the journey; certainly not cathy, nor dorcas, nor soldier boy; and as for me, i am not complaining.

spain is all that cathy had pictured it—and more, she says. she is in a fury of delight, the maddest little animal that ever was, and all for joy. she thinks she remembers spain, but that is not very likely, i suppose. the two—mercedes and cathy—devour each other. it is a rapture of love, and beautiful to see. it is spanish; that describes it. will this be a short visit?

no. it will be permanent. cathy has elected to abide with spain and her aunt. dorcas says she (dorcas) foresaw that this would happen; and also says that she wanted it to happen, and says the child’s own country is the right place for her, and that she ought not to have been sent to me, i ought to have gone to her. i thought it insane to take soldier boy to spain, but it was well that i yielded to cathy’s pleadings; if he had been left behind, half of her heart would have remained with him, and she would not have been contented. as it is, everything has fallen out for the best, and we are all satisfied and comfortable. it may be that dorcas and i will see america again some day; but also it is a case of maybe not.

we left the post in the early morning. it was an affecting time. the women cried over cathy, so did even those stern warriors, the rocky mountain rangers; shekels was there, and the cid, and sardanapalus, and potter, and mongrel, and sour-mash, famine, and pestilence, and cathy kissed them all and wept; details of the several arms of the garrison were present to represent the rest, and say good-bye and god bless you for all the soldiery; and there was a special squad from the seventh, with the oldest veteran at its head, to speed the seventh’s child with grand honors and impressive ceremonies; and the veteran had a touching speech by heart, and put up his hand in salute and tried to say it, but his lips trembled and his voice broke, but cathy bent down from the saddle and kissed him on the mouth and turned his defeat to victory, and a cheer went up.

the next act closed the ceremonies, and was a moving surprise. it may be that you have discovered, before this, that the rigors of military law and custom melt insensibly away and disappear when a soldier or a regiment or the garrison wants to do something that will please cathy. the bands conceived the idea of stirring her soldierly heart with a farewell which would remain in her memory always, beautiful and unfading, and bring back the past and its love for her whenever she should think of it; so they got their project placed before general burnaby, my successor, who is cathy’s newest slave, and in spite of poverty of precedents they got his permission. the bands knew the child’s favorite military airs. by this hint you know what is coming, but cathy didn’t. she was asked to sound the “reveille,” which she did.

with the last note the bands burst out with a crash: and woke the mountains with the “star-spangled banner” in a way to make a body’s heart swell and thump and his hair rise! it was enough to break a person all up, to see cathy’s radiant face shining out through her gladness and tears. by request she blew the “assembly,” now. . . .

. . . then the bands thundered in, with “rally round the flag, boys, rally once again!” next, she blew another call (“to the standard”) . . .

. . . and the bands responded with “when we were marching through georgia.” straightway she sounded “boots and saddles,” that thrilling and most expediting call. . . .

and the bands could hardly hold in for the final note; then they turned their whole strength loose on “tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,” and everybody’s excitement rose to blood-heat.

now an impressive pause—then the bugle sang “taps”—translatable, this time, into “good-bye, and god keep us all!” for taps is the soldier’s nightly release from duty, and farewell: plaintive, sweet, pathetic, for the morning is never sure, for him; always it is possible that he is hearing it for the last time. . . .

. . . then the bands turned their instruments towards cathy and burst in with that rollicking frenzy of a tune, “oh, we’ll all get blind drunk when johnny comes marching home—yes, we’ll all get blind drunk when johnny comes marching home!” and followed it instantly with “dixie,” that antidote for melancholy, merriest and gladdest of all military music on any side of the ocean—and that was the end. and so—farewell!

i wish you could have been there to see it all, hear it all, and feel it: and get yourself blown away with the hurricane huzza that swept the place as a finish.

when we rode away, our main body had already been on the road an hour or two—i speak of our camp equipage; but we didn’t move off alone: when cathy blew the “advance” the rangers cantered out in column of fours, and gave us escort, and were joined by white cloud and thunder-bird in all their gaudy bravery, and by buffalo bill and four subordinate scouts. three miles away, in the plains, the lieutenant-general halted, sat her horse like a military statue, the bugle at her lips, and put the rangers through the evolutions for half an hour; and finally, when she blew the “charge,” she led it herself. “not for the last time,” she said, and got a cheer, and we said good-bye all around, and faced eastward and rode away.

postscript. a day later. soldier boy was stolen last night. cathy is almost beside herself, and we cannot comfort her. mercedes and i are not much alarmed about the horse, although this part of spain is in something of a turmoil, politically, at present, and there is a good deal of lawlessness. in ordinary times the thief and the horse would soon be captured. we shall have them before long, i think.

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