Then I heard the bugle softly crying,
"Come Home!
Come Home!
The long day's work is ended."
I stood behind Buckie, my hands upon his shoulders rocking him backward and forward, timing him to the music. "That's what they call 'Taps,'" I told him, "down yonder in the states, because the beer taps close." The lovely melody was cleaving skyward. "'Come home,' it says, 'come home!' It's all deportment and sage advice, Buckie. Where's home, Buckie? If you were in love with a Blackfoot squaw, would you turn squaw-man, Buckie? Or would you play with a respectable white pussie without any morals or manners, and try to forget about love? And what's the use of being good when it makes you a misery, eh, you poor chaffy corporal? If Christ were here to cast out devils, I'd have a last chance left, instead of getting drunk, and assaulting the guards as a pill to cure me of memory. Now, go call your roll and report me present and correct as usual. You can't steer a ship which has no rudder, Buckie."
He left me, and all that night my spirit was by the lake under the holy stars. As to what became of my body—
CHAPTER VIII
MR. RAMS
"Women, and wine, and war.
War, and wine, and love!
With a sword to wear and a horse to ride
And a wench to love—give me nought beside,
But a bottle or so at the even-tide!
Women, and wine, and war!
Women, and wine, and war,
War, and wine, and love!
Oh, war's my trade, but wine's my play,
Wine crowns my night, and war my day
With a kiss or so in a casual way!
Women, and wine, and war!
Women, and wine, and war,
War, and wine, and love!
Here's a broken head for a drunken spree
When a blue-eyed wench deserted me!
Go, lecture the hussy, and let me be!
Women, and wine, and war!"
I