Captain Kodak

MEANWHILE the war had closed and the soldiers were coming home—coming home in crowded transports, in fever ships as well as in the fighting ships; coming home white and weak from the blighting tropical battle-fields.

An uproarious welcome greeted the home-coming heroes. Allan never forgot the look of Broadway, crowded with cheering thousands, when the returning volunteers of the Seventy-first started up the great thoroughfare.

It was easier to photograph the crowds than the soldiers under these circumstances, as Allan very soon found. The whole line of march was so crowded that Allan, who, during the early part of the day, had the company of Detective Dobbs, determined to strike across town and hurry up to the armory with the hope of catching the scene as the regiment reached its city home.

This proved more difficult than he had expected, for the crowd was immense, the police could not control the lines, and the constant pressure and shifting of the throngs greatly diminished Allan’s chances of keeping near the front when the regiment should arrive. A saluting gun shattered the western windows of the armory and filled the street with smoke.

At the critical moment when the regiment reached the armory, Allan, who had counted on the chance of holding his camera high enough to shoot over the shoulders of men who stood in front of him, was pushed violently to one side, and hemmed in by a standing group of men. The crowd closed about him, but he held the camera high in sheer defiance, though he caught nothing better than the jumble of heads and shoulders.

Allan had much better luck in the expedition he organized for visiting the camp at Montauk Point, on the far end of Long Island, to which the transports had been carrying the weary soldiers of many regiments. The Santiago men were there; the Rough Riders and thousands of their comrades. Big McConnell was there, and his mother found him the day after he landed. Little McConnell wanted to go at the same time, and was greatly disappointed at being left behind.

The next day Allan planned a trip for which he recruited Owen, McConnell, Joe Bassett, Philip Manton, Mrs. Creigh, and Mr. and Mrs. Austin. All save Allan and McConnell were to return the same day, and Allan’s plan for staying over night was conditional on Big McConnell’s valuable advice and assistance.

The day fixed for the expedition was one of those that frown before they smile, and while it was frowning there were many misgivings among those who assembled for the early train into New York.

“I wonder,” queried McConnell, “why the weather always tries to frighten photographers like this. We all know it will clear up.” And it did.

When they reached the end of the railway journey the sun was cheering the jaded troops, whitening the sand of the beach and the canvas of the tents; glistening on the harness of the cavalry horses, on the muskets of the guard, in the folds of the regimental flags.

The great Montauk camp opened before the visitors in an imposing way; yet it seemed less of a show at the outset than the boys had expected. What it all meant came to them later. The longer they stayed, the wider and more populous it seemed to grow.

When they found the elder McConnell, he was on guard duty, and it was two hours later before he could go about with them; but meanwhile he called Terry, the big reporter, and Terry promised the boys he would help them get some pictures of interest. To begin with, he carried them off to the Rough Riders’ camp.

“But, mind you,” he said, “I want some prints. I can use them in a magazine article I am getting up.”

The camera people were first introduced to “Teddy,” the eagle mascot of the Rough Riders, who sat on the ridge-pole of a tent, and refused to pose when he was asked. But they all trained their lenses on him, and, in almost every instance, got a silhouette against the bright sky.

Allan made free to tell Terry that he would like to photograph Colonel Roosevelt.

“Well,” said Terry, “they are bothering these men to death, but I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go and speak to the Colonel about something I must bother him about, and then you can improve your opportunity. You will have a good position right where you are—and so will I have a good position. I’d like a print of that, and I shall certainly put it in the middle of my mantelpiece with the inscription, ‘Me and Roosevelt.’”

Terry deliberately carried out his plan. He strolled over to the Colonel’s tent, met him just as the leader of the Rough Riders was coming out, and stood there for several minutes in conversation with Colonel Roosevelt, while the camera delegation revelled in the chances afforded by their easy range.

They afterward found a group of Rough Riders who were not riding, and under Terry’s direction were soon becoming acquainted with the situation of the different divisions of the camp.

“You are quite a company yourselves,” said Terry to Mr. Austin, who, with Mrs. Austin and Mrs. Creigh, had rejoined the boys as they were crossing one of the roads.

“Yes,” laughed Mr. Austin, “and this is Captain Kodak,” he added, slapping Allan on the shoulder.

“Captain Kodak,” repeated Terry, who just then turned to a near-by group of men.

Allan heard Terry say to one of the men in the group, “General, Captain Kodak and his friends are within range. I warn you to preserve a pleasant and statuesque appearance.”

When Allan looked toward the officer to whom Terry had spoken, he at once recognized him by the many pictures he had seen as General Wheeler.

“Who is Captain Kodak?” asked General Wheeler.

“Oh, the General has been under camera fire before,” laughed one of the other men in the group.

Allan was obliged to come forward and be introduced, and General Wheeler shook hands with all of the Hazenfield delegation, and said he should not run if they insisted upon firing at him. Several pictures were taken during his short conversation with Mr. Austin.

When Big McConnell was at liberty, Allan had made arrangements with Terry to send him prints for his magazine article. Percy gazed with great pride on his big brother and hovered near him with admiring affection. Allan was scarcely less admiring of the stalwart corporal, who took the boys in tow and showed them some of the sights which they had not yet seen.

The Corporal had considered various expedients for keeping the boys at or near the camp over night. Upon consultation with Terry, it appeared that Terry’s newspaper tent mate was to be away until the next day, and it was arranged that Allan and Little McConnell were to sleep in this newspaper tent with Terry. Little McConnell would rather have slept with his brother in the soldier quarters, but soon decided that staying over night in camp under any circumstances was a momentously romantic affair.

And so the evening came on, and with it all the interesting incidents of life in a camp. A long line of the Rough Riders, taking their horses to water, was visible from their tent. They heard the sunset gun and the cry of the bugles, and saw the flags come down. There were many trampings of feet in distant clouds of sand, faint shouts, and commands. The stars came out, a cool breeze drew off the sea, and the boys fell asleep.

The next day was a bustling day at the camp, an exciting and memorable day, because it was the day on which the President came. Allan and McConnell saw Mr. McKinley several times, sometimes at close quarters. The President wore a straw hat. Allan thought he looked tired and worried, though he had a pleasant, cheery word for all whom he met.

When the President went into the hospital tents, Allan and McConnell for the first time began to give close attention to these places, and began to realize more truly than before what a tragic thing war can be to those who are not hit by bullets. The thin, drawn faces of the sick soldiers made the boys’ hearts heavy.

It was while the boys were standing in the shadow of one of the supply tents that two men, carrying a stretcher, halted near them, and placing the stretcher in the shadow, turned into the supply tent.

There was a movement on the stretcher, a very slight movement, and when the boys looked definitely toward its occupant, they saw a face that made their hearts leap with something like terror. At the same moment the sunken eyes that stared at them seemed to start with a responsive terror that made the ghastly face of their owner look doubly ghastly.

The man was too far gone to make a pronounced movement, but he indicated in some way that the boys were to come nearer. Allan stepped close to the stretcher.

“You know me!” whispered the man.

Allan nodded. He would have known the Ghost anywhere.

“It doesn’t matter now,” continued the man. “I’m done for. But you’ll keep quiet, won’t you?”

Allan nodded again.

“It wouldn’t do you any good to give me away now. I’m sorry I did what I did to you.”

Allan tried to say that he bore him no grudge at all.

“I was desperate. You understood that? And I did get away, got away and made another start. But they were after me, and I finally went where I thought they might let me alone.”

The man’s whisper grew very difficult to hear.

“I took care of myself for a little while. Yes, I was straight. And then one day, just as the war came, I found that they had traced me. By good luck I got a chance to enlist. That was how I dodged them again.” A pitiful smile came over the man’s face. “And now I’m going to escape them for good and all. No, no!” the man burst out as one of the men who had been carrying the stretcher placed his hand on Allan’s shoulder. “Wait a moment!”

“You mustn’t talk,” said the man, firmly.

“Another word—wait!” pleaded the sick man, his face flushing for the moment. Then he whispered again to Allan. “This is the last now. You can see that—they wouldn’t allow this if there was any chance for me. I led a bad life, my boy. It was a failure. But I tried to be a good soldier. Slip your hand under here, and say, ‘Good-by, Hiram Bain.’”

Allan found the man’s hot hand and repeated, huskily, “Good-by, Hiram Bain.”

The standing soldier’s hand was on his shoulder again, and he rose up.

The Ghost’s eyes seemed to be pleading for another word. Allan bent over.

“You haven’t any grudge against me?”

“No,” said Allan, “I haven’t. I want you to get well, and to keep on—beginning over.”

The man shook his head, then nodded gratefully to Allan, as if the good wish was all he wanted just then.

The two men now lifted the stretcher and moved away, Allan and McConnell staring after them until they had disappeared into one of the hospital tents.

This was the last Allan saw of the Ghost. On the following day the Ghost passed away and was buried with other soldiers who had come home to die.

When Allan and McConnell were homeward bound on the evening train, their heads full of the camp scenes, McConnell said, “I wish we hadn’t seen the Ghost.”

“I’m not sorry,” said Allan. “I’m glad. I believe he was not so bad as they thought he was, and he did the best he could at the end. I feel better to know that he can’t be hunted any more.”

“Well,” admitted McConnell, “I’m glad of that part, too.”