NEW ORLEANS


Six months ago had anyone told me that the day would come when I would
feel thankful for the loss of my grandfather, I would have struck him.
But for the last week I have been almost thankful that he is dead. The
worst that could occur has happened. I am in bitter disgrace, and I am
grateful that grandfather died before it came upon me. I have been
dismissed from the Academy. The last of the "Fighting" Macklins has
been declared unfit to hold the President's commission. I am cast out
irrevocably; there is no appeal against the decision. I shall never
change the gray for the blue. I shall never see the U. S. on my
saddle-cloth, nor salute my country's flag as it comes fluttering down
at sunset.

That I am on my way to try and redeem myself is only an attempt to
patch up the broken pieces. The fact remains that the army has no use
for me. I have been dismissed from West Point, in disgrace. It was a
girl who brought it about, or rather my own foolishness over a girl.
And before that there was much that led up to it. It is hard to write
about it, but in these memoirs I mean to tell everything--the good,
with the bad. And as I deserve no excuse, I make none.

During that winter, after the death of my grandfather, and the spring
which had followed, I tried hard to do well at the Point. I wanted to
show them that though my grandfather was gone, his example and his
wishes still inspired me. And though I was not a studious cadet, I was
a smart soldier, and my demerits, when they came, were for smoking in
my room or for breaking some other such silly rule, and never for
slouching through the manual or coming on parade with my belts