A story of adventure in a Central American Republic. The hero is sprung from several generations of soldiers, and becomes a West Pointer as a matter of course. Unfortunately the discipline of the institution makes a victim of him, and he is dismissed in disgrace for a violation of orders. Determined to be a soldier somewhere he consults the newspapers, discovers that a revolution is going on in Honduras, and forthwith sets out to offer his sword to the insurgents...
ne profile and was smooth shaven. I remember I found him exactly my ideal of the Duke of Wellington; for though I was only then ten or twelve years of age, I had my own ideas about every soldier from Alexander and Von Moltke to our own Captain Custer.
It was in the garden behind the Patterson house that we met the General, and he alarmed me very much by pulling my shoulders back and asking me my age, and whether or not I expected to be as brave a soldier as my grandfather, to which latter question I said, "Yes, General," and then could have cried with mortification, for all of the great soldiers laughed at me. One of them turned, and said to the only one who was seated, "That is Hamilton's grandson." The man who was seated did not impress me very much. He was younger than the others. He wore a black suit and a black tie, and the three upper buttons of his waistcoat were unfastened. His beard was close-cropped, like a blacking-brush, and he was chewing on a cigar that had burned so far down that I remember
If you can slog through the first fifty pages you'll be reading a rollicking adventure tale with an unusual premise. The hero—a youthful American of the late 1800s is flawed but idealistic, holds romantic notions of womanhood without wanting one for himself, impetuous yet calculating on occasion, and plans to die with his boots on.