“I gave you no orders to pry into this gentleman’s trunk,” said the General. “You have exceeded your authority. You have done very ill, sir. You have done very ill.” While the General was reproving Reeder, his eyes, instead of looking at the officer, were fixed upon my sword. It was sufficiently magnificent to attract the attention of anyone, certainly of any soldier. The scabbard was of steel, wonderfully engraved, the hilt was of ivory, and the hilt-guard and belt fastenings were all of heavy gold. The General’s face was filled with appreciation. “You have a remarkably handsome sword there,” he said, and hesitated, courteously, “--I beg your pardon, I have not heard your name?” I was advancing to show the sword to him, when my eye fell upon the plate my grandfather had placed upon it, and which bore the inscription: “To Royal Macklin, on his appointment to the United States Military Academy, from his Grandfather, John M. Hamilton, Maj. Gen. U.S.A.” “My name is Macklin, sir,” I said, “Royal Macklin.” I laid the sword lengthwise in his hands, and then pointed at the inscription. “You will find it there,” I said. The General bowed and bent his head over the inscription and then read the one beside it. This stated that the sword had been presented by the citizens of New York to Major-General John M. Hamilton in recognition of his distinguished services during the war with Mexico. The General glanced up at me in astonishment. “General Hamilton!” he exclaimed. “General John Hamilton! Is that--was he your grandfather?” I bowed my head, and the General stared at me as though I had contradicted him. “But, let me tell you, sir,” he protested, “that he was my friend. General Hamilton was my friend for many years. Let me tell you, sir,” he went on, excitedly, “that your grandfather was a brave and courteous gentleman, a true friend and--and a great soldier, sir, a great soldier. I knew your grandfather well. I knew him well.” He rose suddenly, and, while still holding the sword close to him, shook my hand. “Captain Heinze,” he said, “bring out a chair for Mr. Macklin.” He did not notice the look of injury with which Heinze obeyed this request. But I did, and I enjoyed the spectacle, and as Heinze handed me the camp-chair I thanked him politely. I could afford to be generous. The General was drawing the sword a few inches from its scabbard and shoving it back, again, turning it over in his hands. “And to think that this is John Hamilton’s sword,” he said, “and that you are John Hamilton’s grandson!” As the sword lay across his knees he kept stroking it and touching it as one might caress a child, glancing up at me from time to time with a smile. It seemed to have carried him back again into days and scenes to which we all were strangers, and we watched him without speaking. He became suddenly conscious of our silence, and, on looking up, seemed to become uncomfortably aware of the presence of Aiken and the two officers.