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Page 53
Looking over their own troops, they saw mixed masses slowly getting
into regular form. The sunlight made twinkling points of the
bright steel. To the rear there was a glimpse of a distant
roadway as it curved over a slope. It was crowded with
retreating infantry. From all the interwoven forest arose the smoke
and bluster of the battle. The air was always occupied by a blaring.
Near where they stood shells were flip-flapping and hooting.
Occasional bullets buzzed in the air and spanged into tree trunks.
Wounded men and other stragglers were slinking through the woods.
Looking down an aisle of the grove, the youth and his companion
saw a jangling general and his staff almost ride upon a wounded man,
who was crawling on his hands and knees. The general reined
strongly at his charger's opened and foamy mouth and guided it
with dexterous horsemanship past the man. The latter scrambled
in wild and torturing haste. His strength evidently failed him
as he reached a place of safety. One of his arms suddenly
weakened, and he fell, sliding over upon his back. He lay
stretched out, breathing gently.
A moment later the small, creaking cavalcade was directly in
front of the two soldiers. Another officer, riding with the
skillful abandon of a cowboy, galloped his horse to a position
directly before the general. The two unnoticed foot soldiers
made a little show of going on, but they lingered near in the
desire to overhear the conversation. Perhaps, they thought,
some great inner historical things would be said.
The general, whom the boys knew as the commander of their division,
looked at the other officer and spoke coolly, as if he were
criticising his clothes. "Th' enemy's formin' over there
for another charge," he said. "It'll be directed against
Whiterside, an' I fear they'll break through unless we work
like thunder t' stop them."
The other swore at his restive horse, and then cleared his throat.
He made a gesture toward his cap. "It'll be hell t' pay stoppin' them,"
he said shortly.
"I presume so," remarked the general. Then he began to talk
rapidly and in a lower tone. He frequently illustrated his words
with a pointing finger. The two infantrymen could hear nothing
until finally he asked: "What troops can you spare?"
The officer who rode like a cowboy reflected for an instant.
"Well," he said, "I had to order in th' 12th to help th' 76th,
an' I haven't really got any. But there's th' 304th. They fight
like a lot 'a mule drivers. I can spare them best of any."
The youth and his friend exchanged glances of astonishment.
The general spoke sharply. "Get 'em ready, then. I'll watch
developments from here, an' send you word when t' start them.
It'll happen in five minutes."
As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his cap and
wheeling his horse, started away, the general called out to him
in a sober voice: "I don't believe many of your mule drivers
will get back."
The other shouted something in reply. He smiled.
With scared faces, the youth and his companion hurried back to the line.
These happenings had occupied an incredibly short time, yet the
youth felt that in them he had been made aged. New eyes were
given to him. And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly
that he was very insignificant. The officer spoke of the
regiment as if he referred to a broom. Some part of the woods
needed sweeping, perhaps, and he merely indicated a broom in a
tone properly indifferent to its fate. It was war, no doubt,
but it appeared strange.
As the two boys approached the line, the lieutenant perceived
them and swelled with wrath. "Fleming--Wilson--how long does
it take yeh to git water, anyhow--where yeh been to."
But his oration ceased as he saw their eyes, which were large
with great tales. "We're goin' t' charge--we're goin' t' charge!"
cried the youth's friend, hastening with his news.
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