|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 54
"Charge?" said the lieutenant. "Charge? Well, b'Gawd! Now, this
is real fightin'." Over his soiled countenance there went a
boastful smile. "Charge? Well, b'Gawd!"
A little group of soldiers surrounded the two youths. "Are we,
sure 'nough? Well, I'll be derned! Charge? What fer? What at?
Wilson, you're lyin'."
"I hope to die," said the youth, pitching his tones to the key of
angry remonstrance. "Sure as shooting, I tell you."
And his friend spoke in re-enforcement. "Not by a blame sight,
he ain't lyin'. We heard 'em talkin'."
They caught sight of two mounted figures a short distance from them.
One was the colonel of the regiment and the other was the officer
who had received orders from the commander of the division.
They were gesticulating at each other. The soldier, pointing at them,
interpreted the scene.
One man had a final objection: "How could yeh hear 'em talkin'?"
But the men, for a large part, nodded, admitting that previously
the two friends had spoken truth.
They settled back into reposeful attitudes with airs of having
accepted the matter. And they mused upon it, with a hundred
varieties of expression. It was an engrossing thing to think about.
Many tightened their belts carefully and hitched at their trousers.
A moment later the officers began to bustle among the men,
pushing them into a more compact mass and into a better
alignment. They chased those that straggled and fumed at a few
men who seemed to show by their attitudes that they had decided
to remain at that spot. They were like critical shepherds,
struggling with sheep.
Presently, the regiment seemed to draw itself up and heave a deep breath.
None of the men's faces were mirrors of large thoughts. The soldiers
were bended and stooped like sprinters before a signal. Many pairs of
glinting eyes peered from the grimy faces toward the curtains of the
deeper woods. They seemed to be engaged in deep calculations of
time and distance.
They were surrounded by the noises of the monstrous altercation between
the two armies. The world was fully interested in other matters.
Apparently, the regiment had its small affair to itself.
The youth, turning, shot a quick, inquiring glance at his friend.
The latter returned to him the same manner of look. They were
the only ones who possessed an inner knowledge. "Mule drivers--
hell t' pay--don't believe many will get back." It was an
ironical secret. Still, they saw no hesitation in each
other's faces, and they nodded a mute and unprotesting assent when a
shaggy man near them said in a meek voice: "We'll git swallowed."
Chapter 19
The youth stared at the land in front of him. Its foliages now
seemed to veil powers and horrors. He was unaware of the
machinery of orders that started the charge, although from the
corners of his eyes he saw an officer, who looked like a boy
a-horseback, come galloping, waving his hat. Suddenly he felt
a straining and heaving among the men. The line fell slowly
forward like a toppling wall, and, with a convulsive gasp that
was intended for a cheer, the regiment began its journey.
The youth was pushed and jostled for a moment before he understood
the movement at all, but directly he lunged ahead and began to run.
He fixed his eye upon a distant and prominent clump of trees
where he had concluded the enemy were to be met, and he ran
toward it as toward a goal. He had believed throughout that it
was a mere question of getting over an unpleasant matter as quickly
as possible, and he ran desperately, as if pursued for a murder.
His face was drawn hard and tight with the stress of his endeavor.
His eyes were fixed in a lurid glare. And with his soiled and
disordered dress, his red and inflamed features surmounted by the
dingy rag with its spot of blood, his wildly swinging rifle,
and banging accouterments, he looked to be an insane soldier.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|