Trooper Tales — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

24 The Recruit in the Black Cavalry. and fired, vaulted the barbed entanglements and caught their breath in the trenches they had gained. And Sadie was in the ranks of his own Black Horse troop, clutching a red-hot carbine, and talking to himself in a perfect de- lirium of joy! “Dose white ladies is a-mos’ cert’ny unhappy,” the black recruit was heard to mutter after the raw battalion was left behind. The words came in a stifled whisper. His throat was caked with hot dust, and his nostrils were full of it, but Sadie did not know. He did not remem- ber that he should have been a prisoner back with the game chicken and the Bay Horse troops. He did not know that the troop commander had seen him on the skirmish line with the others, and the white officer hardly knew whether to laugh or swear. As a matter of fact, the troop commander did both, and he also hoped that the black recruit would get wounded, so that he might forego the punishment which his insubordination made neces- sary. Sadie knew nothing, felt nothing but the glory of the moment. “An’ dis am mos’ cert’ny a wahm time. Is Ah glad Ah’m libbin’? Well, Ah hope Ah is. . . . Dey sure ought to gib us asbestos mittins to pump dese heah car- bines, foh dey would mos’ cert’ny boil coffee! Hello, dar, mah angel broddah, gimme dat a-cigarette. Ain’t yoh a-dyin’ fast enuf, widout hittin’ de coffin nails?” | A wounded Spaniard, braced up in a trench, was weak- ly puffing at a cigarette; nor was he the only one who EComicsdooks (S@)