Adventure, November 1915 — page 213: what you’re looking at

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

Ne oy. en aca \ , - , ye ee On purpose of taking a real vacation, or some- thing of that sort. The many duels he had fought had left their souvenirs on his face in such liberal instalments in fact that his physiognomy resembled more a _ spoiled -blue-print than a human countenance. The burghers not familiar with Alten- dorf’s history used to pity him a great deal. Had he been at Elandslaagte and in contact with the Fifth Lancers? Altendorf would say that the Fifth Lancers could not do so fine a job as he carried about with him. What he says today may not tally with this. Even the Mensur has its uses. There is just one occasion on which Alten- dorf distinguished himself. He was not _much of a soldier and not averse to boasting of it. Anybody could be a soldier. To at- tend universities and Kommerse was a: dif- ferent undertaking. What Altendorf ever got from these seats of learning is not ap- parent. It should be stated, however, that in addition to his cut-up face, he acquired a rather “beery” appearance. One can not drink steins by the dozen per diem for years and not look a little apoplectic around the gills. Times had been very bad. The engage- ments around Van der Merwe and Eerste Fabriken had led to a series of retreats that ended only at Middelburg. The men were in a dejected state of mind. Even Middel- burg had to be evacuated, if so dignified a term will fit a plain helter-skelter get-out- of-the-way. Pan Statie was reached, and Altendorf’s opportunity came. He was thirsty. But the only store in the, place had been commandeered; to wit, | looted. But Altendorf was very thirsty— not a sort of water thirst, but a regular aridness which only hydrates in solution will assuage. There were others in the commando who were similarly afflicted. How they got the notion that there might be something under the floor of the station-house has never been explained. However, they not only had the notion, but the goods. That scamp of a station-agent must have traded illicitly in fire-water with the Kaffirs, and one of the men must have suspected it. When the boards of the floor were lifted up, a can of raw alcohol was discovered. New spirits of wine do not make much of a drink. Altendorf, applying all the wisdom of Soldiers of Fortune on the Veld 2II Heidelberg, thought hard. How could the stuff be made potable? With a chemical laboratory at his disposal Altendorf would have made anything out of the alcohol. But all the theories on force and matter, elements and chemical valences, atoms and affinity, avail not when the matter itself is not at hand. But Altendorf kept on think- ing; with this result: In half an hour there was at the disposal of everybody who wanted to partake a beverage consisting mostly of hot spirits of wine and water, some sugar, a pinch of pepper (cayenne), a dash of brandy which he had appropriated somewhere, and some cloves he had found in the kitchen of ae deserted store. To his credit be it said that on this raw August morning (late Winter on the veld) this punch did not taste bad and had a wel- come warming and cheering effect. The trouble was that some of those at the party shipped more of the stuff than they could carry, conspicuous among the latter being the engineer of the armored train which had pulled into the station. Much hilarity ensued, and the bucket in which Altendorf brewed the mixture was kept boiling. Even the Veldcornet had been enticed. But something happened. Somebody yelled: “Daar ’s de Englese!l”’ r “Where?” shouted the red-faced chorus in mixed amazement and consternation. “Over yonder, on the d7/t,”’ explained the wise man who had kept his eyes open. The writer took a glance along the man’s finger with his binoculars and saw a mount- ed battery of the British unlimber. Some cavalry or mounted infantry was heading off to the left in an endeavor to cut off the retreat of the merry gang at the station. “To horse!’ shouted the Veldcornet. In a few seconds the men were galloping across the railroad track and into the open veld. The engineer was thrown into the box-car that served as living-quarters for the men | of the armored train,.and the Kaffir fireman * pulled the fort on wheels out of the station as quick as he could work the levers. Just then the shells began o sing through _ the air. Much of the good stuff had been left be- hind, and the next day the writer was among those who wished that Tommy Atkins COMIC OOOKS (F@)