Adventure, December 1914 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

The Lancing of the Whale They had sent for the guns when Dick first showed at dawn, and she had advised waiting for them so that Dick might not be hurried; for she loved him then. Now, she cursed because prudence and her own orders would prevent the guns from coming until the infantry—at least a day ahead—could turn, overtake them, and be escort. ““Gallopers!’’ she ordered. “Four! No, six!” She wrote a letter, and made six copies of it, ordering the guns to hurry back and not wait for their escort, explaming in fifty words that Dick Anthony was entrenched near the city, and that therefore the road below the foothills must be clear. She sent them one at a time at intervals, in case of accidents. Two got by unobserved. The following three were seen. It was the last man whose letter reached Dick Anthony. iil f=) WREATHED in the rising mist, “Fy Dick Anthony stood silent ‘on the cliff’s projecting lip and gazed through binoculars. He seemed breath- less, although behind him—like the hum of an angry hornet-host—his men buzzed ex- citement and amazement that would not be stilled. Some sculptor might have carved him from a pinnacle of granite, to preach resolution and inspire a conquered folk to rise. “‘Silence!”? demanded Usbeg Ali. “Silence!”’ swore a hundred officers who ran quickly here and there, for some men would not keep cover without a rap or two on the head from a sword-hilt. “In the bazaars at home ye begged for backsheesh—backsheesh!’’ growled Usbeg Ali, his black beard bristling with military ardor, and his big spurs jingling as he strode among them. ‘Under the Cossack whips ye begged for mercy! Oi-oi! Mercy, baba! Oji-oi-oi! Now ye want to boast before the time! Hey! What a change in such a little while! Watch him! Does he boast? Does ke speak? Or is he thinking? Aye— Persians—it is good to think!’ Dick Anthony had finished thinking, al- most. He was thanking Providence that had made him a soldier’s son and had set him to studying war while he was in his teens; that had made him hunger, since he was old enough to play with a toy sword, for 73 the laurels only fighting-men may gather; that had made him always dream of leading some day that Highland regiment whose Colonel was an Anthony times without number, all down the ringing, reeking page of history. Those boyhood dreams had been his in- spiration, to strive—to study—to attain. For all his one spare shirt, and boots that were beginning to be worse for wear, the man who stared so earnestly at far-away artillery was a finished, educated soldier. Thorough in everything, he had even made himself an expert on the bagpipes because, in his opinion, there was nothing that a Colonel should not know; he had meant, when his day came to command a regiment, to be able to choose his own pipe-major without assistance or advice. Artillery was not his service, but he knew all the books could tell him about guns. He had been omnivorous. He had studied—read—invented—listened—(prin- cipally listened)—until he knew more of the art of war than many veterans of twice his years and a thousand times his experi- ence. Besides his twin gifts for work and listening, he had a genius that could bridge gaps, and fill up the unknown with such shrewd guesswork that a problem would be answered in his mind almost before other men had grasped its nature. Little did the Russians dream, when they laid their plans to harry and hunt him, that they had chosen for their quarry a brave gentleman who was more than match for their generals. They treated him almost asa joke. They half feared that he might lose courage, or that the Persians would soon tire of him and then their new brig- and would no longer be a plausible excuse for marching men down over the Atrak River. Even after his first swift victory, that sent a Cossack regiment marching in weap- onless shame back to Astrabad, they had not taken him seriously. The army, defying the Princess, refused to be sacrificed again, and demanded his death or capture; but no- body believed the task would be very try- ing, of raking him out from his mountain stronghold and bringing him to bay on the plain. They sent infantry, in no great hurry, to draw a cordon through the hills and harry him down to the open land below; and they sent guns, in still less hurry, to wait on the plain and riddle his men with shrapnel NOOK C©