Adventure Magazine Cover — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

The Fresh Yank snoring heavily. Horses whinnied, pound- ing their feet on the ground. There was the chock! chock! of hoofs on ribs, and the raucous cry, “Ah, —— yer, wot are you abaht there?” from the picket guard. ‘They have the guns in a fine place,”’ re- marked the sergeant. ‘‘Fancy tryin’ to charge through such a mess! Well, I’m off ’ere. Good night, Yank.” ‘“‘Good night,”” answered the Yank. He went on to his shed, thinking that the sergeant had left him purposely, so that no one would see them together. In the fields they would not attract notice, but in the town, where a candle might gleam on the sergeant’s whistle cord, it was a differ- -ent matter. Sergeants are supposed to have little to do with troopers in an informal way. When he came to his shed, the Yank paused, resting his hand against one ol the posts that supported the roof. He lis- tened to the sounds of the bivouac, now a faint murmur, for the command was weary, and went early to bed. Two thousand horses in those fields and twelve hundred swords. Swords, indeed! The Yank stepped into the shed where his kit was piled and picked up his own. Then he-went out into the warm night again, under the stars. All his life long he had wanted to-go to war. His only ambition had been to be an officer of cavalry, his only ideal to serve his country. And this had been denied because of some wild impossible regulation, some infraction of a rule that was never kept, and that had been broken time and again by the very men who ‘had sentenced him. | He was at war now, he had seen men die in battle, had heard shots fired in anger, had already been present on three stricken fields. A real war, such as he had never dreamed of, save as a romantic vision. Real war, with cuirassiers, hussars and dragoons, with lanoers, with cavalry in bearskin shakos. Men galloped about in breastplate ‘and helmet, regiments attacked other regiments mounted, flags waved, bands played, here in this very town sergeants went walking with a sword under their arms. The Yank drew a deep breath and struck the ground with the ferrule of his scabbard. Hie drew his sword with a whistling swish. “Back home,” said he, “in God’s country, ny class are second lieutenants. Tomorrow their treops commanders will say to them _ sword! I3 ‘Mr. Spurchains, see what you can do to get up a football team in this troop,’ or, ‘Mr. Gunboot, I want you to look after the mess accounts more carefully. We're spending too much money.’ ‘“‘And at that time I may be riding to the attack. Imay beinacharge. This sword —this sword = He shook it, feeling the balance of the blade and heavy hilt. “This very sword may be blooded. I wonder what it feels like to kill a man with a It must be our turn soon. The other lots can’t have all the luck!” He returned his sword to its scabbard and went back to the shed, where he spread his blankets and then got down on hands and knees to clear away any stray stones. Some one shook him by the shoulder. “Leave me alone,” said the Yank. “I’m just trying to clear awry these stones.” Somehow he had difficulty in speaking. Then his legs seemed to undergo a sudden change. Instead of being bent under him they were straightened out, and instead of kneeling, he found himself on his back. Why, it was light! The hand on his shoulder shook him again. “Gittup!” said a voice. out of ’ere shortly.”’ The Yank was fully awake by now and he got stiffly to his feet. “Oh, my back!” he exclaimed. ‘What time is it? Gee, I don’t remember lying down. Three-thirty, huh? And a foggy ‘“‘We’re movin’ -morning.”’ The man who had awakened him dragged the cart from under the shed and inspected it. It seemed that he was going to requisi- tion it to carry forage in. The camp com- ing to life murmured in the mist. The Yank prowled around until he dis- covered a pump and having filled the trough below it, he removed his tunic and shirt and proceeded to wash. Two other men appeared, clad only in their own virtue, and with towels about their middles. They likewise made for the trough and began to splash water on each other. ‘Good morning!” they greeted the Yank. “Feeling fit?” “Yes, indeed, sir,’’ said the Yank. His heart failed him after that. This pair of Adams was the brigadier and his staff major. Evidently they thought that the Yank was an officer. Enlisted men in their undershirts look much the same as Go DOOLK 1e@)