Adventure Magazine Cover — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

THE PENNSYLVANIA LINE who were big to bursting with great news. “Sir,” Farquar, ‘‘within the last hour, the men of this command—” “the mutinous, insubordinate soldiery of the Pennsylvania Line, Se put in Ryan gloriously. ‘have given, sir, the moet extraordinary exhibition of desperate, obstinate loyalty—”’ “that can be equaled—I do not say exceeded—only in the annals of antiquity! Nay, Ill go so far as to assert, that ye will not find it equaled even there!” “Ay,” agreed Farquar, “there is no tale to match it anywhere—save, maybe, in the history of Mad Anthony, himself!” “Tf wont deny that I’m insane,’ iaroned their general, “but I do protest against being called extraordinary in it. Madness seems the mode this season, if ye be the models ye conceit yourselves! Now, in one word from but one of ye—’tis enough to rattle the soundest head to hark to the two of ye at once—what has this lunatic Line been up to now?” The aids looked at each other, and then Farquar yielded gracefully. “You’re senior, Paddy,” he admitted, “and you’ve got the gift of tongues. Tell it well.” “Sir,” said Ryan, coming to attention, and speaking as formally as one who reports a great victory to a distant general, ‘‘an hour ago this camp was invaded by emissa- ries of the enemy, who came to make truly magnificent offers of land and money to the men in command, if they would draw the brigade over to the British. And those men —those starving, nearly naked men, sir— promptly, proudly, and resolutely rejected those offers, and—and—and, it, sir, what do you think they did? Sent ’em over to the manse for us to hold for you, till you should come and punish ’em according to rule and regulation! Were you ever hearing the like, in a mob of mutinous, desperate, devil-driven—Lord, what a mess I’m mak- ing of it!” Wayne stood regarding the generous, ardent, excited young men, his mouth curi- ously straightened, his eyelids drawn to mere slits. “Well?” he said at last. ‘“‘What of it? ’Twas no more than their duty. Would you, yourselves, have acted otherwise?” “Srl” gasped the outraged goslings, but he had reeled from them, slapping his thigh, and laughing like the maniac they called him. 45 ““O God!” he cursed and prayed. ‘‘O God! —Stewart! Butler! Didst ever know any- thing like it? The heroes! Theasses! The heroic asses! I forgive them their furloughs, for that deed! I wish that I could fill every one of their two hands with gold! King’sgold! Are they not well worth all the deception I’ve practised, all the lies I’ve told, to se- cure them to Washington and the cause? Nay, youw’re right, lads—there’s naught like them in the past, and the future is not likely to see their equal!” The goslings looked a little shamefaced, for they perceived that, for a moment, they had been badly hoaxed, and that Wayne felt in the matter as they did, and as they would have him. Their embarrassment was re- lieved by the sounds of galloping hoofs and a man dismounting outside the door. Hur- riedly Ryan turned to let in a sweaty soldier, who carried a pair of dispatch boxes. ‘“‘Ah, there you are at last, Henner!”’ ex- claimed Wayne. ‘About three-quarters of an hour late—but it does not matter. Go ’round to the kitchen, and tell the goodwife that I said to fill you. Now, then, goslings, to work! Stand by your goose-quills, and prepare to issue orders by the sheaf. There’s a deal of paper-work to be done, when a Line is disbanded. Here are the keys, Far- quar. You'll find what’s needful in the top of the larger box.” Farquar caught the keys Wayne tossed him, and opened the indicated box. It was filled with folded papers, and he picked up the topmost, spreading it wide to note its contents. “Jupiter Ammon!”’ ‘“‘What is it?” asked Ryan. “it, I'd forgot ’twas in that box!” muttered Wayne. “Tis a draft,’’ said the junior aid, ey- ing the paper from another angle, as if he doubted what his eyes were seeing, “I think it’s a draft—it Jooks like a draft—ofa formal recommendation to Congress that they commission Floyd Allen—Floyd Allen!—an ensign in the Continental Armies! And—as a capsheaf!—’tis in the handwriting of Brig- adier-General Anthony Wayne!” “You’re mad as—Jemmy!”’ ejaculated Ryan, coming around to look for himself. “For you know as well as I, that Floyd Allen is locked up the moment in the best bed- room over at the manse, waiting to be hung.” “What’s that?” demanded Wayne, and COMMICLO© S CO