“If you ask me, Chester,” said Hal as they sped along, “these marines, from what I have seen of them, are going to prove among the most effective units in Uncle Sam’s army.”
“What makes you think so?” demanded Chester.
“Well, take this man Bowers for example. Of course, he’s a powerful man, but it’s his spirit that counts—he’s afraid of nothing. He’s perfectly cool under fire and when it comes to hand-to-hand fighting I doubt if there’s a man in the German army who could stand up against him.”
“He’s only one,” said Chester.
“That’s true enough. But look at the rest of them—rough and ready every one. Hard men they are. Most of them look as though they had come off the Bowery in New York, or were prize fighters, or gun-men. They are bound to give a good account of themselves in a fight. Hardly a marine who doesn’t look as though he had been brought up to fight.”
“I guess most of them have,” replied Chester dryly. “They gave a good account of themselves to-day, as far as that goes.”
“So they did,” agreed Hal, “but their numbers were comparatively small. Take a couple of divisions now, and I’ll venture that they could drive back twice their number.”
“That’s a pretty fair-sized order, Hal.”
“So it is, but that’s just what I think.”
“Well, I hope you’re right. We’ll have need of men like that. But look! we seem to be coming to some place.”