"How could he expect to overtake a run-away horse in a strange city on a night like this? It's madness!" exclaimed the adjutant.
"He was a fine lad," said the quartermaster sadly, as though Huxford were already dead. "Seems such a pity to lose him. I didn't think he had the courage to do it."
But war shatters preconceived ideas. No one can tell which men are brave until the crisis comes. Those who seem strongest fail; those who seem weakest succeed.
A gloom had been cast over us all. We despaired of seeing Huxford again—except perhaps to find his mangled body somewhere at the foot of that long hill. When we reached the bottom he wasn't there, and we went on despondently for a mile or more, knowing the hopelessness of trying to find him; when suddenly, as we turned a corner, he appeared, still on horseback and leading the runaway. A cheer from the boys greeted him.
"Well done, Huxford!" cried the senior major. "We never expected to see you again!"
"I couldn't let him go, sir, 'cause th' colonel giv' th' horses into my charge, an' he had to be caught."
May we all fulfil our duty as faithfully as this lad!
The queer little French train, with its cars marked eight chevaux—forty hommes (8 horses—40 men) was waiting at the station when we arrived. The transport officer had told the senior major not to leave until he had received his papers, but to get the men and horses aboard.
Shortly before midnight all were entrained. The equipment and horses were loaded, but there was no sign of either engine or conductor. We unrolled our sleeping-bags, placed them upon the seats in the compartment coach and fell asleep. At four a.m. we were awakened by an angry discussion taking place on the train platform. One voice was French, evidently that of the train conductor; the other was unmistakably that of the senior major. He was talking very loudly:
"I tell you, you can't move this train one inch until I get my papers."