floating here,” he said to Hugh. “I want Wilcox to fly them at Reggio but he darsen’t without orders. What’s the captain’s notion?”
“Why, we was the first to hoist our flag the day we come ashore,” said Hugh. “After that all the other people, English, Swiss, French, Germans, had to hoist their banners, all over the shop, till now the place looks like a blooming world’s fair.”
Or like a camp of latter-day crusaders, Hugh!
“I think we should have our own colors, all the same,” Timothy persisted. “If the ‘boss’ goes away, I will send them up if I swing for it. Besides, it will create respect. Our men have had to wait a day for their pay. I hope they get it tonight. Last evening to hear them roaring you would think Old Tilley, the pig killer, was back in life!”
“Time to haul her down,” Hugh looked to the west.
It was sundown. The bugler sounded attention, the men all stood in line, facing the flag. The bugler played the salute to the colors, and just as the red ball dropped behind the blue ridge of mountains, Hugh slowly, slowly hauled down the flag.
“That,” said one who watched the pretty ceremony, “is a survival of sun worship.”
“Mithras, God of the Sunset, low on the Western main,
Thou descending immortal, immortal to rise again!
Now when the watch is ended, now when the wine is drawn,
Mithras, also a soldier, keep us pure till the dawn!”
(Kipling.)
IX
GUESTS AT CAMP
“Mithras, God of the Midnight, here where the great bull lies,
Look on thy children in darkness. Oh take our sacrifice!
Many roads Thou hast fashioned; all of them lead to the Light,
Mithras, also a soldier, teach us to die aright!”
(Kipling.)