The Project Gutenberg eBook, Fables of Field and Staff, by James Albert Frye

Cover created by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain.

FABLES
OF
FIELD AND STAFF

BY
JAMES ALBERT FRYE

BOSTON
THE COLONIAL COMPANY
1894

Copyright, 1893
BY
JAMES ALBERT FRYE
All rights reserved

ROCKWELL & CHURCHILL PRESS BOSTON

TO
THE OFFICERS AND MEN
OF THE
VOLUNTEER SERVICE

PREFACE.

The seven fables flanked by the covers of this book have to do with as many strange and wonderful happenings in the history of an infantry regiment—an infantry regiment of volunteers—in time of peace. They are seasoned abundantly, from end to end, with that which is stranger than fiction, but they differ slightly from “muster-rolls for pay,” which, I am informed, one has to submit under oath.

If you are of the volunteer service, you may be trusted, I think, to catch the spirit of these stories; if you are of The Army, you may consider the tales as illustrative of the customs of a service to which your own is but distantly related; but if it is your great misfortune to be an out-and-out civilian—why, then you must take your chance with what follows, and lay no blame upon me should you find yourself on unfamiliar ground.

In another and an earlier book I related how we of The Third came to settle ourselves in our off-duty quarters up in The Battery; how Sam, the veteran gunner of a by-gone war, won his medal, our most profound respect, and a place among us second in importance only to that of the colonel commanding; how our horse, “Acme,” gained for us great renown and no little wealth; how Larry, our seventh major, rose to the rank of hero; and many other odd truths concerning the Old Regiment. So it may be that, by reason of having read these things, you are no stranger to us, to our traditions, and to our easy-going ways. But even if to-day you come for the first time into our midst, you are none the less welcome—and you will find awaiting you a chair, a pipe, and a pewter mug at our long oaken table, to say nothing of an open-hearted greeting from as good a set of fellows as ever lent their names to the adornment of a regimental roster.

J. A. F.

INVENTORY.

“On hand, as per last return, seven: taken up since last return, as per inventory, seven; viz.—”

THE MARCH
OF THE
FORTY THIEVES.

The long, low room that we call The Battery seemed most depressingly quiet. Sam was there, to be sure, but his presence hardly counted, for he was sound-and-fast asleep in his own little box, partitioned off in the far corner.

I foraged ’round for pipe and plug-cut, lighted up, and wandered over to the bookcase. There was nothing in it—nothing that I felt up to the bother of reading. I went over to the long oaken table and picked up a copy of the Service Journal, but it proved to be a back number, so I tossed it down again upon the disorderly pile of periodicals, and then climbed upon the cushions of the wide dormer-window, just as the rattle of wheels upon the stone flagging in the court far below shattered the stillness of the July afternoon.

A few words in a familiar voice came indistinctly up to me; the wheels clattered again, but more faintly, as the unseen vehicle was driven out through the archway to the street beyond; and steadily up the long stairs, flight after flight, sounded a quick, firm tread. And then the door swung wide upon its hinges, and Bones, our surgeon—Dr. Sawin, outside the service—broke into the room, with his favorite greeting: “Hello, inside! Never mind the guard!”

“The countersign is correct. Advance friend,” said I, from number-one post on the cushions. “Likewise, the guard, being asleep, will not turn out. Come over here, and make less riot.”

“Just been to see Ali Baba,” explained Bones, dropping upon a chair near the window. “He’ll be mended now in a week or ten days. Thought I’d run up here to glance through the papers. Sent my gig away because it’s too hot to leave the horse standing.”

I slipped off my coat and tossed it to the other end of the window-seat, preparatory to elevating my feet for my greater comfort. Bones also reduced his apparel, and provided himself with smoking materials. Then, with his first few puffs, he said, reflectively, “It’s funny how that ‘Ali Baba’ title has been handed down from captain to captain in ‘L’ company. Why, it must be more than twenty years since the day of the first ‘Ali.’”

A side glance at the surgeon confirmed the impression I had received from the peculiar intonation of his voice: his hands were clasped behind his head, his long legs were draped over the arm of his chair, his eyes were half closed, and he was on the point of being talkative.

Now I, as the latest comer upon the staff, have to serve in the capacity of waste-basket, and all the older officers feel at liberty to use me at any time when they feel the need of freeing themselves of some mildewed old yarn. So I drew a long breath, gave a grunt by way of signifying that I would suffer uncomplainingly, and settled myself to stare vacantly out through the open casement, under the wide, striped awning, and across the broad expanse of roofs towards the green hills, far beyond the city’s limits.

“Yes, it must be all of twenty years,” said the surgeon, seeing that I made no effort to escape, “for it was before I’d been enticed into the service—and I’ve been dealing out ginger and pills to this regiment for more years than I care to remember.

“Things were different in those days: the establishment wasn’t on quite the footing that it’s on now. In fact, the true military spirit was at rather a low ebb, and discipline, to put it mildly, was far from rigid. So the service—even though there were good men in it then—was rather in disrepute.

“At that time one Merrowbank was captain of ‘L.’ He was a typical old-timer, a milishy-man from the word go, and a glittering example of all that a volunteer officer shouldn’t be. It was a pet theory of his that the commissioned officer should be able to find stowage for just twice as much Santa Cruz product as the enlisted man could manage to put away—and he lived up to his theory most consistently. Moreover, he had a childlike faith that Providence would keep a watchful eye upon his company property, and he never allowed himself any worry about trifles like shortages in equipment. Well, he’s been out for a long time now—and it’s nihil nisi bonum, you know—but he had a gay old company, they say.

“When the brigade went into camp that year—whatever year it was—Merrowbank took down three officers and forty men, which was a good showing, so far as strength went, for those days. But he found himself short on rifles and great-coats and any quantity of other stuff, and his implicit faith in Providence was much shaken by the discovery; so much shaken that he felt it incumbent upon him to rustle ’round a bit in his own behalf.

“So he got his non-com.’s into his tent the first night of camp, explained the nature of the emergency, and issued a G.O., to the effect that before the next morning every man in ‘L’ who was short of equipment must manage to make up the deficiency—how, he didn’t care a coppery cent, though he’d suggest that it mightn’t be a bad idea to be neighborly with the other regiments of the brigade, just to see how well off they might be in the matter of State property.

“Well, the non-com.’s faithfully promulgated both Merrowbank’s general order and the hint that went with it, and the captain went off on a visit to each of the twenty-four tents in Line Officers’ Row, and finally stowed himself away in bed with a comfortable sense of having done his best to supplement the watchful care of Providence.”

“And in the morning, I suppose, he woke up to find his property complete, and the company fully armed and equipped,” said I, feeling that it was time for me to give some assurance of having been listening.

“Yes, that was about the size of it, as the story goes,” assented Bones, sending a big puff of smoke on its way towards the open window. “But poor Merrowbank had rather a rude awakening on that particular morning, for he was roused by a volley of sharp raps upon his tent-pole, and a good bit before reveille, too.

“As was only natural, he swore fluently, though politely, at the people outside his canvas, and desired to know what the hallelujah they meant by stirring him up at that hour. But on recognizing the colonel’s voice—Hazeltine was colonel then—he tumbled himself out of bed in two-four time; and when he had poked his head through the tent-flaps and had discovered not only the colonel but also old General Starbuckle standing outside in the dim, gray light, he found his ideas coming very rapidly to him, and apologized most profusely for the warmth of his first greeting.

“‘That’s all right, Captain,’ said the colonel, with ominous calmness, glancing keenly at the blinking eyes and rumpled hair framed by the opening in the tent curtain. ‘It’s very annoying, of course, to be roused at such an unseemly hour, after a hard day—and night! But General Starbuckle wishes to see for himself how quickly you can turn out your company, in heavy-marching order, as if in response to a sudden call for special duty. I shall take time from the present moment.’ And he sprung open the lid of his watch, holding it up to his face to note the exact hour.

“Merrowbank desperately plunged into his uniform, stirred up his lieutenants, routed out his first sergeant, and then joined his superior officers; the sleepy men turned out, grumbling and growling, and commenting profanely upon the proceedings; and finally ‘L’ stood formed-up in its company street.

“‘Very fair work, Captain,’ observed Hazeltine, closing his watch with a snap, but omitting any mention of the time taken by the formation; ‘very fair indeed. Now, General, at your convenience’—

“‘What’s your strength, sir?’ asked old Starbuckle, glancing along the line of ill-tempered men.

“‘Three-forty, sir,’ said Merrowbank, suppressing a yawn, and wishing that the old man would be done with his precious nonsense.

“‘Arms and equipments complete and in proper condition?’ questioned the general, sinking his chin deeply into the upturned collar of his great-coat, and sharply eyeing his unsuspecting victim.

“‘They should be, sir,’ replied the captain, catching the point of his sword in his left hand, and bending the blade into a semicircle of shining steel.

“‘H’m! Yes, they should be,’ grunted old Starbuckle, with a tug at his white imperial, ‘but I think I’ll inspect. You, sir, will remain at your post. Will you accompany me, Colonel?’

“The two senior officers slowly passed down the opened ranks, making a most minute inspection of every man. The colonel had lugged out a note-book, and from time to time, at some muttered remark from the general, he would make a brief entry, grinning wickedly at each fresh line of pencilling—for he was no friend of Merrowbank’s, and he found great joy in the task in which he was engaged.

“At length—just as the drowsy drummers of the regiment were turning out to beat reveille—the inspection came to an end, and the general, coming to the front of the company, said, ‘Captain, you will direct your first lieutenant to report the result of reveille roll-call. I wish a word with you in your quarters.’

“Entering the captain’s tent, old Starbuckle planted himself solidly upon a camp-stool, frowned, and said, ‘You are aware, Colonel Hazeltine, how strongly I object to having companies of line organizations bear any designation other than that of regimental number and company letter: has this company any name of an unofficial nature?’

“‘It used to be called the Norfolk Fencibles, I believe,’ replied Hazeltine, wondering at what the brigade commander could be driving, ‘and that name is sometimes used even now—on social occasions.’

“‘Norfolk Fencibles, eh? Tasteful title, that—very!’ grunted the gray-bearded old soldier. ‘And you report forty men, Captain?’

“‘Yes, sir: officers, three—and forty men,’ said poor Merrowbank, feeling a caravan of cold shivers go travelling down his spine, for from the general’s tone he felt abundantly certain that something nasty was coming next.

“‘Well, from now on,’ fairly snorted old Starbuckle, ‘this company will be known as The Forty Thieves!—and with my sanction freely given. Kindly read what you have there, Colonel.’

“The colonel pawed over the leaves of his note-book. ‘One rifle, marked “M, 4th;”’ he began; two ditto, marked “C, 4th;” one ditto, marked “B, 7th;” one great-coat, with red facings’—

“‘An infantryman stupid enough to rob the gunners ought to be discharged for color-blindness, if for nothing else,’ interrupted the general, in the deepest disgust.

“‘One ditto, with yellow facings; two ditto, marked’—

“‘There, that’ll do!’ broke in Starbuckle. ‘There are two more pages full of iniquity; but I haven’t the patience to listen to ’em. Not a word, sir!’ as poor Merrowbank desperately began an incoherent explanation; ‘not a word! It’s a bad enough business as it stands—don’t try to make it worse. I’ll explain for your enlightenment that I took a quiet stroll around the camp last night, to observe for myself how the men were conducting themselves, and it so happened that I was just outside your tent when you were giving your non-commissioned officers instructions in petit larceny—and canvas walls are thin, very thin!

“‘To put it into plain English, I was eavesdropping—though unintentionally—and I must apologize, of course, for the way in which I caught you off your guard. But I wish to state right here, Captain, that I can’t approve of your methods, however much I may feel compelled to admire their results; and you therefore will be allowed to send in your papers immediately upon your return from this camp. I let you down easily, sir, for the sake of this regiment, which is a good one, and as a mark of my consideration for your colonel, who is trying to bring the service into efficiency and good repute.’ And with this the general rose stiffly, and marched out of the tent, without bothering to bid Merrowbank a good morning.

“And that was how The Forty Thieves came into their title. The story leaked out, as such stories will, and for the rest of that camp Merrowbank was known as Ali Baba. When his papers had gone in and he had gone out, the nickname was handed down to the next captain of ‘L’—and it will be many a long day, I fancy, before the line of Ali becomes extinct in the regiment.”

“But Ali Baba wasn’t captain of the thieves—at least, as I remember the original fable,” I objected.

“What’s that to do with it?” demanded Bones, getting up from his chair. “Haven’t you been with us long enough to know that we of The Third are never tied down by precedent?”

“But all this happened long before you were in the service,” I ventured. “How does it happen that you can reel it off as smoothly as if you’d been there to see and hear it?”

“Oh, I’ve heard the colonel tell it so often that I’ve got the whole lesson by heart,” admitted Bones.

“Yes,” I said wearily, “and so have I!”

The surgeon came over to the window and for a moment stood looking down into the deserted court. The sun had sunk lower, and now its rays came slantwise under the awning and through the opened sashes, to flash in dazzling brightness upon the polished blades and glittering spear-heads of the barbaric weapons clustered on the wall above the bookcase. A fly buzzed its way across the broad track of light, and Bones made a sweep at it with his big hand, but the wary little insect promptly changed direction by the right flank, gave the slip to his burly enemy, and joined a squad of his kindred deployed in open order upon the ceiling.

“Quiet, isn’t it?” said the medicine-man; “quiet as an empty fizz-bottle. Never knew the old shop to be so empty at this late hour of the afternoon.”

“It’s July,” I suggested, “and half the fellows are out of town.”

Bones turned and glanced down the long room towards Sam’s corner, whence at intervals came the low sound of a contented snore. “Seems something like church, eh?” he said. “We haven’t the sermon, but the proper accompaniment is all here. I take it that the veteran has yielded to heat prostration. Well, I’ll not bother him: I can be my own commissary. Ginger-pop and ice wouldn’t be deadly in the present state of the atmosphere. What do you say?”

“I’ll follow your lead,” said I, rapping out the ashes from my pipe; “ginger-pop’ll do for the foundation—and I can trust you to trim it up properly.”

Stepping softly, the surgeon made his way into Sam’s province, presently returning in triumph with two tall glasses of golden-brown nectar, crested with finely crushed ice, and faintly suggestive of old Monogram. I manœuvred a small table into position between two roomy arm-chairs, and then refilled and lighted my pipe.

“Here’s fun!” said the doctor, politely nodding in my direction, and causing a perceptible ebb in the icy tide in his glass. I made haste to secure the remaining tumbler before replying, in deference to Bones’ profession, “Here’s hoping for an epidemic!”

“Now, speaking of The Forty Thieves,” said the doctor, setting his glass back upon the table, and thereby adding another ring of moisture to the two already in evidence upon the polished wood, “I suppose the proudest day in their history was when—just hand over that pipe, will you? It seems to be drawing like a regular flue; mine’s stopped.”

I groaned, but handed over my pipe and rose to hunt for another one. “Now you can chatter along like an accommodation train,” I said, after I had got myself finally settled, with a fresh corn-cob in one hand and my glass within easy reach of the other.

“Meaning with plenty of smoke, and frequent stops for refreshments? Precisely,” said Bones. “Well, it was a great day—the day when The Forty Thieves did up All-Italy. And nobody told me about that, either: omnia ququæ vidi, quorum magna pars fui—Latin!”

“Yes, I’m awake to the fact,” said I. “You needn’t construe.”

“It was all of eight years back,” Bones ran on, “for it was the year before Hazeltine went up to the command of the brigade. Colonel Elliott was major then, and Curtis, who’s senior major now, at that time was captain of ‘L’ and reigning Ali of The Forty Thieves. And I?—well, I hadn’t been commissioned, but was serving out the fag-end of my third enlistment as hospital steward. Gad! how the roster’s changed since.”

“Tempora mutantur—Latin!” I hastened to put in at this favorable point. “Proceed, you moss-grown veteran.”

“Well, this was the way of it,” said the learned doctor, acknowledging by a grin that honors were a stand-off on the score of dead languages. “When it came ’round to the time for our fall field-work that year, Hazeltine packed us aboard the cars for Glastonbury, down on the line of the B.S. & N.Y.

“For a wonder, the plan of operations was not at all complicated. The main object of the day’s work was to practise the men in skirmishing and in the gaining of ground by short platoon-rushes. So when we reached our destination, we marched out from the village a couple of miles, and then Elliott’s battalion was detached and posted along a stone wall and among some farm buildings, facing a broad sweep of open meadow, while the rest of the regiment footed it along for a mile farther, to return later in the character of bloody invaders.

“Now, up to this point everything was simple enough. But Elliott was—and, as you may have noticed, still is—a strategist of large calibre, and he’d taken the liberty of making a slight addition to the cut-and-dried plan of campaign. About a week before, he had run down to Glastonbury to look over the ground alone, and in the course of his travels he’d made some observations in regard to the lay of the land that set him to thinking. And this is what he thought:

“His four companies were to be attacked in front by the remaining eight, and in the nature of things he was fairly certain of being defeated, but he’d noted the fact that on the left of his position there was a thick growth of young timber, with an old wood-road running off into it, and on following this up he found that it made a circuit and came out into the meadow in his front, in such a way that a force marching over it would find itself eventually in rear of the right flank of the attacking party; and therefore he reasoned that he could make things very entertaining for the colonel’s contingent by availing himself of this feature of the landscape, and mentally made his dispositions accordingly.

“Now, I ought to have been with the main body; but when Elliott’s battalion detached itself I somehow got mixed up with it, and when I found out my mistake I decided to stay where I was—notwithstanding the fact that the assistant surgeon had been assigned to duty with the defence—rather than go chasing over a dusty road after the rest of the regiment. And that was where I played in luck, for if I’d been at my proper post I’d have missed my march with The Forty Thieves, and all the sport that came in at the end of it.

“Elliott had disposed his four companies in line of battle along the stone wall, but as soon as Colonel Hazeltine’s troops went out of sight around a bend in the road he gave some hurried instructions to Curtis, who straightway started ‘L’ company off into the woods. And then Elliott came riding down the line, and caught sight of me.

“‘Hello!’ says he, ‘you here? We seem to be pretty heavy laden with doctors. Just you hustle along after Curtis and his Thieves; an independent column ought to have a medicine-man of its own.’

“So I saluted, and went on a jog-trot after ‘L,’ with my field-case bumping and banging against my hip, and”—

“And mighty sour you were at the detail!” I hazarded, getting up and going over to the mantel after a supply of matches.

“And caught up with The Thieves just after they’d got well into the bush,” said Bones, without noticing my interruption. “Well, I reported to Curtis, and got orders to march either in the line of file-closers or at the rear of the column; and choosing the latter alternative, I trudged along quite contentedly, a little N.C.S. all by myself. It was a cloudy day, with just enough coolness in the air to make marching pleasant, and I thoroughly enjoyed the tramp along the leafy, grass-grown path. The boys joked and guyed each other—we were marching route-step—and once they started in on a song with a jolly, swinging refrain to it, but Curtis shut ’em up in short order, for he didn’t care to have his progress too widely advertised.

“Now, Elliott had said that a march of something like three-quarters of a mile would bring us into the desired position for flanking the colonel’s hostile forces, and he’d cautioned Curtis not to cover his ground in less than half an hour; so we strolled along slowly and took things easily. But when, after travelling for the best part of an hour, we had seen no signs of a clearing, why, we rather began to wonder where we were at, and wherefore. You see, we were making our way through the thickest of thick cover, there wasn’t in the whole outfit such an article as a compass, and there was no sun to tell us which way our noses pointed.

“‘This begins to grow blamed ridiculous,’ said Curtis, after we’d patiently footed it for about two miles and a half. ‘I’m not so dead sure about our not being lost. But I’ve had my orders. “Follow copy if it takes you out of the window” is a good enough rule for me’—in civil life, you know, Curtis was a newspaper man—‘and so I’ll heel-and-toe it over this blossoming path until we land in the middle of next week.’

“‘Hello!’ he broke out a moment later, ‘the advance guard begins to show signs of life!’ And with that he halted the company, as the sergeant—who, with two men, had preceded the company by a hundred yards or so—came running back towards us. ‘Well, sergeant, what is it? Are we in sight of land yet?’

“‘I haven’t seen anything, sir,’ reported the sergeant, ‘but I just heard something like shouting, and after that a few shots; not volleys, just scattering pops.’

“‘The skirmishers starting in, most likely,’ commented Curtis, ‘though that wouldn’t account for the shouting.’

“‘But the sound appeared to come from our left,’ went on the sergeant; ‘and that seems queer.’

“‘From your left?’ repeated Curtis, break-off a small twig and thoughtfully chewing one end of it. ‘The deuce it did! Then we’ve marched half ’round a circle, or else the colonel’s flanked us. According to all the rules of the game the enemy ought to be engaged on our right. ‘Tention! Silence in the ranks!’

“We all stood motionless in our tracks, and listened intently. And sure enough, from somewhere ahead of us and to our left, there came the faint sound of a distant uproar, and the echo of an occasional shot.

“‘H’m! I’m completely twisted,’ muttered Curtis, as with wrinkled brows he stood listening to the far-off racket. ‘I can’t seem to make it out at all. Sounds like a picnic of the Gentlemen’s Sons’ Chowder Club! Well, push ahead with your men, sergeant, and keep your eyes and ears well stretched. Keep quiet, and close up, there in the company!’ And we took up our march again.

“‘Halt!’ commanded Curtis, in a low tone, but sharply, as we turned an abrupt corner in the path and caught sight of the sergeant standing with one hand warningly uplifted. ‘Great Scott! We seem to be operating against field-works, and heavy ones too!’ For across the old road, a couple of hundred yards away down the leafy vista, there loomed up before us a high, steep embankment of bright, fresh gravel, clearly outlined against the dull gray of the sky and the dark green of the foliage.

“‘Now be perfectly silent, everybody; and you, Lane’—to the first lieutenant—‘take charge of the company. I’m going to look into the situation for myself,’ said Curtis. And then quickly running forward he joined the sergeant and his men, scrambled with them up the high bank, turned to the left, and disappeared behind the shrubbery.

“For perhaps ten minutes we stood waiting and listening. The noise now was distinctly audible, and I counted the reports of eleven shots before the captain’s figure again came into view upon the crest of the gravel-bank. Well, he waved his arm as a signal for us to advance, and we double-timed it down the path in beautiful form, for during that halt of ours we had been growing terribly inquisitive about what was in the wind, and we were in somewhat of a hurry to find out.

“At a gesture from Curtis we halted at the foot of the slope. He had pulled out a note-book, and was scratching away in it like a crazy reporter; but finally he ripped out two or three leaves, folded them up, and sang out, ‘Corporal Campbell, you’re supposed to be a sprinter: you will take this note, with my compliments, to Major Elliott—and waste no seconds in doing your distance. Give your rifle and equipments to the hospital steward. On your mark—set—go!’

“‘And now, boys,’ he continued, as the corporal, after loading me down with his impedimenta, started off on his long run, ‘I’ve found out what’s making all this row. In the first place, it’s evident that we’ve been travelling the wrong road’—it afterwards appeared, though Elliott hadn’t notified us of the fact, that there were two old wood-roads, of which we carefully had avoided the right one—‘and I haven’t the slightest idea of where we are. But this embankment apparently is the road-bed of that branch which the B. S. & N. Y. is building, and about a third of a mile from us there’s a howling mob of Italians—something less than a thousand and more than two hundred of ’em: I didn’t stop to count—laying regular siege to a shanty in which, in all probability, they’ve got their contractors cornered like rats in a trap. I don’t know anything about the cause of the shindy—more than likely it’s the old story of overdue pay and ugly tempers—but it’s a royal rumpus, whatever started it, and if nobody’s been hurt yet, somebody’s bound to be hurt soon, unless the strong arm of the law sits down hard upon the troubled sea over yonder.’ And with this elegant example of metaphor he stopped to catch breath.

“‘Now, after a fashion, we are the strong arm of the law,’ went on Curtis, ‘and I think it’s plainly our duty to sail in, and pour the oil of peace upon the raging waters. I’ve no orders to cover the case; I haven’t any “lawful precept” from mayor or selectmen or anybody else, but—now don’t yell!—if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you along to see the entertainment. All who’ll volunteer to go will come to right-shoulder!’

“Up went the fifty-odd rifles in one-time-and-three-motions, and Curtis continued: ‘That’s the proper stuff! Now, we shall be a half-hundred against a very good-sized mob, and though we are well enough armed, we’re without any ammunition except blanks. It’s dollars to dimes that the bare sight of us will quiet down the ruction, but I don’t care to take any chances. I’ve got to fit you out in some way—how the pretty-pink-blazes shall I do it?’

“He stood thinking for a moment, then made the company form fours—we’d been marching column-of-twos, the path being so narrow—swung the fours into line, and caused arms to be stacked. ‘Now every man of you,’ said he, when the men stood clear of the stacks, ‘will provide himself with ten bits of twig, of the same diameter as a lead-pencil, and about half the length of one. See that the twigs are smooth and straight, so that they’ll slip cleanly into the rifle-chamber—and, if you want to, you may sharpen one end of ’em. Break ranks!—and start in on your whittling.’

“‘Aren’t you afraid that those bullets will be liable to key-hole, Captain?’ sang out one of the lieutenants, with a pleasant grin at his own humor and the prospect of coming trouble.

“‘Can’t tell,’ replied Curtis cheerfully, ‘at least, until we’ve tried ’em. I’m all at sea about trajectories, initial velocities, and all that. We’ll have to work out our musketry theories as we go along. All fitted out, you lads down there? Then fall in!’

“The company formed up, and broke stacks; and then Curtis gave his final directions. ‘Just a word more, boys: if I have to give the command “load!” you will open chamber, thrust into the bore a wooden bullet, and send home after it a blank cartridge. You must keep muzzles elevated, or else your projectiles will slip out. And lastly, if the wild men whom we’re going to visit should exhibit any desire to rush us, I shall order you to drop your cleaning-rods into your barrels—and we’ll try the effect of harpooning ’em at short range. That’s all. Fours right—march!’ And like a small army of ants we swarmed up the sloping bank of sliding gravel, and started on our march down the railway.

“Picking up the advance guard as we went, we tramped rapidly forward, and in a very short time came in sight of the theatre of operations. Sure enough, the comedy—or, for all we then knew, the tragedy—was in full blast, for a roaring mob of swarthy Italians was surging ’round a roughly built shanty, and amusing itself by yelling, and sending an occasional stone or bullet at the closed doors and windows. Whoever was inside was lying very low indeed, for there was no response from within to the demonstrations of the attacking party, and only the lively interest shown by those outside made it appear that the place was tenanted at all.

“The rascals caught sight of us when we were about forty rods from them, and for a moment I thought that I detected signs of a stampede; but when they saw how few we were—for fifty men in column-of-fours don’t make a very imposing showing—they bundled together in a devilishly ugly and suggestive sort of way, and waited for us to come up.

“We left the railway, formed line upon a level stretch of ground, moved forward a hundred yards or so, and then halted.

“‘Now may heaven forgive me the sinful thought,’ said Curtis, as he stood sizing up the savage rabble before him, ‘but I’ve seven-eighths of a mind to give it to ’em where they stand! That aggregation of deviltry is too tempting!’ But, however strong the temptation may have been, he manfully overcame it, and stepping half-a-dozen paces to the front called out, ‘Is there any one among you who speaks English?’

“For answer the children of sunny Italy sent up a derisive and most provoking yell; and so Curtis, failing to obtain an interpreter from the ranks of the enemy, turned to us, with, ‘Not much satisfaction to be had from them, apparently. Does anybody in the company know their lingo?’

“It seemed that our ignorance was on a par with theirs, for nobody confessed to a working knowledge of Italian. For one insane moment, to be sure, I was impelled to step out and address the offending foreigners in the ancient tongue of their native land; but to save my soul I couldn’t lay hand upon anything besides Arma virumque cano, and”—

“Latin again, by thunder!” I said, enthusiastically. “Ah! but you are up in the humanities, Bones.”

“And that, you know,” placidly went on the surgeon, with a nod in recognition of my admiration, “was hardly the extent of what I wished to say—though it may have been, after a fashion, apposite to the requirements of the occasion. So I let the chance to distinguish myself slip by unimproved, and stuck to my place in the file-closers.

“‘Now I am in a hole!’ admitted Curtis, after this double failure in his attempt at opening the way to a parley. ‘I’m stumped at this phase of the business—and blessed if I know just what card to lead next!’

“‘Ah! you will, will you?’ he growled, as three or four stones came sailing over at us. ‘Well, that’s cue enough for me. Fix bayonets!’ There was a metallic rattle and clash, as the fifty steel jabbing-tools were put into place for business. ‘With ball cartridge—load!’

“‘And now, in the name of the Commonwealth,’ bellowed Curtis, after he had seen his men tuck away in their rifles wood enough to keep a match factory running full time for a week, ‘I command ye to disperse!’

“‘Skip—scatter—vamose!’ he added by way of explanation, waving his arms like a farmer driving away mosquitoes. ‘Get a move on you, and clear out, you obstinate lunatics! Sabe? Comprenez? Understand?’

“It seemed to me that the mob displayed symptoms of wavering: and when Curtis, in his deepest and most awe-inspiring tone, commanded, ‘Aim!’ I drew a breath of relief, for I felt that when The Forty Thieves levelled their fifty rifles in one long, threatening line, a break must surely follow. But just at this critical moment the door of the shanty was flung open, and three men dashed out and went tearing off towards the woods. And then the break came!—though not just in the way I had anticipated. For, utterly disregarding us, the swarthy madmen, with a wild yell of delight, sprang off in pursuit of their escaping prey.

“It was a horrible sight—upon my soul, a horrible sight!—to see the brutal fierceness of that sudden rush. And it made me fairly sick to think of the pounding and stabbing and murderous kicking that surely would follow if the mob once caught the miserable men whom it was hunting down. I only wish that those who frown upon the service could have been with us then—for they would have had an awful object-lesson in the necessity for maintaining the military establishment, even in this enlightened land and in these peaceful days.

“I must admit that the unexpected hideousness of the whole thing threw me clean off my balance for the moment; but Curtis kept his head, and did his duty as he saw it cut out for him. ‘Aim waist-high!’ he commanded, running to the windward flank of the company in order to observe the effect of the volley. ‘Fire!’ And, with a report like that of a single big cannon-cracker, The Forty Thieves came into the game.

“I heard a chorus of outlandish yelps and howls immediately after the volley rang out, and, to my infinite relief and satisfaction, when the smoke drifted up and away I saw that the rabble was scattering in every direction. Five or six men were down, but whether they’d been hit or simply had tumbled over each other, I can’t say, for—with the exception of one fellow—they all scrambled straightway to their feet, and pranced off to cover in a way that convinced me that their wounds, if they had any, weren’t liable to be instantly fatal.

“Well, there was my cue. I handed to the nearest sergeant the rifle I’d been carrying, and ran over to hold a post mortem—still more Latin, you’ll observe—on the man that we’d bowled over. When I started towards him he seemed to be out of it, for he lay quite still; but just as I reached him he began to jabber and snarl and twist himself into bow-knots, for all the world as if he’d eaten a peck of green apples, and was undergoing the consequences. Flapping him over upon his back I began to search for his hurt, but I didn’t have to make a very extended hunt, for—well, what do you suppose I found?”

“Can’t guess,” said I, fishing out a bit of ice from the bottom of my emptied glass; “unless your man was skewered on one of those wooden plugs.”

“That’s not so wide as it might be,” laughed Bones, “for I found a stylographic pen—yes, sir; a stylographic pen!—tightly driven into the muscles of his neck. Regular hypodermic injection of ink, by ginger! That proved the pen mightier than the sword, eh?”

“So it would seem,” said I. “But whose pen was it?”

“I never found out,” said the surgeon. “Whoever it was that got excited enough to shoot it away was too much ashamed to claim it afterwards, and I still have it.

“Well, that’s nearly all the story of the war with Italy. We held the field until Elliott came up with his battalion; and later, Hazeltine came ploughing down the railway with the other eight companies—after which, of course, peace reigned supreme. I daresay you remember the court of inquiry on Curtis, and the newspaper discussion about the whole business?”

“Yes,” said I, rising from my chair, after a glance at my watch; “and I remember reading that Curtis came near getting into uncomfortably hot water for taking the law so calmly into his hands.”

“Humph! That was all very well,” said the doctor, rising and going towards the spot where he had tossed his coat. “But if those who questioned Curtis’ authority to do as he did only could have seen what I had the privilege of seeing, they’d have chipped in to buy him a presentation sword, instead of criticising his actions so freely. Well, I must dine somewhere, I suppose, and I think your club will do me.” And we slipped quietly down the stairs, leaving Sam still sleeping.

A TALE OF TWO TOWERS.

This tale might just as well have been christened Under Two Flags, for it was under two flags, and through the medium of a third one, that all the trouble worked itself out. But, since another and an earlier writer has had the bad taste to apply this desirable title to a creation frankly lacking in the first elements of that which is the truth, I am constrained, because of its unfortunate associations, to put it to one side and seek yet another—for I find myself restricted to the setting-down of none but sombre facts. And the facts in the matter are these:

One afternoon in late September it chanced that my personal affairs took me up into the twelfth story of one of the lofty office-buildings which rear themselves, crag-like, above the very fertile soil of those shadowy and narrow valleys, our down-town streets. What was my exact errand is here of no consequence. It is enough if I say that I was endeavoring to make a man see a certain thing in the same light in which I saw it, and that, after having failed most miserably in the attempt, I had risen to go, when he glanced out through the window and said, “You’re up in that sort of thing: tell me, what’s going on over yonder?”

I followed the direction of his glance, across a mile-wide wilderness of ill-assorted roofs and chimneys, to where the great tower of the regimental armory lifts its bulk above the brick-and-mortar dwarfs that cluster in its shadow. And there, upon the summit of the topmost flanking-turret, my eye caught the flutter of a speck of red bunting.

“That?” said I; “why, that’s a signal detachment at flag-practice. Well, I must be going. Sorry I can’t make you listen to reason.” And I went—to risk my life in the downward rush of an express elevator.

Now, that glance from the twelfth-story window sealed my fate for the rest of the afternoon. My good nature had been placed under heavy strain, and the never-ending rush and racket of the swarming streets jarred so tormentingly upon my tired head that—with the blessed recklessness of the boy who cares not one darn whether school keeps or not—I consigned business to total smash, swung myself upon a passing car, and was trundled gaily along towards freedom, sunlight, and the armory.

“For Kenryck will be there,” I told myself, “and I can talk to him. And my pipe will be there, and I can smoke it. And I can sit on the parapet wall, and look out over the harbor—and forget how infernally mean everything is.”

And Kenryck was there. I dropped off the car, walked down to the armory, dived into the staff-room to get my pipe from its pigeon-hole in my desk, dived into the armorer’s den after a bunch of matches, and then climbed up and up, flight after flight of narrow stairs, to the top of the main tower. And there, in luxurious ease, Kenryck sat in state upon a camp-stool: a note-book on his knee, a bull-dog jammed between his teeth, and his field-glasses well in play.

“Kenryck, I’m weary,” I announced, as my head emerged from the trap in the tower roof, “and I’ve come to—”

“Shut up, will you, for a minute,” said Kenryck cordially. “Hi! you, up there”—to the signalman twenty feet in the air above us, upon the little turret—“what’s that? How’s that last message? No enemy visible on Lexington road? Yes, that’s right. Down flag! Rest!” Then to me, “Hullo, old man. Pull the rest of yourself out of that hole, and come on deck. Royal old afternoon, isn’t it?”

I stepped up and out upon the tiles. “Don’t mind me in the least, Ken.,” I said. “I’ve not come to bother you. I’m only here for rest and peaceful contemplation. So go ahead with your wig-wagging, and I’ll be a non-combatant.”

“Oh, you’re no bother at all,” said Kenryck very kindly. “It’s the inquisitive maniacs who ask fool questions and think it’s queer that I don’t offer to teach ’em the whole code in five minutes—they’re the ones that make signalling an everlasting joy.”

“I suppose so,” said I, taking off my hat, to let the fresh breeze rumple its way through my hair. “But I’ve stopped your game, just the same. Wake up those flags of yours: I like to watch them waving.”

“You’ve stopped nothing,” protested Kenryck. “I’d been squinting through these glasses until my eyes ached, and I was just going to take a minute off, when you came popping up through the trap like the fairy in a pantomime.”

“I’m breaking in three new men,” he went on, in a lower tone. “One of ’em”—with a nod towards the turret—“I’ve got in the box up there: one of my sergeants has another, out on Corey Hill: and the third one’s in charge of still another sergeant, over across the river, in Cambridge, on the tower of Memorial Hall. Running a three-station circuit, you see. Message starts here, goes through the hill station, and lands on top of t’other tower: vice versa with the answer. I’m taking it easy, you’ll notice: just sitting here in the shade and keeping tabs on the Cambridge station through that embrasure. My man overhead calls off the signals from the hill: I jot ’em down: and so I can see that they tally with the original. Great system!”

“Great head!” said I: then, with an upward glance at the clean-cut face of the young soldier leaning easily against the parapet of the turret, “You’ve pulled in some good men, eh?”

“Beauties, all three of ’em!” said Kenryck enthusiastically; “just out of college; all from the same class. Only had ’em a trifle over three months, but they’ve picked up the trick to a charm. Clever? Well, rather! Just see how easily this boy handles his business.” And calling out—“Attention! Call ‘B’ station”—my friend the signal officer went on with his work.

For a time, as he told off the combinations to be made, I followed the fluttering of the swiftly dipping and rising flag. But the whole thing was Sanscrit to me, and it wasn’t long before I wearied of watching it. So when Kenryck, in an interval between messages, turned to me and said, “Simple enough, isn’t it? Begin to catch on?”—I answered, “Well, perhaps in about twenty years I might, but just at present the waving of a red flag conveys to me only four meanings—‘Auction,’ when it’s waved before a building; ‘Miss,’ when it’s waved across the face of a target; ‘Stop!’ when it’s waved in front of a railway train; and ‘Come ahead fast!’ when it’s waved in the face of an ugly bull.” And having thus frankly admitted myself a rank outsider, so far as concerned the science of signalling, I gave myself over to the soothing influence of tobacco and the contemplation of my surroundings.

It has been my fortune to find many a less attractive spot than the tiled roof of our armory tower, with its encircling parapet, broken by alternate embrasure and loop-holed merlon, and with its octagonal turret at one corner, standing—like a sentry on post—in bold relief against the sky. Moreover, the sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the combination was altogether comforting. And I speedily forgot, one after another, the petty annoyances of my down-town day.

I stepped over to the breast-high wall, rested my elbows upon the capstone, dropped my chin into my hands, and gazed out over the world. Far down in the streets below I could see the pigmy shapes of men, busily crawling to and fro in the anxious chase after money, and seeming—they and their affairs, too—so pitifully insignificant. Which caused me to reflect that it would be good that all mankind should spend an hour each day upon a tower, to gain a better idea of the relative size of things. And I farther was impressed. But never mind. This is a tale of two towers, and I am allowing myself to neglect the other of the twain.

“Mother of Moses!” muttered Kenryck, just as I had turned—after a sweeping glance around the range of low, green hills which, upon three sides, hem in the city—to look out upon the harbor, with its gray-walled forts and glistening sails, “Mother of Moses! What ails the boys in Cambridge?”

“Can’t tell, I’m sure,” said I, looking across the river towards the spot where the other tower showed itself above the trees. “I fail to see signs of anything distressful. Time was when I knew what ailed the boys in Cambridge—but that time’s long gone by! What seems to be the excitement at the present moment?”

“That’s what I want to know,” said Kenryck, as the young fellow upon the turret began to call off the signals from the second station. “They’ve just sent this message—it’s being flagged over from the hill now—‘Big trouble here! Want advice. Shall we explain?’ Now what does that mean?”

“Ask ’em,” said I promptly. “Wig-wag the information that I’m here—ready to furnish advice in car-load lots as soon as they’ve sent on their explanation.”

“Thanks!” said my friend, with dry politeness. “I’m more than fortunate in having you with me.” Then, to the man with the flag, “O.K. that last message, Millar, and add, ‘Explain.’”

Up and down, sidewise and to the front, went the flapping square of red bunting with its core of snowy white; while Kenryck, in readiness to catch the first responsive signal, trained his glasses upon the ‘cross-river station.

“Here it comes,” he said, as the distant speck of color awoke to spasmodic and rapid motion. “Now we shall be given understanding. Hello! the sergeant must be doing the flagging: Orcutt couldn’t send the words along at that rate of speed.”

“Translate for my benefit, Ken., will you?” said I, coming over to his side. “I’m consumed by curiosity. I’ll swear solemnly not to let any information fall into the hands of the enemy.”

“Pick up my note-book,” he answered hurriedly, without changing his position or allowing his eyes to wander for an instant from the opposite tower, “and scratch down what I give you. Ready? Well, then, start off with this: ‘Man—making—fuss—at—base—of—tower.’ Got that? ‘Says—Orcutt—owes—him—big—money.’”

“Yes I’ve got it: all of it,” said I, snapping a rubber band across the page as a check upon its tendency to get away from me in the fresh breeze. “Very interesting, so far. Go on, old man: give us another chapter of it. I’m waiting.”

“Ease away on your chatter, can’t you?” said Kenryck, a trifle earnestly. “You’ll get me all balled-up in my receiving. Here, take this: ‘Man’s—confounded—insolent: standing—in—street: shouting—all—sorts—of—abuse—up—at—Orcutt.’ There, the sergeant’s stopped sending, to give us a chance to digest what we already have.”

Word by word the message, unaltered by its transmission through the hands of the party at the second station, was passed down to us by the turret signalman. Something in his tone drew my attention, and I looked up at him. He was red in the face with suppressed emotion.

“Is your man Orcutt efficient with his hands?” I asked Kenryck.

“Ought to be,” he replied. “He played left guard on the eleven for a couple of years.”

“You’d better ask him, then,” I suggested, feeling that a rare opportunity for testing the fighting capacity of the volunteer service had arrived, “why he doesn’t fly down from his roost and punch the fellow’s head?”

“I will!” said Kenryck promptly. And off went the question on its trip around the circuit.

The reply came quickly back: “Citizen’s name is Boardman. Has policeman with him, with some sort of papers. Orcutt’s willing to punch citizen, but has serious doubts about punching policeman. Says it’s all mistake: doesn’t owe anybody in Cambridge.” All of which I carefully entered in the book, exactly as it was given to me.

“See here, Millar!” Kenryck shouted, as he caught the sound of laughter from overhead, “do you know anything about this business?”

“I think I do, a little—if not a good deal,” admitted that young man in a choked sort of voice, grinning down at us through an embrasure. “Yes, I think I’m in a fairly good position for understanding the whole complication.”

“Humph! if it’s so almightily funny I fancy we’d better have more light on it,” said Kenryck, with much dignity. “We’ll flag over—‘Instructions coming: wait!’—and then I’ll trouble you to explain the meaning of all this foolishness.”

“It’s this way,” said the signalman, appearing at the parapet wall, after starting Kenryck’s order upon its travels: “Orcutt and I—you may have noticed it—look almost enough alike to be taken for twins, especially since he’s forced out that moustache of his. And that’s the key to the mystery.”

“Give the key a twist, then,” said Kenryck. “Proceed with your exposition.”

“To continue,” obediently went on the young man, “I’m the party for whom this Boardman is out gunning. He keeps a place where a lot of the students have club-tables, and I used to belong to a club of fellows that resorted there for nourishment—which, I may state, was not of the highest grade, though we paid a princely price for it. Well, last winter I had to be away from college for about three weeks, and I left without giving notice to Boardman. Which resulted in two claims: Boardman’s, that I owed him thirty dollars for three weeks’ un-eaten grub—and mine, that he ought to be struck by lightning for his superhuman nerve.”

“Ah! I have the clue now,” said Kenryck. “Come, let’s get to work on straightening out things. Pick up your flag, and—”

“But that’s not quite all of it,” interrupted the occupant of the turret. “You see, this man Boardman isn’t a pleasant person to have dealings with. He’s very rough-tongued, and never sand-papers down his sentences. And the last time we argued over our differences I was so displeased by his lack of breeding that I—well, he made me hot under my collar, and I hit him just above his. See?”

“Oho! he’s after you for assault, is he?” said Kenryck. “That’s pleasant for Orcutt!”

“Yes, for assault—and battery,” assented Millar. “And I judge that it may be very pleasant for Orcutt. For Boardman swore that he’d get square with me some day, and I fancy—though the reports from across the river don’t go much into details—that he’s considerably in earnest about doing the squaring-up without any farther delay.” And, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, he gave way to another fit of laughter.

“Ah, yes!” said Kenryck, frowning darkly upon his subordinate, “all this is amazingly ludicrous, isn’t it? But you’ll have an aching arm, just the same, before you get through with swinging that bamboo stick of yours: for we’ve got to flag this story over to Cambridge—and a very pretty bit of flagging it’ll make! Come, we’ve kept the other lads long enough on pins and needles and anxious seats: we must get to work.”

The message to be sent was a long one. I sat down upon Kenryck’s chair, pulled out my tobacco pouch, and charged my pipe afresh, for there seemed to be nothing requiring my immediate attention. Minute slipped after minute, while Kenryck’s voice kept along in steady monotone, and the bunting above our heads—whirring and flapping in intermittent accompaniment—busily went on with the task of changing the spoken words into the symbols of the code.

“There, that’ll keep the hill men busy for a time,” Kenryck observed, when the flag upon the turret gave a final downward sweep and then became still. “Phew! it was a long pull.”

“Why don’t you cut your middle station out of the circuit?” I asked. “It would save time if you did your talking direct.”

“Couldn’t think of it,” he replied. “These boys are out for practical instruction, and I’m bound to see that they get it—all of ’em.”

“Queer mix-up, isn’t it?” said I, with a laugh. “Wish I could have seen the proceedings at the other end of the line.”

“So do I,” said the signal lieutenant, joining in my laughter; “but I’m afraid this last message has spoiled the fun over there. Well, perhaps it had gone far enough.”

“‘B’ station has finished transmitting, sir,” announced the youth above us. “Cambridge has just made ‘O.K.’”

“All right,” answered Kenryck, lining his glasses upon the opposite terminal. “Now we’ll get some results.”

“All ready,” said I, pulling my pencil from behind my ear and adjusting my note-book. “Let it come.”

There was an interval of waiting, but at last the opposite tower began to talk, and, as Kenryck passed the words to me, I spread upon the page this remarkable entry:

“Told Boardman mistake. Says he knows better. Also, that we’re blanked liars. Orcutt very uneasy: growing insubordinate. Proposes to smash Boardman and policeman too. Tried to pitch loose tiles down upon their heads. I stopped him. Tower door locked on our side. Which prevents murder. Lieutenant better come over at once.”

This was cheeringly warlike. I burst into a roar of ill-timed mirth, while Kenryck laid down his glasses and strode back and forth upon the roof, giving profane utterance to his perplexity and paying no heed to the calling-off of the signals from the hill.

I read over my last entry in the book, and roared again, which caused Kenryck to pause in his tramping, glare at me, and snap out, “Can’t you let me think? I’ve got to call a halt in this business somehow—and there you sit, braying like a Himalayan donkey, and rattling the last idea out of me! How about those car-load lots of advice? Come, suggest something!”

“Heaven forbid!” said I, very earnestly. “This is your affair, and I’d never venture to hint that you’re not more than able to swing it alone. You’ve managed it beautifully so far as you’ve gone. But unless you want your corps to come in for a heap of free advertising in tomorrow’s papers, you’d do well to make another move—and a quick one.”

“I’ll call for a cab, and go over there myself,” announced Kenryck, with a vicious stamp upon the tiles, “and, by The Great Indian! when I do get there I’ll give everybody—”

“Now just hold hard for a minute, my son,” I put in at this point. “Consider things calmly. What’s the use of going to all that bother? Besides, it would cost you all of three large dollars—and you can’t draw mileage for that kind of travelling. There’s a much easier and less troublesome way out of it.”

“Let’s have it then!” sputtered Kenryck. “You set yourself up to be a sort of lawyer, don’t you? Well, here’s an elegant chance to show your quality.”

“I am a lawyer,” said I, with unassuming dignity; “a young but very subtle one. And since it’s your wish that I should be of counsel in this case, why, I’ll settle your matter very speedily for you—and at something off from my usual rates. In fact, I’ll call it a charity job, and make no charge whatever. Now, pay attention to what I’m telling you. Here’s what you’ll do: order your sergeant to keep Orcutt quiet—if there’s no more convenient method, he may tip him over and sit on him—until I can—”

“Yes, he may!” put in Kenryck, in a highly aggravating tone. “Why, Orcutt weighs well up towards two hundred, besides being as full of temper as a razor blade—and the sergeant’s a little man!”

“Will you hear me out, you gibberer?” I inquired gently. “I don’t care how you manage it, but I want you to see to it that matters are kept in statu quo, until I come back. Understand? I’ll be gone only a minute.” And I gracefully lowered myself through the trap, and went rattling down the many flights of stairs that twist their way up through the tower’s dusky interior.

By rare good fortune I reached the ground floor without breakage of bones, and straightway made for the staff-room, where I hastily rummaged through my desk until I came upon a thin, black volume, emblazoned with the arms of the State, and inscribed in golden letters, “Militia Law.” Hastily running over its pages I found what I needed: and then, turning down the leaf, I thrust the book into my pocket, and started off for my second ascent into mid-air.

“Here you are, Ken.,” I cried, as I scrambled breathless out upon the roof. “I’ve brought you a bomb, and you can chuck it over into Cambridge as soon as you please.”

“You’ve been long enough in getting it,” was his ungracious response. “It wouldn’t take more than five or six of your ‘minutes’ to make an hour. Come, trot out your alleged bomb. Time’s precious.”

Withering Kenryck with a single expressive glance, I slowly drew out my little black book, opened it at the marked place, and said, “It would be serving you no more than properly, you ungrateful beggar, if I should draw out of this case altogether, and leave you up the tree! I may have taken a few seconds over a minute, but I’m willing to give plump odds that—going and coming—I’ve made a new regimental record in tower climbing. Well, here’s the medicine for your man Boardman—”

“You must excuse me, old chap,” said Kenryck hurriedly. “I dare say you tobogganed down on the banisters, and galloped up again on all-fours—but you certainly seemed a devil of a time in doing it.”

“Chapter three-sixty-seven, section one-nineteen, of the Revised Statutes,” I began, after receiving this graceful and ample apology, “would seem to furnish both the authority and the means for the abatement of this nuisance of which you make complaint. It runneth thuswise: ‘If any person interrupts or molests or insults, by abusive words or behavior, or obstructs any officer or soldier while on duty or at any parade or drill, he may be put immediately under guard and kept at the discretion of the commanding officer of the detachment until the duty is concluded: and such commanding officer may turn over such person to any police officer or constable of the city or town: and said police officer or constable shall detain him in custody for examination and trial: and any person found guilty of either of the offences enumerated in this section shall be punished by imprisonment in the jail or house of correction not exceeding six months, or by fine not exceeding one hundred dollars.’”

I flatter myself that I must have read this tangle of clauses with truly judicial emphasis and solemnity, for—when I came to the end of it, and demanded, “How’s that?”—Kenryck gave a yell of delight, and shouted, “Out at the plate, by Jupiter!” And the youth upon the turret displayed such violent symptoms of joy that I feared lest he should tumble from his dizzy perch.

“Oh! that’s too good to be true,” gasped Kenryck, after a prolonged paroxysm of laughter. “It fits like an old glove, too! Well, here goes for trying it on: I’ll send over the whole blessed section, though it’ll make an outrageously long message, and order the sergeant to spout it down at ’em from the tower. Jumping Jonah! won’t it do ’em up?”

“It’s a beautiful bit of rhetoric,” said I, glancing through the passage again; “there are just twelve or’s in it—enough to fit out a ‘varsity eight and two single scullers. But I consider that it will answer your purpose very cleverly.”

I handed over the book, pointed out the all-powerful section, and sat down, more than well pleased with my share in the proceedings. Kenryck explored the interior of his braided blouse, discovered a cigar, and silently handed it to me—an action which proclaimed more eloquently than words his deep appreciation of the value of my services.

The transmission of this lengthy quotation from the law of the land took some little time. My cigar burned slowly on until half its original bulk had fallen away in ashes before we caught the first signal in reply to our communication. But the response, when finally it came, made us speedily forget the time we had spent in awaiting it.

“Stand by to register,” cautioned Kenryck, who for several minutes of silence had been sharply scanning the far-off tower. I hurriedly drew out my knife, and put a better point upon my pencil. “There she blows! Ready are you? Then score up this—

“‘Have quoted law. No go! Boardman says law may be dash-double-blanked, and men who made it may be blank-double-dashed. Policeman says law doesn’t concern him: his orders are to arrest on warrant. Big crowd gathered in street, guying us. Situation something awful. Orcutt in open mutiny. Will Lieutenant please come?’”

This was sufficiently definite, surely. Kenryck turned and stared blankly at me. Out of respect for his feelings I refrained from laughing.

“When you get that message from the hill,” he shouted to the man upon the turret, “make your acknowledgment signal, and then send over word that I’m coming. Can you do it alone?” And, upon receiving an affirmative answer, he made for the trap in the roof and disappeared.

I hastily stuffed the note-book into my pocket, and followed him. Down the shaking stairs we went, at a neck-or-nothing pace, until we landed at the bottom. And then Kenryck shot himself into the armorer’s room, and dropped into the chair before the telephone.

Br-r-r-r! went the little bell. “Hello! Central? Give me Cambridge, please.” A pause. “This Cambridge? Well, will you give me the chief of police?” Another and a longer wait. “Hello! You the chief of Cambridge police? I’m Kenryck—Lieutenant Kenryck—commanding signal corps, third volunteer brigade. Got that? Yes! Well, I’ve sent a detail over to Memorial Hall, under duty orders. Now, my men are being interfered with and insulted by a citizen. There’s a curious sort of mistake.” Here he put in an elaborate explanation. “But the thing must be stopped, right away. I make formal complaint to you, under section—wait a second, please.”

I supplied him with chapter and verse for the text of his discourse, and he went on, “Under section one-nineteen, chapter three-sixty-seven, of the statutes. And I want you to take this citizen—yes, Boardman’s his name, but I don’t know the initials—into custody until I can come over to attend to him. What’s that? You’d like to look up the statute? All right—only kindly be quick about it.”

Then came a long interval. I ventured to say a word or two, but Kenryck turned upon me a warning scowl which reduced me at once to silence. “Hello!” he finally sang out, in answer to some communication over the wire. “You’ll see that your men take care of him? That’s good. Thanks! Hope we may be able to do as much for you, some day. I’ll be over later. Good day.”

He hung the receiver upon its hook, rang off, and rose from his seat, smiling like one who feels conscious of having done a clever thing. “It’s a poor law,” said he, “that can’t be worked both ways.”

“Yes, the law may be likened unto a double-edgéd sword—and woe upon them that monkey therewith!” I replied. “And now what?”

“Now we’ll scale the tower again,” announced Kenryck, “to await developments. And, unless I’m wide in my guess, we’ll find things running our way when we get our next news from over the river.”

“You’re not going over, then?” I asked.

“No,” said Kenryck very decidedly; “not if I know myself. It would cost me all of three large dollars—and one can’t draw mileage for that sort of travelling.” By which I was led to believe that a part, at least, of my advice had not fallen upon stony ground.

“I shall let the police gather in my man,” he went on, as we panted up the last steep flight of stairs, “and then, after the siege has been raised, telephone over that I’ll not press the charge against him. How’ll that do?”

We climbed out, one after the other, upon the roof. Kenryck in a few words explained to his signalman what had been done, and then we sat down to await the final report. It was not a long waiting. In less than ten minutes the bit of color upon the Cambridge tower began its weird dance and, signal by signal, industriously sent across to us these tidings of comfort and joy:

“Patrol wagon just sailed up! Boardman bundled into it, speechless with rage. Policeman gone, too. Crowd has applauded operations and mostly dispersed. Orcutt manageable again—and coast clear.”

I shook hands with Kenryck. The youth upon the turret—who, without waiting for the hill station to repeat, had translated all this for his own benefit—waved his flag madly ‘round his head, and then hugged himself with delight. And we all three roared in chorus and loudly.

“We’ll let it go at that,” said Kenryck finally, “and call it a day’s work. Make your signal for closing stations, Millar, and pack up your kit. Here,” as he happened to look in my direction, “you can’t have those!”

“Oh, yes, I can,” said I, folding up and stowing away in my pocket the two leaves that I had just torn from the note-book. “Of course I can have ’em. Aren’t they in my own handwriting? And besides, they’ll be useful—labelled ‘Exhibits A and B’—when I’m retained to defend you against a suit for false imprisonment.”

But the suit has never been brought, and the stolen leaves lie undisturbed, pasted side by side in the big scrap-book which rests upon the top of the bookcase, up in The Battery. Ask Sam to hunt them out for you, when next you happen to find yourself up there.

ONE FROM THE VETERAN.

“Everything’s calm,” said the lieutenant-colonel, “and apparently liable to stay so. I’ve been through the whole brigade—’way down to the cavalry quarters, and back through the gunners’ and infantry camps—and the peacefulness of things reminds me of the old nursery jingle,

‘And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse.’

Well, this tour of mine’s been an easy one. I’ve been under canvas with the old brigade for just nineteen rolling years, and so when I say that this camp walks right away with the trophy for quietness, I’m speaking by the card.”

“Wouldn’t it be a pious idea if we were to turn in, then?” inquired the adjutant, adding to his remark a suggestive and very audible yawn. “Field officers of the day aren’t supposed to sit up all night—at least, not in time of peace. I’m feeling just a wee bit sleepy myself.”

Midnight had come and gone. The camp lay silent, its snowy tents looming out dimly in the faint, midsummer starlight. Not a murmur hinted at the presence of the three thousand sleeping men hidden away beneath the shimmering whiteness of the canvas. The sleepy sentry pacing slowly to and fro before regimental headquarters seemed only a deeper shade in the shadowy picture. His measured tread upon the dew-dampened turf roused no echo.

There came into view a spectral shape, striding rapidly towards the quarters of the non-commissioned staff. “Hi!” called the lieutenant-colonel softly. “Hi! that you, Sam?”

At this challenge the spectre changed its course and approached the adjutant’s tent, in front of which, and under the protecting fly, the two officers were sitting. “Yes, it’s me,” answered the voice of the veteran orderly of The Third. “That you, Col’n’l Wentworth? Anything I can do for ye?”

“I’d be glad to know why you’re prowling ’round at this time of night,” said the lieutenant-colonel mildly. “You’re old enough to be setting the boys a better example.”

“I judge ye’re correct, Col’n’l,” assented Sam, still standing attention in front of the tent. “I’d oughter be in quarters. But down in B Comp’ny’s street I run’d onto a feller that was in the war. Now, them fellers is gittin’ scarcer’n honest men in the city gov’nment, an’ so it follered that we got to yarnin’, give an’ take, turn an’ turn about, ’til we clean lost track o’ the time.”

It might be well to mention here that Sam is the privileged character of the Third Infantry. It has been explained elsewhere how Colonel Elliott discovered the old man enjoying his well-earned otium cum dig. in the Soldiers’ Home, down at Old Point. It also has been told how, by a risky bit of work, back in ’64, he won the Medal of Honor which he wears upon the breast of his dress-coat. To be sure, he guesses, “Bein’ nothin’ but copper, ’taint worth much”—but by the rest of the Old Regiment it is held at a somewhat higher valuation.

Now, the customs of The Third do not tend to encourage the spinning of yarns by enlisted men in officers’ quarters, but to this well-established rule there is one exception. That exception is made in favor of Sam. And since his webs of fact and fancy are woven, for the most part, after darkness has descended upon the face of the earth, the breach of service etiquette is not sufficiently evident to be demoralizing. All of which is explanatory.

The adjutant stepped back into the depths of his tent, and presently returned with a fistful of cigars and an extra camp-stool. “Set ye, Sam,” said he, appropriating one of the veteran’s pet idioms. “Set ye, and lend a hand at smudging out mosquitoes.”

The old orderly borrowed a light from the lieutenant-colonel, and seated himself, with his elbows resting upon his knees and his hands comfortably clasped before him. “I’ve bin a-thinkin’,” said he, “how this milishy business has changed since I was a boy. Never happened to see an ol’-fashioned muster, did ye? Nat’rally not. Ah, them was the days o’ plumes an’ swords, an’ gingerbread an’ rum, an’ genuine patriotism!”

The adjutant, forgetting the darkness, winked at the lieutenant-colonel. Wentworth rose, stepped outside for a final survey of the sleeping-camp, and then returned to his place. “There were giants in those days, eh?” he said, turning up the collar of his great-coat.

“Yes, ther’ was,” said Sam, impressively, “ther’ was indeed. An’ giant-killers, too. Ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee was a giant. You’d oughter seen him! Six-foot-two, he was. My land! he was a rare sight when he was in his milishy togs, with his boots an’ spurs, an’ his buff breeches, an’ his blue coat with buff facin’s, an’ his flamin’ red sash, an’ his terruble long sword, an’ his high shako, with the wavin’ plume a-top an’ the soarin’ brass eagle on the front of it.” Sam paused for lack of breath.

“An’ Maj’r Otis Prouty was another giant,” he continued. “I’ve told ye how the Maj’r trounced ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee, up to Lond’nderry muster. No? Oh, that was a tremenjous battle,” he chuckled softly to himself, “a tremenjous battle while it lasted.”

“So?” queried the adjutant. “Was it the custom for junior field-officers to thump their chiefs?”

“Gen’rally, no,” said Sam. “As a rule ’twa’nt a safe undertakin’, ’cause the men that rose up to be col’n’ls was men that run’d to pritty large sizes. Ol’ Leatherbee was a man o’ consid’able breadth an’ heft. But he was some lackin’ in sperrit. O-ho! he cert’nly was lackin’ o’ gimp. An’ the time when Otis Prouty tipped him over was only one o’ two times that he was downed with all four p’ints a-touchin’. For ther’ was another time ’sides that ’un.” And here the old gunner again laughed softly over some remembrance.

“I guess I’ll have to tell ye. ’Twas like this: the ol’ Col’n’l, a’ter runnin’ in single harness for nigh onto fifty year, had to go an’ git himself married. Not that ’twa’n’t right for him to do’t; the Scriptures has established the principle that ’taint well for man to be alone. Only, mistakes sometimes happens. An’ Col’n’l Leatherbee added one more mistake to the list when he went an’ had himself mattermonially yoked with Tildy Pettus. By doin’ which he shown the beauty o’ the tex’ which states that fools goes a-rushin’ in where angels is ’fraid o’ bein’ entertained unawares.

“I said, didn’t I, that ol’ Leatherbee was a giant? Wal, Tildy, she was a giant-killer! ’Fore she was promoted to the command o’ the Col’n’l’s establishment she used to be a school-ma’am. An’ if she didn’t rule her little, red-painted institution o’ learnin’ with a rod of iron ’twas only ’cause birch-rods come cheaper an’ handier, besides bein’, when sci’ntifically applied to youthful students, more blisterin’ than iron in a highly-het condition. Oh, she made a great name for herself as a discipliner, an’ when she quit teachin’, the boys an’ girls o’ that time felt that life still had some sweetness left for the down-trodden an’ oppressed. They likewise made existence a burnin’ torment for the nex’ teacher, which happened to be a dyspepsic striplin’ from somewheres down-country.

“Now, Tildy Pettus—I mean Mis’ Col’n’l Leatherbee—were ’thout doubt a good looker. She wa’n’t tall; the ol’ Col’n’l useter say, ‘She aint long for this world’—meanin’ that she stood ’bout five-foot-three in her high-heeled slippers. Her cheeks was quite red an’ attractive, an’ she was plump an’ wholesome to the eye. But ther’ useter be a kind o’ furrow that’d crease itself down ’twixt her eyebrows when things didn’t go just to suit her, an’ when that occurred, which wa’n’t unfrequent, them that knew her took it for a sign that ’twas ’bout time to display the better part o’ valor—which, so we’re told, is discretion. For Tildy had a tongue—a sharp ’un—an’ a copious dictionary to draw words from when the sperrit moved her to the usin’ on ’em.

“Not that, in speakin’ o’ the sharpness o’ the female tongue, I’m castin’ any reflections on wimmin-kind as such,” explained Sam. “Lor’ knows I’ve been admirin’ wimmin more or less for better’n half a century. But some on ’em, havin’ tongues o’ great keenness, makes remarks which cuts most distressful. An’ yet, if female tongues be keen, the male tongue often is blunt; an’ I haint yet quite made up my mind whether it hurts the worst to be cut by a sharp tongue or bruised black-an’-blue by a blunt ’un. It’s some’at a’ter the fashion o’ politics—‘Both the Old Parties has grave defec’s in their make-up.’

“Wal, Mis’ Leatherbee settled down as commandin’ officer o’ the big, white house wherein the Col’n’l hitherto had reigned alone, in fancy meditatin’ free. An’ lackin’ her former exercise o’ disciplinin’ scholars, an’ havin’ no childern of her own to put through a course o’ sprouts, she fell into the way o’ providin’ herself with amusement by a-teachin’ her husband of his P’s an’ Q’s. An’ this was very entertainin’ for the both on ’em. For she’d bin used to seein’ her dear little pupils set up an’ take notice when she spoke to ’em; while the Col’n’l—wal, he’d bin accustomed to doin’ pritty much whatever he darn’ pleased, an’ furthermore had got well sot in the habit. However, like most men that gits married late in life, he was fond of his wife, an’ when she didn’t go for to nag him too hard they managed to jolt along together well’s most married folks.

“Now, one o’ the Col’n’l’s pet habits, I must tell ye, was to employ a consid’able share of his evenin’s, durin’ the winter, in settin’ into a congenial cotery which was in the way o’ gatherin’ themselves together ’round the fire-place at the ta-avern. He were a man o’ some prom’nence in them parts, an’ what he said carried great weight, he havin’ bin to the legislatur’ for a couple o’ terms, an’ havin’ bin selec’man time out o’ mind, ’sides havin’ held ’most every title in the milishy ’ceptin’ jigadier-brindle—which is what the boys useter call the brigadier gen’ral. So his remarks nat’rally was received with great respec’, an’ when he explained the strategematical mistakes that was made by both sides durin’ the Revolution an’ the War of 1812, ther’ wa’n’t no one that felt called upon to set up a very vehemient opinion to the contrariwise. ’Specially while he was a-settin’ up o’ the rum, which, for to give him his dues, he done as a rule, an’ freely; sometimes so freely that when it come breakin’-up time, both him an’ his constituents would be a-showin’ sympt’ms o’ coagulation o’ the speech.

“From all o’ which it follers that in some ways ol’ Leatherbee was the darn’est man ye ever seen. Which bein’ so, his wife must o’ necess’ty bin the nex’ to the darn’est. In the first place, ’twa’n’t proper nor ’cordin’ to the rules o’ polite behavior for him, havin’ saturated his system with ol’ Santy Crooze extracts, to go home an’ try to convince Mis’ Leatherbee that, if he’d bin in command o’ the American forces, the maraudin’ British wouldn’t never’ve had occasion to make a hollowcost o’ the city o’ Washin’ton; because she, not bein’ a soldier, couldn’t be expected to take no int’rest in topics o’ them kind, ’specially at the untimely hour o’ night at which they usually was brought up for her consid’ration. And which bein’ all granted, ’twa’n’t, in the second place, hardly good taste on her part to address such remarks to her errin’ spouse as she sometimes allowed herself for to do; ’cause, if he wa’n’t her superior, he cert’nly was her senior. An’ no man o’ proper respec’ for himself enjoys bein’ called, earnest-like, a ’sozzlin’ soak.’ This ye may set down for a fac’, sure’s ye’re a foot high.

“P’raps I’m goin’ too heavy into details, an’ not figgerin’ my account down to a p’int fine enough to match the lateness o’ the hour. But I’ve told ye enough, anyways, to make it evident that the affairs o’ the Leatherbee household was runnin’ along in a fashion that was bound to wind up in a climax sometime. An’ finally the climax come, the arrival of it bein’ somewhat in thiswise:

“’Twas on a terruble stormy night, ’long towards the end o’ Jan’ary. The ol’ Col’n’l had went down to the ta-avern uncommon early, an’ had evened things up by stayin’ more’n respectable late. So when he fin’lly got himself boosted out’n his chair by the fire, an’ started off to go home, clean to t’other end o’ the town, the clock in the steeple o’ the Orthodox church had got through with the business o’ knockin’ out midnight an’ was a-puttin’ up its hands to strike the next hour which might happen to come along that way, feelin’ confident, as ye might say, that it could send it to sleep in one round.

“‘Col’n’l,’ says the ol’ man to himself, as he went ploughin’ along through the snow, ‘Col’n’l, ye have tarried too long with the serpint which do lurk in the wine-cup.’ This, however, wa’n’t stric’ly true, ’cause ther’ hadn’t bin no wine at all connected with the evenin’s entertainment, he havin’ confined his attention exclusive to rum-an’-molasses.

“‘Col’n’l Leatherbee,’ says he again, a little further on, ‘I’ve sore misgivin’s in regards to the reception that’s a-waitin’ ye yonder.’ It was a great trick o’ the ol’ man’s to talk to himself when a-laborin’ under stimulous excitement. But he always done it respectful, never allowin’ himself to forgit the position in the community which he held. At the proper time an’ place he was able an’ willin’ to swear the legs off’n an iron pot; but he never swore at himself, nor at his wife, neither.

“‘I must be firm in the hour of adversity,’ says he, when he had steered himself far’s his own gate. ‘“Budge not, lest ye be budged” shall be my motter. I will be silent under the wrath to come. It is written that strong waters run deep; I will run deep also.’ This is what he actu’lly said. I know it, because the ol’ man had bin talkin’ in a very deep tone, so’s to give himself all the courage possible, an’ the lan’lord o’ the ta-avern heard every blessed word, he havin’ follered the Col’n’l far’s his door, to make sure that he didn’t lay himself down to slumber in no snow-drift, arguin’ that he were too valuable a customer to be careless of.

“Wal, Col’n’l Leatherbee navigated careful acrost the door-yard, leavin’ a trail as crooked as if’t had bin made by the serpint which he’d mentioned, but the beautiful snow come down an’ covered the tracks, so’s they shouldn’t set the neighbors to talkin’ next mornin’. An’ that was the last seen o’ the Col’n’l, that night, by any mortal eye ’ceptin’ his wife’s. However, the rest o’ what I’m goin’ to tell ye sets on a pritty good foundation, for it comes direc’ from Mis’ Leatherbee herself, she havin’ bin so tickled by the subsequence of events that she just couldn’t keep her mouth shet, an’ had to go trottin’ over to tell the whole story to her nex’ best friend. By which channels the report was duly an’ officially promulgated.

“After wrastlin’ successful with the latch o’ the door, the ol’ man ushered himself into the house. An’ then, havin’ pulled off his boots an’ dumped his big coat, snow an’ all, down onto the floor, he slipped into the sleepin’-room an’ begun to diverge himself from the rest of his clothin’. Everythin’ went fust-rate for a while, not a whisper comin’ from the big four-posted bedstid to disturb his nerves. But Mis’ Leatherbee was just layin’ low, like a masked batt’ry. An’ all of a sudden she opened onto him.

“My gor-ri! She begun with solid shot, an’ then changed off onto percussion shell, an’ fin’lly started a-servin’ out canister. The tempest outside had bin doin’ tol’able lively work up to this p’int; but when Mis’ Leatherbee got fairly het up to the occasion the wind give a last despairin’ howl, an’ went switchin’ down the valley an’ into the nex’ township, like it owned up that it wa’n’t runnin’ no opposition to the rumpus she was a-raisin.’

“The ol’ Col’n’l, he were took completely by su’prise, bein’, as it were, off’n his guard. He’d bin expectin’ a to-do o’ some sort, but the rakin’ he was a-gettin’ went clean beyond his most cheerful calculations. For a minute he stood stock an’ still in his tracks, plumb dumb-foundered. An’ then his knees got wobbly, an’ he sot down suddin on the floor, for to collec’ his idees.

“So far it had bin a jug-handled discussion—meanin’ that all the talkin’ had bin on one side. An’ as the ol’ man sot ther’ a-rummagin’ for thoughts, he come acrost his original plan, layin’ tucked away safe an’ sound under the roof of his head, an’ recollected that he wa’n’t a-goin’ to say nothin’, no matter what happened.

“But, ’stid of abatin’, the roarin’ whirlwind of abuse kep’ growin’ stronger, an’ the Col’n’l kind o’ lost sight”—

“S-st!” broke in the adjutant, raising his hand, and leaning forward. “Hear anything?”

“Yes; sabres a-clinkin’,” answered Sam promptly, cocking his head to one side and peering out into the gloom. “Ye can’t fool me on that sound; I’ve heard it too often, farther south than we be now. Guess likely it’s the provo’s.”

The lieutenant-colonel stepped out from beneath the tent-fly, and went to meet a little squad which was making its way up from the left of the line. After a moment’s parley he returned to the tent, and the shadowy group moved on, the clank of the sabres sounding more faintly as the troopers vanished into the darkness. “Two of the provost-guard, running in a tramp found asleep back of the cavalry stables,” he explained, as he seated himself. “Proceed with your fiction, Sam.”

“Queer, how them tramps always hang ’round volunteer camps, aint it?” said Sam. “Ther’ aint nothin’ in it for ’em, ’ceptin’ the guard-house if they happens to git collared. An’ yit they turn up reg’lar, year in an’ year out. Must be they’re sent providentially for to give practice to the provo’s. Le’ me see; where was I? O, yes; ye left we two a-settin’ here, an’ ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee a-settin’ on the floor of his bedroom, waitin’ for the clouds to roll by. Wal, I’ll proceed, but not with no fiction; what I’m given’ ye is solemn an’ sacred fac’s.

“The clouds in the Leatherbee mansion, ’stid o’ rollin’ by, kep’ growin’ heavier an’ blacker, an’ Mis’ Leatherbee’s stock of ammunition didn’t show no signs o’ runnin’ low. So fin’lly the ol’ Col’n’l’s dander begun to come up, an’ ’fore he knew it, he’d forgot that he were goin’ to suffer all things in uncomplainin’ silence.

“‘Mis’ Leatherbee,’ says he, ‘my dear mad’m, like the wintry snow, we are driftin’—hic!—driftin’ apart. At the present moment we’re as far apart’s the two ends of a stick. Which means bein’ sep’rated as widely’s the feeble human intellec’ can conceive.’ Now, anybody with eleven idees to the inch might have seen that the ol’ man wa’n’t in no condition to pass remarks with his good lady; but, oncet havin’ got fair started, he progressed right along, regardless o’ the fac’ that he were violatin’ the agreement he’d made with himself previous.

“‘’Tis best that we should end this painful interview,’ he says, a-climbin’ up onto his mutinous legs. ‘Alas! ther’ aint but one way, an’ that a awful—hic!—awful gashly one! But ye’ve drove me to’t. I ther’fore bid ye farewell, Mis’ Leatherbee. I also trust that your few remainin’ years may be cheered by no remorse. Your very respectful an’ obedient servant, Nathan Leatherbee, Col’n’l commandin’ Tenth Reg’ment Milishy.’ This may sound ridic’lous, but it’s word for word what the ol’ man said. Honest! His brain was so shooken-up by the razzlin’ he’d bin gittin’ that he truly couldn’t tell whether he were makin’ of a speech or writin’ of an official letter.

“Wal, bein’ more or less firm established on his feet, he zig-zagged himself out into the kitchen, his house follerin’ the plan o’ most country houses o’ that time, an’ havin’ a thunderin’ big kitchen, with a lot o’ rooms openin’ out of it. Here he sashayed over to the cupb’d, an’ took out a slashin’ big carvin’ knife, an’ begun to whet it up on the steel which went with it, makin’ more noise than a hay-maker puttin’ an edge onto his scythe. Mis’ Leatherbee had stopped talkin’, an’ ’twas plain to be seen that she were a-listenin’ to the proceedin’s.

“The ol’ Col’n’l fixed the knife to suit him, an’ then slipped into the closet an’ fetched out a ham which happened to be there, settin’ it down careful-like onto the table. ‘Mis’ Leatherbee, do ye relent?’ says he in a solemn tone. If she did, she didn’t say so. ‘Ther’s yet time, ma’am,’ says he, pausin’ for a reply. Not a word come from the bedroom; the silence was truly appallin’. ‘Once more, then,’ says he, in a chokin’ voice, ‘an’ for the last time, farewell!’ An’, with that, he plunked the carvin’ knife into the ham, with a sick’nin’ chug, give a fearful groan, an’ flopped down heavy onto the floor.

“Now, ’twas gol-dum cold out ther’ in the kitchin, an’, as I told ye, the Col’n’l had dispensed with most of his clothin’ before bein’ drove to the committin’ of his rash deed. Consequently, after layin’ ther’ in the dark for a minute, he begun to have chills, an’, to keep his teeth from chatterin’, he had to groan some more, which he done this time in good earnest. But Mis’ Leatherbee staid comfortable in bed.

“Wal, fin’lly Col’n’l Leatherbee give a combination o’ groan an’ gasp an’ guggle that fair rattled the dishes on the closet shelves. An’ then his wife speaks up, an’ says, says she, ‘Aint ye dead yet, Mister Leatherbee?’ To which he answered, truthful, ‘No; but I’m tormented nigh to bein’!’—‘Hurry up an’ die, then,’ says she, ‘I want to be gittin’ to sleep.’ An’ he heard her turnin’ over in bed, an’ smoothin’ down her piller.

“That was the last straw that done the giant-killin’ business. The ol’ man riz up slow, leavin’ the murdered ham layin’ in its gore on the table, an’ sneaked back into the bedroom, an’ crawled in under the quilts, feelin’ smaller’n a cent’s worth o’ soap a’ter a week’s hard washin’. An’, for oncet in her life, Mis’ Leatherbee had sense enough to hold her raspin’ tongue, an’ let her husband go to sleep in peace.”

“Here comes the relief,” said the lieutenant-colonel, as the sentinel at headquarters advanced to meet an approaching knot of men, and sharply challenged, “Halt! Who’s there?”

“Whew! then it’s two o’clock,” said Sam, hastily rising. “Who’d have thought it? This aint no sort o’ way for a man o’ my age to be a-keepin’ his roses fresh.”

“Any moral in all that?” asked the adjutant, rising in his turn.

“No; nor nothin’ un-moral, neither,” chuckled the veteran, raising his hand to his cap in parting salute. “Which, in these days, is good guarantee that ’twont never be printed. Wal, good-night to ye.”

WOODLEIGH, Q.M.

Most of us have cause for remembering the hospitalities of The Fourth. The same being an up-country regiment, a visit to it involves a rail journey of three hours and thirty times as many miles; but, in view of what lies at the end of them, the ninety miles and the three hours count as nothing. For in The Fourth they know how to do things properly.

The second battalion of The Fourth sent out cards for a ball, last winter, and a round dozen of them turned up in our mail at headquarters. As a rule, we never allow an invitation from that part of the world to go unheeded; but this time we had to return our really regretful regrets, because a meeting of the council of officers had been ordered for that particular night. It was too bad.

But The Third, if for nothing more than old acquaintance’ sake, had to be represented. And so the colonel, after thoughtfully considering the varied attractions of the staff, sent for the quartermaster—“Woodleigh, Q.M.,” he signs himself, when the paper is an official one—and, after loading him down with his blessing and our compliments to the fellows of the other corps, regretfully saw him start off alone towards the scene of impending festivities. “Woodleigh’s a fine shape of man,” the colonel argued to himself, “and he’ll do for a sample of the rest of us. Besides, what earthly sort of use are quartermasters, except for ornament?” So off went Woodleigh to the ball.

In course of time he came back again, telling strange things about what had happened to him during his absence.