Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/fablesoffieldsta00frye
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._--”
Page
THE MARCH OF THE FORTY THIEVES 13
A TALE OF TWO TOWERS 49
ONE FROM THE VETERAN 79
WOODLEIGH, Q.M. 103
THE KERWICK CUP 127
OFFICIALLY REPORTED 155
SPECIAL ORDERS, NO. 49 185
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.”