Chapter II: Part 2

"I see how it is," laughed the colonel, understanding that this confession was made because the old sergeant hated to have it thought that he had been driven by want to accept the government's hospitality. "You're playing it foxy on Uncle Sam for a little vacation."

"I s'pose 'taint quite right, lookin' at it in some ways," said the old gunner apologetically. "But I spent four years south _workin'_ for our Uncle Samuel, an' it _doos_ seem's if I might rest here one winter at his expense, 'specially sence I'm a sort o' namesake o' his. Besides, 'taint like it might be 'f I was drawin' a penshin, neither, for I never tried t' git one, though there's plenty o' men takin' dollars out o' th' treas'ry that aint got no better claim than I have."

"You're decorated, I see," said I, nodding towards the medal upon his breast. "Isn't that the 'Medal of Honor' that is awarded only by vote of Congress?"

"Yis, that's _jest_ what it is," replied the sergeant, unpinning it and handing it over for my inspection. "Guess 'taint worth much; it's nothin' but copper. Seems's if the gov'ment don't calc'late t' spend much on them sort o' fixin's. I got it 'bout three years ago."

"'To Sergeant Samuel Farwell,'" I read aloud, "'October 29th, 1864.' Do you mean to say, sergeant, that you waited twenty-four years to obtain recognition of your bravery?"

"Wal, there warn't no one t' blame 'cept me," remarked my New Englander, taking the medal from the colonel, to whom I had passed it, and fastening it again in its place upon the breast of his blouse. "Ye have t' apply for them things yourself, an' git all sorts o' document'ry evidence t' back ye up. It makes consid'able bother, fust an' last, an' I'll be darned 'f I'd go through all th' fuss agin for a peck on 'em."

"Tell us about it," said the colonel, who seemed amused at the light in which Farwell regarded his decoration. "What did you get it for?"

"What did I git it for?" repeated the old gunner, with a twinkle in his gray eye and a twitching of the muscles at the corner of his mouth which warned us that he meditated some outbreak of Yankee wit. "What _for_? Oh, 'cause--what with Odd Fellers, an' hose companies, an' Sons o' Vet'rans--there wasn't many people in town that didn't have a medal o' some description, an' I got this one so 's t' be able t' shine with th' rest on 'em."

"Pshaw! I don't mean _that_," said the colonel, with a laugh in which I joined, "What did you _do_ to get it?"

"Why, I thought I'd told ye," said the old fellow, with the twinkle still visible in his eye. "I _applied_ for it, an' put in my documents t' prove I warn't lyin'--an' ol' Cap'n Burdett helped me consid'able by speakin' t' our member o' Congress 'bout it."

"No, no, _no_!" said the colonel, laughing again, "that's not what I want, either. That medal of yours is awarded only for distinguished bravery; now, what was the service that made you eligible to receive it?"

"What did th' gov'nment give it t' me for? ye mean," said the sergeant, allowing himself a smile at the fun he had had with us. "Wal, 'taint goin' t' sound like much, but I'd jus' 's lives tell ye. Hello!" he interjected, "this cigar seems t' be unravellin'."

"Throw it away, then," said the colonel. "Here's another."

"Oh, no! wouldn't do that, would ye?" said the old soldier. "'Twould seem kind o' wasteful, wouldn't it? I kin tinker this one so's it'll be all right. Jes' watch me"--and with this he applied his tongue to the loosened and uncoiling wrapper, and then smoothed the well-moistened leaf securely into place, remarking, "There! she smokes as good 's new--an' there's five cents saved."

"Just about," said I, grinning, for an occasional whiff of the smoke had come my way. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I kin tell a _good_ cigar, every time," remarked the veteran, liberating a prodigious puff of smoke and sniffing at it with the air of an expert judge of tobacco. "Smokin' a pipe so much haint hurt my taste for cigars a mite."

"Glad you like them," said the colonel, turning upon me an ominous frown which checked any inclination I might have had to go more deeply into the subject. "Now, about that medal?"

"Oh, yis, 'bout th' medal," said Farwell, with just one look at his cigar to see how his repairs held out. "Wal, ye mus'n't think I'm boastin'--'cause I aint. What I done warn't no more than I've seen done time an' time agin--an' you, too, 'f you was four years with th' --th Massachusetts--an' I never'd have thought twice 'bout it 'f Cap'n Burdett hadn't kep' urgin' me on t' apply for th' medal. Pooh! 'taint nothin' but a trinket, anyway, an' it's no earthly use t' me nor anyone."

"Don't apologize. Go ahead with the story," I put in, recognizing the chance of an interesting half hour. "You didn't volunteer to tell us, you know. We asked you."

"Yes, go ahead," said the colonel, lighting a cigar, which, by the way, he took from his leather case, and not from the paper of weeds he had brought from the hotel. "I should say that things had come to a funny pass when one of the old 19th's boys is bashful about yarning to another."

"Lord! ye don't need t' think that," said the veteran. "_I_ ain't bashful 'bout tellin' ye. All I was 'fraid of was that p'raps ye'd think I set myself up for bein' extra courageous--which I don't. Wal, here's all th' story there is to 't:

"We was down here in Virginia, at a place we called Three Mile Creek--'twouldn't be many hundred miles from here, 'f a crow was t' fly it. Like enough _you_ was there?"

"Yes, I ought to remember it," said the colonel, "we lost some men there. Go on, sergeant."

"Lost some men, hey?" said Farwell, clasping his hands behind his head, and comfortably stretching his legs out upon the gravelled path. "Wal, I guess ye'll be interested in what I'm goin' t' tell ye, 'f _that's_ so. I da'say," he continued, "ye kin remember that there was some shots fired, an' that our skirmishers come back so sudden that they forgot t' bring along a few that warn't able t' walk. In fac', they _run_ back, an' we in th' batt'ry thought it an almighty poor showin' on th' part o' th' infantry. But p'raps we wasn't in no position t' jedge."

"It was that sudden volley from the woods that sent the boys back in disorder," said the colonel shortly. "The skirmish line was made up of seven companies of the --th; _my_ company was one of the three in reserve."

"Why didn't they wait t' see what hit 'em?" asked the sergeant in a tone which showed traces of contempt. "D' ye think 'twas th' right thing t' skedaddle away 'thout bringin' in th' wounded?"

"No, I don't," said the colonel, flushing a little, "and it wasn't like the 'Old Regiment' to do it. But the boys were pretty well worn out and broken down by the marching and fighting we'd had, and the attack was so sudden and unexpected that it rattled them for a time. You must admit, sergeant, that we had as good a reputation as any regiment in the 19th Corps."

"Wal, _that's_ so," said the old fellow, brushing an ash stain from his blouse, "an' I s'pose we noticed th' break more 'cause we warn't used t' lookin' for sich displays on your part. Now, _we_ was posted up on a little knoll, ye remember, well over towards th' right; an' when th' Rebs showed up in th' open--for t' foller up you infantry fellers--we jes' dropped a round 'r two o' shell down that way, sort o' hintin' to 'em t' go back where they'd come from."

"So that was _your_ battery, was it?" asked Colonel Elliott. "From the way the guns were served I always thought it was a regular battery."

"Sho! we'd been in service 'most three year then," said the veteran gunner, quickly resenting this reflection upon the efficiency of his beloved battery, "an' we'd had good practice an' lots of it, too. Would we be takin' p'ints from th' reg'lars or anybody else? _I guess not!_ No, not by a gol durn sight!"

"You used to put up some pretty stiff work in your line," the colonel hastened to say, after this outburst. "Why, my boys have yelled themselves hoarse many a time when you fellows have gone thundering by to take up position and unlimber."

"Yes, indeed," I put in at this point, "even we _young_ men have heard of Burdett's Battery, and the work it did"--which wasn't altogether true, but served to mollify the disturbed sergeant just as well as if it had been.

"Go on, sergeant," said the colonel, "tell us when _you_ came in. It isn't possible that you were the--"

"'Twas terrible hot that noon," began the old fellow, as if he had paid no attention to what we had been saying. "Th' air was close an' muggy, an' th' smoke jest hung 'round 's if 'twas too tired t' drift away. Why, we sent up rings o' smoke from th' guns that was jes' as perfect 's _that_ one," pointing towards one I just had blown from my lips, "an' they lasted a heap sight longer 'n that did, too."

"Yes," assented the colonel, "it certainly was hotter than--"

"Tophet an' th' brazen hinges thereof," said the veteran. "Yes, 'twas _awful_ hot, an' a'ter th' flurry was over--that time we served th' guns so fast--_I_ was jest a-sweatin', I kin tell ye. Thirsty, too? Wal, I ruther _guess_! Prob'bly that was what put it inter my head t' take a couple o' canteens an' slip down inter th' medder where your skirmishers had left their dead an' wounded. Ye see, a'ter I'd sponged my gun, an' sent home another shell in case it should be needed, I took a drink, an' while I had th' ol' canteen up t' my lips th' thought come t' me that p'raps some o' th' poor devils layin' out there in th' sun might be gettin' dryer 'n all torment."

The colonel had risen from the bench and slowly was pacing to and fro upon the path, but he kept his eyes fixed upon the old sergeant, and, when he paused, broke out with, "So _you_ were the one who went to give water to our boys. Why, man, the risk was awful!"

"'Twarn't neither," said the old fellow, bluntly. "I got back all right, didn't I?" and then, as his eye fell upon a long, low steamer, which was ploughing its way along towards Newport News, he dismissed the whole matter with, "B'gosh! _ain't_ that a pretty sight? See th' smoke trailin' out behind, an' watch th' sparkle o' th' water. Oh, this is a great place in some ways. Here 'tis 'most November, an' I'm settin' out here 'thout no overcoat, an' warm 's a pot o' beans."

"You were fired upon, weren't you?" asked the colonel, whose face wore a look I never had seen there. Farwell glanced at the scene before him for a moment longer, and then turned his eyes upon his questioner. "Oh, yis, th' Johnnies practised on me a little, an' I got scratched 'crost th' wrist. There's th' mark," he said, drawing up his sleeve, and displaying a scar which ran diagonally across the flesh. "_I_ got out of it well enough, but I was all-fired sorry 'bout that lieutenant I brought in with me. He was livin' when I picked him up, but when I turned him over t' th' boys that run out t' meet me, he was deader 'n a door-nail--shot plum' through th' head while I was a-luggin' him in, _an' I never knowed it_! Must ha' b'en that I was excited--or else my wrist hurt me so I didn't notice. Poor little cuss! I've always felt that he might ha' be'n alive yet 'f I'd let him be. But ye can't tell; no, ye can't tell, an' I _meant_ well, anyhow."

"It must be something more than chance that has brought us together," said the colonel. "Why, sergeant, that lieutenant was one of my closest chums--poor little Hale, of Company H. And _you_ brought him in!"

"Wal, I didn't mean t' get him killed," began Farwell, grasping the hand the colonel offered, "an' I'm sorry--"

"You need be sorry for nothing," broke in Colonel Elliott, "for the surgeon looked him over as he lay there in our lines, and found that he had been mortally wounded at first, so the shot that came last was only a merciful one."

"Now, _that's_ a piece o' good news," exclaimed the old man. "I've always worried myself, more or less, wonderin' 'f I hadn't oughter ha' let him lay where I found him. So _'twarnt_ my fault? Gosh! I'm glad o' _that_! Wal, that's what they give me th' medal for, an', 's I said in th' fust place, it don't signify much, one way or t'other."

I got up and shook hands with the old fellow, and then--because I had a sort of impression that the colonel would like to be left for a minute alone with him--I walked over to the sea-wall, and stood looking out over the blue waters where the _Cumberland_ had gone down, with the old flag defiantly waving, and her men still standing by the smoking guns. But I wasn't thinking of the heroism that has made this place forever famous. No; I was wondering if _I_ could do what the old gunner had done, and then make so little account of it afterwards. I had been standing there for perhaps ten minutes, watching the gulls as they lazily swept by, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and heard the colonel say, "It's time we were getting back to the hotel. We've had experiences enough for one morning, eh, Jack? Well, _now_ what do you think of the stuff we had in the old corps?"

"Pretty good stuff, if that's a fair sample," I returned, glancing over at the bench where I had left the old sergeant seated. "Hello! he's gone."

"Yes, there he is, walking back to quarters. But you'll see him again," said the colonel, and as we trudged along back towards the hotel he explained for my approval the details of a scheme which he had evolved.

Well, the upshot of the whole matter was that when we went north, ten days later, Sam--for "Sam" is his official title now--went with us. It took some trouble to get him started, for he had settled himself at Hampton for a winter of ease and genteel laziness. But the colonel has a very persuasive way about him, and finally Sam fell a victim to it. So now he is installed as presiding genius at "The Battery," and under his watchful eye that comfortable roost of ours becomes more comfortable day by day; for who can build the cheeriest fire, who can most brightly polish our pewter mugs, who can while away a dull half hour with yarns of the by-gone days in camp and field--who, but Sam?

One drill-night, not long after he had come among us, he turned up at the armory and for nearly an hour stood watching the companies as they went through with their night's work. I noticed him as he stood in one corner of the long hall, and thought that he seemed greatly interested; but I must admit that I was surprised when, a little later, he walked into the colonel's room and announced that he wished to enlist. Now, the law allows us one orderly at headquarters, and as that place then happened to be unfilled we gave it to him.

The colonel himself mustered him in, and I stood by during the ceremony. Sam stood erect and motionless, and with uplifted hand swore "to bear true faith and allegiance to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts," and after he had slowly repeated the closing words of the military oath--"I do also solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States. _So help me God_"--he let fall his hand, and said, "It's close onto thirty years, Cunnel, sence I said them words, an' th' last time I said 'em they meant a good deal t' me. But they aint lost none o' their meanin'--an' if this reg'ment ever has t' go out _I'll go with it_, though I'd a darn sight ruther be at th' trail of a gun than go t' foolin' with a muskit at my time o' life."

Later in the evening I happened to see Sam's muster rolls lying upon the colonel's desk, and out of curiosity glanced through them. "Name: Farwell, Samuel," I read, "Rank: Private (Hdq'rs Orderly). _Age_: 65 years. Occupation: Gentleman. _Remarks_: Private, Corporal, Sergeant; Burdett's (N. H.) Light Battery, U.S. Vols., 1861-65; Medal of Honor for distinguished bravery." With my finger upon the column in which Sam's occupation was recorded as that of "Gentleman," I looked inquiringly at the colonel, who answered my unspoken question with--"That's right _enough_, Jack. In the first place, he's a soldier, and you ought to know that the profession of the soldier is the profession of the gentleman. In the second place, he wasn't doing anything for a living when we found him--and that surely is gentlemanly. And lastly, he is a gentleman, every inch of him, and I'll thank you not to question it."

OUR HORSE "ACME"

OUR HORSE "ACME."

The paymaster piled up a neat little heap of documentary odds and ends, shoved it to one side, and banged down upon it a heavy paper-weight. Then he slammed together the thick, leathern covers of the regimental roll-book, and by sheer force of muscle hoisted that precious and ponderous volume up to its appointed resting-place. And finally, after he had sent crashing down the lid of his desk, he thrust his hands into his pockets, drew a long breath, and looked over towards the adjoining desk, where the colonel sat writing.

For a minute or so, after this racket had subsided, the scratching of the colonel's pen steadily continued, but finally there came a long, rasping sound of steel upon paper, denoting the flourish at the end of a signature, and the colonel reached for the blotter, saying, as he applied it to the writing before him, "So you've concluded to call it a day's work, eh? Well, why couldn't you _say_ so, instead of making row enough to raise the dead and deafen the living? I take it that your infernal old rolls are straightened out at last."

"Rolls are up to date; everything's up to date, and I'm square with the game again," replied the paymaster, locking his desk and pocketing the key. "About ready to stroll along, Colonel? Brown has stuck his head in through the doorway a couple of times, with an expression on his face which forces me to think that he considers our room worth more than our company."

"I'm ready to call quits," said the colonel, folding his letter and slipping it into an envelope. "Hello, Brown!" to the armorer, who had made a third suggestive appearance at the door. "Keeping you up? Too bad! Well, you may put out these lights, and in a minute more we'll be out of my room, too. Come along, Pay, it's time decent people were at home."

"But we're not 'decent people,'" objected the paymaster, as he followed the colonel to his private room beyond; "we're officers of the militia, and, in the estimation of many worthy citizens, that ranks us just one peg _below_ decency. You know Vandercrumb--old Judge Vandercrumb? Well, t'other day he was at my house and happened to see my commission hanging in the library. 'What!' says he, in a politely disgusted sort of way, '_you_ in the militia? Well, I must say, Langforth, I'm surprised to find you guilty of that!'" and the paymaster laughed, as he remembered the inflection with which the words had been spoken. The colonel laughed, too, for Langforth had imitated to perfection the tones of shocked respectability, and the anecdote amused him the more because it bore so close a resemblance to many experiences of his own.

"It always has been so," he said, as he drew on his light overcoat, "and always will be, I dare say. People see only one side--the 'fuss and feather' aspect--of volunteering, and the traditions of the old 'milishy' days are slow in dying out. Well, I suppose we can stand it all, but at times it galls a bit."

"Yes, it _is_ rather rough, to work hard and faithfully, year in and year out, and then be rewarded by hearing some fellow at one's club wondering 'how the devil anybody can take any interest in such boy's play,'" said the paymaster, whose honest love for the service made him peculiarly sensitive to any covert sneers directed at it. "But, as you say, we can stand it; and, besides," he went on, "we have our fun in our quiet way, and I'm weak enough to pity the outsiders, for they miss more downright sport than I would be willing to forego."

"Yes, we certainly have our fun," said Colonel Elliott, as he walked with the paymaster down the granite steps of the armory and out into the deserted street, "but it's been 'all work' to-night, eh, Langforth? Phew! I've written, since eight o'clock, more letters than there are in the whole condemned alphabet."

"I've done my share, too," remarked his companion, taking advantage of the glare of a chance electric light to consult his watch. "Quarter past eleven; well, it might be worse."

"Say, Langforth," observed the colonel, abruptly halting as they came to a corner, "if we switch off here and step out a trifle faster we can flank The Battery, get a pewter and a sandwich, and do it all before midnight. What do you say--do or don't?"

"Heads, we go; tails, we also go--home," replied Langforth, yawning, and extracting from his change pocket a nickel. "_Tails_--and be hanged to it!" he ejaculated, as he held the coin up to the light. "Well, that settles it; we'll go up to The Battery. It takes more than a miserable five-cent bit to send me hungry and thirsty to bed."

"Come ahead, then," said the colonel, laughing at the ease with which his companion set aside the verdict of the coin. "That's not such a bad system of yours: snapping to see what you'll do, and then doing what you please. Always work it that way?"

"No, not always," returned the paymaster, lengthening his stride in order to keep up with the pace set by the colonel, "only sometimes; and this is one of the times. Suppose we shall find anybody up there?"

"The genial Pollard is sure to be there. He's a fixture. Can't see why he pays dues at his club, can you? Since we started this institution he's never spent an evening anywhere else. Well, here we are--all except the stairs," said the colonel, turning in at the court at whose far end, away up in the darkness, the lights of The Battery invitingly twinkled. "Hello!" he exclaimed, a moment later, as he opened the door at the head of the last flight of stairs, "here's Pollard, sure enough--and 'Bones,' and a couple more men," and with this he walked over towards the table around which the earlier comers were seated.

"Colonel Elliott, let me present Lieutenant Hotchkiss and Ensign Hatch, both of the Naval Battalion," said the surgeon, rising and designating these officers with a graceful wave of his cigar. "Gentlemen, this is Langforth, our 'Pay.' Ah, you've met him?" The two late comers drew up chairs, and made known to Sam their requirements; and then the colonel, turning towards the surgeon, said, "Bones, what is it? You look troubled."

"Well, to tell the truth," replied the surgeon, ruefully glancing at his questioner, "I _was_ going to tell these fellows how I won the cavalry cup, but now I suppose I shall have to defer it to another time."

"Oh, go ahead with your yarn--spring it," said the colonel. "'Pay' and I don't mind, and Pollard the genial never will interrupt. Besides, with three of us here, you'll not be apt to deviate very widely from the truth, and truth is desirable in all reports of a military Nature. Go ahead!" and the colonel, with a wink at Langforth, took the mug which Sam had brought him.

"Well, you see, it was like this," began the surgeon, clasping his hands behind his head, and comfortably leaning back in his chair. "In camp, last summer, we had the athletic fever pretty badly, and the way all hands went in for games of various sorts was a caution."

"'Games of various sorts,'" echoed Pollard, winking at the paymaster, and making motions as if dealing a pack of invisible cards. "That's not bad, Bones."

"_Out-door_ games of various sorts," amended the surgeon. "Cork up, will you, and don't let these sailors carry away wrong impressions of us."

"All right, old man," replied Pollard, catching Sam's eye, and holding up one finger to denote drought; "only don't be so ambiguous in your remarks. But really, we did have lots of athletic enthusiasm, last camp, and it was very tiring to see the boys all sweating after some record or other--when they were off duty--instead of lying 'round in their tents and keeping cool."

"The cavalry fellows," resumed Bones, "didn't seem able to muster much talent in the way of track athletes, and for a time they weren't in it at all. But one night, between tattoo and taps, little Whateley--second lieutenant, you know, of 'H' troop--came riding down the lines, stopping at all the regimental headquarters, and finally he brought up at our marquee.

"A few of us were sitting there, smoking a good-night pipe before turning in, and we made him dismount before telling us his errand. Well, I ordered up a little prescription for him, to counteract the effects of the night air, and when he'd got back his breath--"

"Gad!" put in one of the visitors, "is _that_ the way your doses work, doctor?"

"Did I say it was the prescription?" inquired the doctor, unclasping his hands, and leaning forward to take a pipe from the table. "He might have been out of breath from riding so far. Anyway, he got his breath back, as I've stated, and used it to remark that the cavalry took a deep interest in military sports, and had chipped in to buy a silver tankard to be ridden for by the mounted officers in the brigade. And he further said--with a grin, too, confound his youthful impudence!--that he knew we could enter some mighty fine material, for the reputation for horsemanship of our field and staff was more than local.

"Now, that last insinuation was too much, and we told him that he needn't worry--we'd be represented. So off he rode, declining to take another dose of my good medicine, though I told him that the prescription read, 'Repeat as required,' which meant once in five minutes. Well, after he'd gone, we began to talk it all over, and the discussion as to who best could afford to run the risk of breaking his neck for the glory of the regiment and the good of the service was an animated one, you'd do well to believe."

"Yes--and I remember the extreme modesty with which everybody suggested some other man for that distinction," remarked the colonel in a reminiscent way, "and how you all fell over each other in your anxiety to let somebody else do the riding and gather in the glory."

"Well, I'd been detailed as Field Officer of the Day for the date the race was scheduled," Major Pollard hastened to explain; while Langforth promptly came in with the remark, "And I hardly had got into shape from my winter's attack of grippe."

"There, _there_!" exclaimed the colonel, with a wave of his hand, "we don't care to have all that over again. For my own part, I couldn't ride because--well, because it hardly would do for a regimental commander to so far forget himself as to go in for anything of that sort. See?"

"In other words, six of us didn't dare to go in, and the remaining half-dozen were afraid to," said the surgeon, drawing up one foot to rest it easily across his knee. "Well, it all ended in my being chosen by acclamation to represent the glorious Third, and, though I wasn't exactly 'impatient to mount and ride,' yet I made the best of it, and tried to pretend that I was."

"It seems to have been acknowledged that you were the best rider in your regiment," suggested one of the visitors.

"Oh, I hardly should care to claim so much as that," replied Bones, with a glance at his brother officers, "but I've been nine years in the service without falling off my horse--and that's a pretty fair record for a staff officer of volunteers. Well, as I've said, I was elected without a dissenting voice--except my own--and the ill-concealed joy of Wilder, our assistant surgeon, was something worth seeing. He's looking for promotion, you know, and a casual broken neck on my part would have given it to him."

"Pardon the interruption," interposed the colonel, blandly, "but there will be a vacancy for Wilder, and very soon, too, if you cast any more reflections upon the horsemanship of my military family."

"Gracious! did I?" asked Bones, hastily. "Impossible! Why, we all ride, and ride well; all except the adjutant. _He can't!_"

"Pardon me again, doctor," said the colonel, sighing wearily, "but the adjutant can ride, too. I've _seen_ him."

"If you say so, I suppose I'm not to dispute it," rejoined the surgeon, meekly. "But, if he's such a good rider, don't you think it was just a little rough on him to take him up four flights of stairs, as you did only last week, and introduce him to the wooden vaulting-horse in the regimental gymnasium?" The colonel laughed at this recital of the latest headquarters' joke, and Bones continued, "Well, even if the adjutant _is_ rather amateurish in his riding, he at least is entitled to some of the credit for winning the cup, for he furnished my mount.

"You see, Charley had a horse, last camp, that suited him 'way down to the ground. His walking gait was the poetry of motion; in fact, it was hard to get him to move at any faster pace. But somehow, by slapping him with the reins and clucking to him, like a woman calling hens, Charley sometimes managed to get him into a lope that was just about as easy as a rocking-chair, and didn't seem to cover ground much more rapidly than a rocking-chair could. We used to suggest that spurring would be a more military method of getting the beast under way, but Charley always replied that spurs were unnecessarily cruel things, and that he hadn't the heart to do anything to interrupt the _entente cordiale_ existing between him and his charger."

"Wasn't it a ratty-looking beast, though!" put in Langforth, setting down his mug and laughing aloud. "We christened him 'Acme,' he was such a perfect skate."

"'Handsome is as handsome does,'" quoted Bones, sententiously. "His performances were remarkable, but he _wasn't_ much on beauty, especially at that point of his anatomy where about a square foot of hide and hair was lacking. However, we got around that blemish by borrowing some axle grease from one of the battery drivers and painting the bare spot so thoroughly that the rest of his hide looked dingy by contrast.

"Now, 'Acme' had one little peculiarity that nobody knew anything about; nobody, that is, except Charley and me. You couldn't touch him with a spur on either flank without making him wheel half 'round to the opposite side and bolt for all that was in him. It was a pleasant little trick and one that would throw a man every time unless he knew what was coming. I know that to be a fact because, well, because he threw _me_ in that way, the very first day we were in camp."

"Thought you'd been nine years in the service without ever being thrown," remarked Hotchkiss, with the air of one scoring a good point.

"Oh! no, I never said that," explained the imperturbable doctor, turning this thrust harmlessly aside. "If you recall my words you will remember that I said I'd never _fallen_ off; to be thrown off is a very different matter."

"Ah! I see. Pardon my carelessness," said the discomfited naval visitor. "We fellows that go down upon the sea in ships aren't very well up, I fear, in these nice distinctions of the land service."

"Naturally not," said the surgeon, "and of course it's excusable; but you readily will notice the distinction, which really is as great as that between being in mid-ocean and being 'half-seas over' would be, in your own case.

"Now, I recalled that little experience of mine with the adjutant's horse, and it occurred to me, when I was casting about for a mount, that if I only could manage to keep my seat while he was executing his diabolical half-face, I should have a dead cinch on the cup; for when he _did_ run, after one of those performances, he ran like the very devil."

"He did, indeed," said the colonel, smiling as if at some remembrance.

"It was on Wednesday night that little Whateley dropped in on us," Bones continued, "and the race was on the card for Friday noon. That was on 'Governor's Day,' you know, and the camp was sure to be crowded with visitors. Pleasant outlook for me, wasn't it?

"Well, on Thursday morning I borrowed 'Acme', and rode a couple of miles out of camp to a big hay-field I knew of, because I wished to make sure, by a strictly private trial, that my little scheme was in reliable working order. It was. Everything went to a charm. I got a firm grip on the pommel and gave 'Acme' the spur; whereupon he spun half 'round, and was off like a wild engine on a drop grade. Yes, he was off, but, better still, I was _on_, and when finally I got him into his rocking-chair lope, I started back for camp, pretty well satisfied with my experiment; and all the way along the road I couldn't help grinning at the thought of the sensation that was brewing for the next day."

"Well, it _was_ a sensation, and that can't be disputed," commented Pollard, as the surgeon paused for a moment. "We all backed you and 'Acme'; not because we had any particular expectations, but just out of loyalty to the old regiment, and because the odds were so inviting. I took ten out of Mixter, myself."

"Friday morning was cloudy," said the doctor, after he had brought his pipe to a satisfactory glow, "and I half hoped that it would rain before noon, for I was getting the least shade nervous. Everybody around our headquarters was so very kind that it made me fidgety as a school-girl. At breakfast, in mess, the colonel thoughtfully opened an elaborate discussion about the proper form of ceremonies at military burials. The adjutant, on his way to guard mounting, stopped long enough at my tent to say that 'Acme' just had killed one of the hostlers, and that the band had gone out of camp soon after breakfast for the purpose of practising 'The Lost Chord.' And _you_, Langforth--confound you! I haven't forgotten how you forged my name to an order to have the brigade ambulance report to me at noon, the very hour of the race.

"But somehow the morning went by, and at noon the sky was beautifully clear, though the air was most horribly lifeless and hot. I dressed up in full fig, helmet, sword, and all, according to the conditions, mounted 'Acme,' and rode out upon the parade.

"Pretty nearly the whole brigade had turned out to see the fun, and around the start the crowd was packed closely, while groups of men were scattered here and there along the three furlongs of turf over which the course had been laid out. I had supposed that there would be, at the very least, half-a-dozen entries; but when I had succeeded in manoeuvering 'Acme' through the crowd and up to the line, I found awaiting me just one solitary horseman. It was Porter, captain of "H" troop, and his mount was the same beautiful thoroughbred that he rides from one year's end to the other.

"Wasn't I sick! I never had a patient who felt worse than I did then. But there was no such thing as backing out at that stage of the game, and so I looked as confident as possible, and happier, I hope, than I felt. But when Porter saluted me, with an inquiring sort of glance at my tired-looking mount, and a grin at my audacity in showing up on such a beast, why, I swore under my breath that I'd send the spur into poor old 'Acme' deeply enough to scratch his digestive apparatus."

"It was a funny contrast," laughed Langforth, with his mug in mid-transit from the table to his lips. "Of course, Bones, you're a better looking man, and all that, than Porter; but that horse of his is a perfect picture for style, and when Charley's old skate ambled up beside him we couldn't _help_ grinning, any of us. Do you remember, Pollard, how that grease spot on 'Acme's' flank showed up?"

"Do I?" roared the major. "_Don't_ I! Why, Bowen, of the brigade-staff, was standing next me, and when he caught sight of that daub of axle-grease he punched me in the ribs and said, 'So you fellows have black-leaded your craft, eh? Now, I call that blasted unsportsmanlike! The other man hasn't worked any funny games like that.'"

"That was all right!" said the surgeon, grimly, "I had _my_ fun later--after the race was run.

"We lined up for the start, and it'll be a long while before I forget the row it raised when I persisted in planting 'Acme' at right angles to the course. Porter got mad, and announced that he'd come out to race, and not to take part in a circus. Most of the brigade set me down for being either sunstruck or drunk, but I wouldn't budge, and neither would 'Acme.' Finally Porter growled out, 'Let's have this nonsense over with! It isn't my fault that we can't have a race. Start us, will you?' 'All ready, major?' the starter asked me. 'Confound it all--yes!' said I, looking to see that all was clear around me, and then getting a death-grip on the pommel.

"Down went the flag, and off went Porter at an easy gallop. Up came my spurred heel, and off went 'Acme,' too, after a whirl-around that took away the breath of everybody who saw the performance, and knocked end-ways a couple of gunners who had edged in too close to the course. Shades of night! How that old four-legger flew! I'd rammed my spur home for business, and the way he responded beat even my wildest expectations.

"It was the worst run-away ever seen in camp, and, before I knew it, we'd passed Porter, passed the finish, passed the last tent in the long brigade line, and passed the ditch at the end of the field; at least, 'Acme' passed the ditch--_me_ they picked out of it."

"It certainly was a remarkable burst of speed," assented the colonel, laughing until the tears stood in his eyes. "When we found that Bones wasn't killed outright, we went for the cavalry fellows in every way, shape, and manner that our combined talents could suggest, and if we failed to make life a burden to them it wasn't for lack of trying. Come over here," he continued, rising from his chair, and leading the way to the opposite side of the room, where, in a double frame, there hung upon the wall two large photographs. "These two pictures--which, by the way, we consider priceless--tell the whole story. See that one? Well, that's the enlargement of a snap-shot plate caught by one of our color-sergeants when Bones was in full career. Observe the expression of the face; and, above all, notice that grip on the pommel. Isn't it all grand? Where should Sheridan's ride and Paul Revere's little trip be classed beside _that_?"

"The other picture in the frame," said the doctor, with a pardonable air of pride, "is a photo of the cup itself, and we all think a heap of it. The fellows in the troop, you see, had been going the rounds of the camp, and guying the life out of the Third--and me--for presuming to enter against their crack horse, so the final result was just plain joy for all hands at our headquarters.

"I was excused from parade that afternoon," he continued, knocking the dead ashes from his pipe, "because I was a trifle tired, and more than a trifle sore--in spots. Besides, it took one able-bodied darkey the best part of that afternoon to clean the mud off my uniform, knock my helmet out into shape, and straighten out the kinks in my scabbard.

"As for 'Acme': well, _he_ never turned a hair, and after a careless sort of trot around the camp he came back to our stables, looking just as unconcerned and sleepy as ever. But he lived high for the rest of that tour of duty, and nobody seemed to care about referring to him as a 'skate.'"

"'Sporting blood will tell,'" was Hatch's comment as the doctor led the way to the chair where the overcoats lay piled. "I should think, though, that the troopers would have challenged you to another go."

"They _have_ challenged us--and more than once," said the colonel, as Sam held his coat for him, "but our invariable reply is that our surgeon is too precious a bit of bric-à-brac to risk in any more enterprises of that sort, and--as none of the rest of us care to diminish Bones' glory--we have averaged up matters by keeping the cup and conceding them the championship," and he moved towards the door, stopping, however, with, "I wonder which owl this is?" as he caught the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside.

"Good evening, Colonel," sung out the new arrival, the adjutant, as he threw wide the door and stepped blinking into the room. "Hello, the rest of you! Can't make you all out, it's so bright here--after the stairs. What, all going?"

"Yes, it's a good hour beyond taps," replied the colonel.

"All right, sir; I'll go with you, if you'll wait for me to empty just _one_," said the adjutant, drawing off his right glove. "It would be too much to ask me to turn 'round and go down again without stopping for a second wind. One up, Sam--right around; making six."

"What's new, Charley?" asked the doctor, as Sam made off towards the base of supplies.

"Can't seem to think of anything," replied the adjutant, seating himself easily upon the nearest table, upon which he began vigorously to drum with his knuckles. "Hold on, though! Now I come to think of it, I saw 'Acme' to-day. Yes, sir! And he was drawing a _hearse_, too. _Yes_, sir! I followed the funeral a block, to make sure. Well, here's to him!" and the late master of "Acme" emptied his pewter with one long, breathless pull, while the doctor slowly drained _his_ mug, saying with unsmiling solemnity, "To 'Acme.'"

FROM BEYOND THE PYRAMIDS

FROM BEYOND THE PYRAMIDS.

It was the evening after the battle at Farlow's Farm, and most of us--what's that? You never heard of any such engagement? Now, isn't that odd! Why, it was fought only last year, and for one whole day the papers were full of it. Well, though I had no idea of putting a preface to the story I started to tell, I suppose I must stop long enough to explain why there was a fight, and how it happened that so many of us--all of us, in fact--got back alive from it.

Once a year, you must know, there comes down from the State House, and through "proper channels," a mandate directing each volunteer regiment in the Commonwealth to arm and equip itself, ration and supply itself, and bundle itself out into the country for what officially is known as the Fall Drill. _We_ are rather apt to refer to an affair of this sort as "going out with the regiment for the Autumn Manoeuvres," because, you see, this sounds more dignified, and lacks the baldness of the official phraseology.

Now, an order for a Fall Drill means _war_; because it entails a long day of marching, a prodigal expenditure of blank cartridges, and, at headquarters, bother and worry beyond reckoning.

Yes, when one of these orders comes down to us we awake to an activity which calls for the largest size of A in the spelling of it. The quartermaster rises to a height of importance hard to estimate, while his sergeant--upon whom devolves the bulk of the work--sinks into a settled gloom of corresponding depth. The surgeons find themselves pestered with requests to lay in a better brand of liniment than the stuff they took out with them the year before, which, it unanimously is asserted, was too blistering in its effect. The adjutant grimly sits at his desk and wrestles with the "General Order" until he reaches a state half-way between utter misery and hopeless atheism. Why? Because he knows to a dead certainty that a copy of it will find its way into every Sunday paper in town, and therefore tries with might and main--to say nothing of the aid of the old order-files for ten years back--to make of it a lucid and grammatical fragment of English prose,--an attempt in which he most signally fails. And the colonel: well, _he_ has the task of tasks, for it becomes his duty and privilege to evolve the plan of campaign; and the campaign, mind you, must be one that can be brought to a successful issue in a single day. Think of it! Do you suppose Sherman, or even Grant himself, could have met without concern such a demand upon strategic resources?

Days in advance of active operations, the field officers fill up their cigar-cases and run out into the country to look over the ground; constructing, upon their return, amazing maps, wherein--on generously large sheets of brown wrapping-paper--a tangle of blue lines and red ones serves to make plain the positions for the attack and the defence. Remarkable productions, those maps!--with long straight marks to indicate the roads, and zigzag lines to denote fences, and aggregations of pretzel-like symbols to show where the woods lie; and many a mystic sign besides to stand for as many more features in the landscape. Oh, we couldn't do without the maps, for a campaign that has to be settled between one sunrise and the next sunset must be managed very understandingly; and yet all this doesn't seem to keep the enlisted man from damning up hill and down both the maps and their makers when he finds himself one of a skirmish-line stationed in what ought to be a dry ditch, but isn't.

Well, last fall we got our annual order, went through with the usual week's worry at headquarters, and then railroaded the regiment out to Farlow's Farm for its day of field work. The fight was a stubborn one, and the amount of powder burned was far in excess of anything before known, for we had raised a regimental fund and had purchased with it some odd thousands of cartridges in addition to the quantity issued by the State.

The tide of battle swept back and forth until well into the afternoon, but finally the smoke-cloud lifted--because there were no more cartridges to be fired away--and in the lull a flag of truce was sent by the lieutenant-colonel, who humbly begged permission to bury his dead, and also announced his readiness to accept any decent sort of terms, since the umpires had declared his four companies to have been annihilated. Now, the lieutenant-colonel and his men, you understand, represented the enemy, and since we had been devoting the day to his destruction we sent up a mighty cheer when his submission was made known, voted the whole affair an admirable illustration of grand strategy, and prepared to leave the field to solitude and the sorrowful contemplation of farmer Farlow, its owner.

We formed line, then broke by fours to the right, and started off along the tree-shaded country road. Up at the head of the long column the drums rolled and rattled, while the bugles and fifes joined merrily together in the crazy, rollicking "Wild Irishman" quickstep--an air which never fails to send the Third into its famous, swinging gait. By turning in my saddle, as I rode in my place with the staff, I could see the regiment behind me as it came solidly tramping along--company after company of blue-clad men; rank on rank of snowy helmets; file upon file of sloping rifle-barrels; and midway of all, the colors, rustling their silken folds in time with the cadenced tread of the men who bore them. Far in the rear glowed a ruddy October sunset, making a fit background for the whole living, moving picture. It was a stirring sight and a beautiful one, and I glanced back again and again to see it, for the picturesque side of the service has a peculiar charm for me.

"Jove! but that's pretty!" said Van Sickles, who rode next me on the staff, reining his horse over a bit closer to mine, and nodding back towards the following column. "People sometimes ask me what earthly attraction I can find in volunteer soldiering. Well, a sight like _that_ certainly has strong attractions for me," and he gave another long look towards the rear.

"Yes, this is one of the things outsiders miss," said I, bringing to bear upon the curb a light pressure, as I noticed that my horse gradually was outstepping the others, "and taking it all together, Van, the outsiders miss a great deal."

"That's so, Jack," assented Van Sickles, "but it's hard to make them see it. Time and again I've tried to explain why I went into the service, and why I stay in it; but I've given up that sort of thing now, because my friends only laugh and say, 'Well, you _have_ got the fever, Van, but you can't give it to us.'" Here his horse stumbled slightly, but he easily lifted him, and then asked, "Say, old man, who's this Captain Penryhn?" and he waved his hand towards an officer in foreign uniform who was riding next our surgeon.

"Why, you met him," said I, "just before you were sent over to join 'the enemy.'"

"That's true enough; but I barely caught his name, and beyond the fact that he's in British uniform, and that Penryhn is his name and 'captain' his title, I'm still uninformed."

"Well, I can't help you out to any great extent," I rejoined, just as the rattle of the drums gave place to a crash of brazen melody from the band, "for all I know is that he's one of Stearns' acquisitions, is over here on leave, holds his commission in 'Her Majesty's Sixty-fifth,' and seems to be a decent, soldierly sort of fellow. You must remember that I've been more or less on the jump to-day, and haven't had time to cultivate acquaintances."

"We'll get a chance for cultivation later, no doubt," observed Van Sickles as we came in sight of the long train of cars, side-tracked and waiting to take us aboard and carry us back to the city. "He probably will dine with us to-night, and then we can"--

"Battalion--_halt!_" rang out the colonel's voice, and we reined up, as the seven hundred rifles behind us were brought down, with a rattle and crash, to the carry. "Order--_arms!_ In place--_rest!_" followed; and we dismounted, and gave over our horses to the men waiting to lead them to their car at the head of the train.

An hours ride brought us back to the city, a short march through the lamp-lighted streets found us at the great armory, towering up in the dusky twilight, and then, one by one, the companies were dismissed, and seven hundred veterans were set free to resume the pursuits of peace--which I trust they at once did. We of headquarters dined together at the hotel which lies just around the corner, and afterwards, by twos and threes, sauntered up to The Battery, to smoke our after-dinner cigars and fight over again the day's battle.