This tale already has been in print. Browning, of the Herald, Rodman, of the Globe, and Major Larry, of The Third, were jointly responsible for its first appearance. But inasmuch as it was printed in the papers, and since things that see the light in that way speedily are forgotten—unless, to the confusion of those who first perpetrated them, they happen to be available for resurrection in deadly parallel columns—it has seemed good to rescue it from the oblivion of last year’s dusty files. Major Larry, it will be remembered, is the young gentleman whom Captain Tom Stearns, of A Company, once upon a time appointed “Company Kid” of his command. How Larry afterwards demonstrated the wisdom of the captain’s selection, and how he won promotion to the position for which his soul yearned—the post of honor at the front of It was two weeks after the regimental autumn manoeuvres, and twenty minutes after recall had sounded on a certain drill night. The adjutant threaded his way along the swarming corridors of the big armory, climbed a flight of oaken stairs, and turned in at the doorway of A’s quarters. In the captain’s room he found Major Larry, industriously plying a whisk broom upon a braided fatigue-jacket. “Where’s Stearns?” demanded the adjutant, halting upon the threshold. Larry promptly brought his heels together, tucked the jacket under his left arm, and smartly raised his right hand, brush and all, to his forehead. “Cap’n Stearns?” said he. “He’s flew.” “Humph!” grunted the adjutant. “The captain’s flew, eh? And his report’s ten days over-due!” “W’at’s de report dat’s missin’?” anxiously inquired Larry. The adjutant turned and looked down “I was wid A,” said the boy. “W’at’s de matter wid me reportin’?” The adjutant paused and considered. Major Larry is noted for keen observation of men and things, and his command of words, such as they are, is a source of joy to all at headquarters. The adjutant decided accordingly. “What’s the matter indeed!” said he, starting towards the colonel’s room. “Come along with me, Major. We’ll make this report a verbal one.” In the colonel’s private office a coal fire was glowing in the open grate. Before it sat the chief, with Browning and Rodman, the two “war correspondents,” who had dropped in to see if anything of interest in regimental matters was about to happen. Everybody in the service knows Browning and Rodman, and knows them, moreover, collectively; because, as a rule, where one of them is found, there also is to be found the “Did you get that report?” asked the colonel, looking up as the adjutant and Major Larry entered. “No, sir,” replied the adjutant. “Captain Stearns is compelled to ask for an extension of time. But I’ve done the next best thing. Here’s Major Larry Callahan, the captain’s chief of staff, who has kindly volunteered to report in person on the operations of A Company.” At the adjutant’s opening words the colonel frowned, but, as he finished, the frown gave way to a very broad smile. Larry neither frowned nor smiled, but stood attention, awaiting orders. He was very much in earnest, feeling that his patron, the delinquent captain, was in a bad box, from which it was his duty to extricate him. Rodman leaned over towards his fellow journalist, and said something in a low tone, at the same time placing a coin “Heads,” said Browning, nodding assent to the proposition that had been made. “Guess again!” said Rodman, uncovering the silver piece; “it’s tails. This is my story.” And he quietly drew a note-book from his pocket. “Well?” said the colonel, turning towards Larry. “It’s be’n dis way wid de cap’n,” said the boy; “he isn’t had much time since de battle, an’ to-night he was called out o’ town sudden. I jus’ got a cab for’m to hustle to de ten-t’irty express. But I c’n report w’at A done, if youse want it right off, jus’ as well’s de cap’n could. ’Cause I was dere, see? An’ I didn’t have nuttin’ on me mind ’ceptin’ to catch on to w’at was happenin’. It was diffrunt wid de cap’n: he was busy wid bot’ han’s, tryin’ to keep de boys from blowin’ de heads off’n ’emselves.” “I see,” said the colonel. “But you should have been with the drum corps, Larry. What brought you in with A?” “Well,” said Major Larry in some confusion, “t’ings was terruble slow in de drummin’ “H’m!” muttered the colonel, frowning darkly. “How long is it, Adjutant, since we’ve had to have a regimental court-martial?” “I didn’t mean to do nuttin’ wrong, sir!” said Larry hastily. “I wasn’t no use where I was, an’ I t’ought p’raps I c’d be some help to de cap’n if I happened over dat way. I didn’t t’ink de drum major needed me any longer, sir. An’ he didn’t say I couldn’t go. Hones’!” “Well, you can thank your lucky stars that I didn’t catch you away from your post,” said the colonel grimly. “This time I’ll overlook the breach of discipline on account of your extreme youth, but you’ll do well to The adjutant quietly slipped out of the room, going in the direction of the staff office. He was back again in an instant, and soon after he had seated himself, Langforth, the paymaster, and Woodleigh, Q.M., casually put in an appearance and took possession of a couple of chairs near the door. “I—I don’ know,” said Larry hesitatingly, in response to the colonel’s command, “jus’ exackly how to begin. I was dere, for a fac’, an’ seen de whole scrap—but I aint used to makin’ reports.” “You’ll begin,” said the colonel, slowly and impressively, “by describing the terrain—” “W’at’s dat?” interrupted Larry most respectfully. “It means the lay of the land,” said the colonel. “You’ll describe to us the lay of the land. Then you’ll state the disposition of the troops engaged. And then you’ll tell what those troops did, paying particular attention to the operations of A Company. Go on.” Major Larry fumbled for an instant with “I have de honor to report,” said he, “dat de follerin’ t’ings took place, sir, jus’ two weeks ago yesterd’y, w’ich was Toosd’y. “First, ’bout de lay o’ de lan’: it lain dis way. Dere was a big hayin’ field, shaped somet’in’ like a big piece o’ pie wid a big bite tooken out’n one end of it—dat is, out’n de small end o’ de wedge. De roundin’ edge o’ de field, same’s de part o’ de pie dat comes nex’ de rim o’ de plate, was composed of a river. Dis was ’bout two foot deep, an’ it couldn’t be forded across by militia, ’count o’ de danger o’ wettin’ pants, w’ich is State propity. So’s dis part o’ de battle-field was dead-safe. See?” Rodman desisted for a moment from inscribing distorted fish-hooks in his note-book, and glanced towards the colonel. The chief was vigorously twisting his grey moustache in a vain attempt to maintain his official composure. “Nex’ dat roundin’ edge,” continued Larry with his eyes fixed upon the golden eagle “Dis ’counts for de crust edge, an’ one side, an’ de bit place o’ de piece o’ pie. De side dat’s lef’ was made by t’ree little hills, wid an ol’ stone wall runnin’ up an’ down along de tops of ’em, like de stripe on a sergeant’s trowsies. An’ dat was de way in w’ich de lay o’ de lan’ lain.” Langforth rose and stepped over to the corner in which stood the black-board on whose surface have been worked out so many problems in regimental strategy. He made a few rapid passes with the chalk, and there came into being a map of a range of three low hills, looking down across a triangular field towards a highway, and flanked on one side by a river, on the other by a patch of scrubby woodland. “Dat’s de stuff!” commented Larry approvingly, as this example of topographical art took form. “’Twas jus’ like dat.” Larry took the crayon in his unwilling fingers, and doubtfully advanced upon the black-board. He often had seen officers lay off the broad white lines denoting the positions of battalions and companies, but he was not quite sure that he could perform the feat himself. However, he was not going to give up without a trial, and so, bracing himself for the effort, he slowly and carefully scraped the chalk across the black surface before him. “De sec’nd battalion was de enermy,” said he, after he had chalked the map to his satisfaction. “Dat is, we was de enermy o’ de first an’ t’ird battalions. Dey, o’ course, was our enermy. G was on dis hill, H was on de middle ’un, an’ L was on de one at de lef’. A was deplored as skirmishers.” “‘Deplored as skirmishers!’” said the colonel softly. “Wonder how Stearns would like that bit of description.” “Oh, I mos’ forgot tellin’ ’bout de disposition o’ de troops,” said Major Larry, suddenly recalling one of the chief’s requirements. “Near’s I c’d make out, de disposition o’ most of ’em was fine. Our fellies was disposed “An’ dis brings me to de report o’ de share A took in de purceedin’s. Dis is w’at A done: de odder t’ree comp’nies was squattin’ down a-top o’ de t’ree little hills, an’ A was shooken out in a skirmish line, down ’long by de bridge, to make it unhealt’y for de furriners w’en dey come promenadin’ ahead to cross de river. “Major Pollard, he comes ridin’ down from de hills, an he says, ‘Cap’n Stearns,’ says he, ‘w’en you’re drove back from dis position, youse’ll fall back down de road here, an’ take y’r command into de cover o’ de woods on our right flank dere,’ pointin’ at it wid his sword. ‘Dat’s a strong position,’ says he, ‘an’ de div’l himself couldn’t drive yer out’n it if dis was really bizness. By doin’ dis youse’ll purtec’ our flank from bein’ turned, an’ at de same time’ll uncover de front of us, so’s dat we c’n play fire-works wid de enermy’s advance. See?’ An’ de cap’n said he seen, an’ later he done so.” This bit of spirited description was most favorably received. The personages mentioned bowed their acknowledgments, while Langforth and Woodleigh and the adjutant applauded generously, and shouted in chorus, “Hear! Hear!” “I’d make me oat’,” said Major Larry, thus encouraged, “dat dis is de bes’ regiment in de State. W’y, de odder regiments isn’t got no use at all for us! Dey isn’t in it wid us, an’ anybody wid bot’ eyes shut c’d tumble to dat. See?” “You’re not disputed, Major Callahan,” said the colonel, clasping his hands across his chest. “Proceed with your report.” “Hold up for a minute, Larry,” broke in the colonel, when this truly remarkable order was quoted. “Were those Captain Stearns’ exact words?” “Well, no-o, sir,” admitted Major Larry. “P’raps dat aint jus’ w’at he said, but it’s w’at he was gettin’ at, anyhow. He ’xplained to ’em dat if ’twas truly fightin’, ’stead o’ bein’ de imitation, he’d keep ’em all under his t’umb, an’ not let ’em give no exhibition of a lead shower-bat’, by squirtin’ bullets all over de lan’scape at deir own sweet conveniences. In odder words, he give ’em to understan’ dat, w’en it come to firin’ by comp’ny, w’at he said went!” “Perfectly proper,” said the colonel, who is a thorough believer in the virtues of controlled “We done t’ree or four volleys,” continued Larry, “but it was sort o’ discouragin’ bizness, ’cause we didn’t seem to see no corpses carted off, an’ all we could do didn’t seem like it was hurtin’ de enermy’s feelin’s much. So w’en dey kep’ gettin’ closer an’ closer, we seen dat dey was boun’ to waltz over de bridge, spite of us, an’ de cap’n come to de conclusion dat he’d done all dat a brave man could to stan’ ’em off. W’ich bein’ so, he marched de comp’ny off an’ fell back down de road, leavin’ de premises clear for de t’ree comp’nies on de hills to show w’at dey was good for. “Well, we was marched down de road, an’ formed up in line among de trees, where it was cool an’ shady. An’ den we got de chance to see sights. De attackin’ battalions come swarmin’ over dat bridge like a big mob o’ de unemployed, an’ begun to push forward for de hills, an’ de rifles started goin’ poppety-poppety-pop! An’ dere we was sittin’ like an audyence in de gallery, takin’ in de whole show for nuttin’. But we “Now, dat was like yellin’ ‘Rats!’ in t’rough de door of a Chinee laundry! O’ course dey wasn’t nobody killed by dat volley, ’cause de odder fellies was too far off to be hit by de wads. But de effec’ was queer, an’ youse c’n bet y’r sweet natyral dat was de size of it! “K was de comp’ny dat happened to be on dat flank, an’ w’en we plunked dat volley at ’em dey seemed like dey was excited. I guess dey t’ought we was gettin’ too funny wid ’m, for dey swung back so’s to be facin’ our way, an’ den begun poppin’ at us for all dey was wort’. “But dat never fazed us, ’cause we knew dat deir rifles didn’t have no slugs in ’em, an’ dat we was pretty well out o’ sight amongst de trees. An’ besides all dat, we also was aware dat de fellies in K couldn’t shoot well enough to hit a mountain if ’twas pushed up to ’em on rollers. Huh! most o’ de men in K handles deir rifles like dey was crowbars, an’ a flock of elerphants flyin’ low c’d sail “Now, after t’ings had be’n goin’ on in dis way for a little w’ile,” continued Larry, “I seen a chance to tally one for our side. W’at I mean is dis—Say, d’youse know Hickey, dat big, fat-headed corp’ral in K?” The colonel was compelled to disclaim the acquaintance of any such person. The adjutant, however, whose knowledge of the regimental personnel was necessarily more extended, came to time promptly with an affirmative nod. “Well, he’s a dam’ chump!” said Larry, with emphasis. “Oh, ’xcuse me!” he hastily added, as it dawned upon him that his language had been a trifle unparliamentary; “I didn’t mean to say jus’ dat. But he’s a reg’lar galvanized gazaboo, an’ nuttin’ else. See? Him an’ his gang had fun wid me, one night last camp, tossin’ me in a blanket, an’ I’ve be’n layin’ low for’m ever since dat. I’m like an Injun—‘I never forgets de face “But dis aint tellin’ w’at I seen.” Here the boy picked up the chalk, and made a few additional marks upon the map of the battle-ground. “It was like dis,” said he, stepping back a pace and resting one hand easily upon his hip, while he gracefully wielded the pointer with the other; “de fellies in K was in plain sight, out in de sun, an’ I was here, ’way down at de right o’ de line. See?” He indicated his own position by means of the pointer. “Dey was a tree dere, growin’ out’n a crack in a big rock, an’ I was camped down behin’ de whole bizness, blazin’ away for glory, an’ makin’ every shot tell, w’en I seen—” “Eh?” said the colonel. “What’s that? What were you doing with a rifle?” “Shootin’, sir,” said Larry briefly. “Yes, so it would appear,” said the colonel. “But how came you to be armed?” “W’y, Smit’y de Invalid—he’s de felly, y’know, dat’s always tryin’ to sneak off from doin’ any duty—he’d tol’ me dat he wasn’t feelin’ jus’ well, an’ I’d tooken his rifle to The colonel silently nodded. Apparently he “saw.” Major Larry, having given this satisfactory explanation of matters, resumed the delivery of his interrupted report. “I tol’ yer dat I seen a promisin’ openin’ for stratergy,” he said; “an’ dis was it: me bein’ off to de right of A brought me facin’ de lef flank o’ K, an’ who should I discover opposite o’ me but dat same Hickey! Now, seein’ Hickey so convenient set me to t’inkin’. “‘Hickey, me ol’ sporty,’ says I to meself, ‘I’m on y’r trail. Youse once had fun, heaps o’ fun, a-joshin’ me,’ says I, ‘but dis is de time I’m comin’ back at you,’ says I. ‘Dat’s de kind of a Reuben dat I am,’ says I. An’ wid dat I fired two blank ca’tridges at’m, aimin’ careful at his stummick, so’s to ease me min’. Den I hid me “Big Jonesey was dere, an’ McKenzie, an’ Schultz—all of ’em aimin’ an’ firin’ like dey was expectin’ to put medals onto deir dress-coats t’icker’n de scales on a fish. Dere wasn’t an officer widin hearin’, bot’ de lieutenants bein’ off to de centre consultin’ ‘bout somet’in’ wid de cap’n. W’ich was lucky. “‘Whis-st, boys!’ says I careful, wavin’ me arm ’round me head to signal ’em to rally up to me. Dey seen dat I meant somet’in’, an’ closed up to-wards me. ‘Sa-ay, youse t’ink you’re doin’ fancy work, a-shootin’ holes in nuttin’, doesn’t youse?’ says I, w’en dey’d assembled on me. ‘Well, if youse’ll quit y’r foolishness an’ foller me,’ I says, ‘youse’ll wear di’mon’s. Come on lively, ’fore de lieutenant gets back to miss yer,’ says I. “Well, dey gives me a look, an’ den dey looks back t’wards de comp’ny an’ sees dat de chances is dat dey’ll not be missed for a little w’ile, an’ den de four of us takes a quiet sneak off t’rough de shrubb’ry. “‘Now jus’ listen to me w’ile I gurgle,’ I says, w’en we’d got to de place w’ere me “‘I want to know if it is!’ says Jonesey. ‘An’ have youse pulled us out here to give us dat important information! I’m t’inkin’ o’ breakin’ y’r back, Larry,’ says he, ‘an’ I would, too, if ’twasn’t for losin’ yer de job o’ luggin’ de big drum.’ “‘Is dat so?’ says I, dodgin’ a swipe he made at me head. ‘S’posin’ youse wait for me to get t’rough! I’m not talkin’ to fill up no fonygraft; I’m talkin’ war.’ “‘Leaf’m alone,’ says Schultz, ‘an’ see vat he hass upon dot gr-reat mindt off his.’ An’ Jonesey, he lef’ me alone. “‘Yes, dat’s Corp’ral Hickey,’ says I, indicatin’ me objective again wid me rifle. ‘I know’m easy by de size of his ears. An’ if youse fellies isn’t all stiffs, we c’n capture him alive. W’at d’youse say?’ I says. ‘Are youse mugs wid me, or agin me?’ “McKenzie allowed dat ’twould be sport if we could scoop in Hickey, an’ Schultz was agreeable to de scheme, so den I ’xplained w’at I wanted ’em to do, an’ we started in on “Dis is w’at I done wid de boys: I posted ’em behin’ bushes an’ trees, right up close to de edge o’ de woods, but so far from w’ere de flank of A lain dat nobody ever’d catch on to deir bein’ dere. An’ den I give me rifle to McKenzie, an’ strolled out into de field an’ over ’cross t’wards de lef’ o’ K. “Wen I got widin ’bout fifty yards o’ Mister Hickey, bein’ kind o’ quarterin’n a’ off to one side of’m, I sings out an’ says ‘Does yoore face pa-ain youse, Hickey?’ I says. ‘I notices dat it kind o’ gets twisted out o’ shape in aimin’. By de way youse wrinkles up dat lef eye I should t’ink dat one o’ y’r lights was went out,’ I says. Dat seemed to catch de boys in Hickey’s squad, an’ dey give’m de gran’ laff. “‘Go chase yerself off’n de field, Larry,’ says Hickey, answerin’ me back. ‘Dis aint no place for kids. ’Tisn’t safe for youse ’round w’ere I am. I’m feelin’ dryer’n a covered bridge, an’ ’twouldn’t take much to make me catch yer an’ drink y’r blood.’ “‘I’ll give yer jus’ t’irty secon’s to clear out in,’ says Hickey, gettin’ kind o’ looney, ’cause de squad was snickerin’ again, ‘an’ if y’aint disappeared by dat time, I’ll collar yer, an’ roll yer up into a small an’ bloody bundle, an’ stuff yer inter me haversack for safe keepin’.’ “‘Huh! w’at youse say cuts no ice wid me!’ says I, scornful. ‘It’s clean nutty dat youse are. See? Holdin’ down a slab in de morgue’s all youse c’n do graceful. Sure!’ “Dat was jus’ a little bit more’n Hickey was prepared to stan’. ‘Here, hang on to me rifle,’ says he, handin’ it over to de neares’ man o’ de squad, ‘an’ watch me capture de firs’ prisoner o’ de campaign.’ An’ wid dat he gives a proud leer, an’ makes a break for me. “‘Some o’ youse hol’ de watch on us,’ I sings out. ‘Dis is for de amachoor sprintin’ rekid!’ An’ off I starts for de brush, towin’ me victim along behin’ me. “Oh, ’twas hot stuff! At firs’ I was ’fraid dat some of his officers would catch onto’m “Well, I kep’ humpin’ for all I was wort’, an’ Hickey, he was after me for all he was wort’, an’ fin’lly we strikes cover at ’bout de same time. I makes a flyin’ dive inter de bushes, like a rabbit wid de shakin’ jim-jams, an’ Hickey shoots’mself in after me—an’ lands up against de muzzle o’ Jonesey’s rifle!” “‘Halt!’ sings out Jonesey, ‘an’ surrender, you red-handed cut-t’roat!’ An’ Hickey halts—prompt, too. But ‘stead o’ surrenderin’, he turned an’ started to take a travel back for de open. An’ jus’ den Schultz, he rose up out’n de eart’ on de one side of’m, an’ McKenzie, he surrounded ’m on de odder side, an’ den poor Hickey seen dat his goose was cooked. “‘T’row’m down, boys,’ I says. An’ dey t’run’m down, an’ de place w’ere dey happened to t’run’m was boggy, so’s dat w’en he rose up he looked like he hadn’t shooken hands wid a piece o’ soap for more’n a mont’. “‘Boys, it’s me sorrerful dooty,’ I says, “‘Is dis civerlized war?’ says McKenzie, glarin’ at de pris’ner. ‘You’re worse dan a Dahomey cannib’l—scarin’ de life out’n dis innercent child! Shall we give ’m quarter?’ he says, turnin’ to de odder fellies. “‘I’ve got a few t’ousand in me clodes,’ I says, like I was considerin’, ‘but I aint got no quarter for him. Away wid ’m!’ I says. “‘Dammit!’ says Hickey, growin’ excited, ‘can’t youse quit y’r foolin’? I mus’ be gettin’ back to de comp’ny or I’ll be losin’ me stripes!’ “‘Hear de hardened vilyun cursin’ w’en deat’ stares’m in de eye!’ says McKenzie, holdin’ up his hands wid horror. ‘Oh, Hickey, Hickey, you’re in danger o’ losin’ de number o’ y’r mess—den w’y worry ’bout a little t’ing like a pair o’ miser’ble corp’ral’s stripes?’ “‘Boys,’ I says, ‘I pity dis poor mug. S’posin’ we fin’ out how he’s feelin’ ’bout dis time?’ An’ I turned t’wards de pris’ner. ‘Hickey,’ I says, ‘are youse ever goin’ to preside over anodder blanket-tossin’ convention—I “‘Higky,’ asks Schultz, ‘vill you dot pecos off dis affair dere shall no hart veelin’ pe?’ An’ Hickey said dat dere shouldn’t. “‘Hickey,’ says McKenzie, w’en it come his turn at de bat, ‘if you’re lucky ’nough to come out alive at de end o’ dis awful day o’ strife will youse remember dat odder people ’sides y’rself has t’roats—w’ich needs occasional wettin’?’ An’ Hickey give his word dat he’d set ’em up for de crowd w’en we got back to town. “‘Dis all bein’ so,’ says Jonesey, ‘an’ no objection bein’ made, we’ll spare y’r wort’less life. But we’re under oat’ to do our full duty by de Commonwealt’ for a term o’ t’ree years, an’ so we can’t let yer go. Private McKenzie on de right, Private Schultz on de lef’, de pris’ner betwixt youse—fall in!’ says he. An’ dey fell in, an’ started back t’wards de comp’ny, wid Hickey a-kickin’ himself for a t’underin’ jackuss, an’ me a-follerin’, t’umpin’ meself wid joy. “Well, we comes back to de comp’ny, an’ I makes a break for de head o’ de percession—’cause ’twas my entertainment, y’ know— “Cap’n Stearns, he looked Hickey all over, an’ seen de dirt on’m, an’ says, ‘Whew! he looks like he’d be’n huntin’ for trouble an’ foun’ it! Are dey diggin’ a mine under us, or w’at? Take’m away,’ he says, ‘an’ play de hose on’m an’ don’t bodder me wid’m.’ An’ he had to laff. “But he didn’t get no time for a real good laff, ’cause jus’ den de enermy begun to charge us, an’ he had his han’s full keepin’ de boys from fightin’ in earnest. For our fellies wasn’t goin’ to let K walk on deir necks. But ’twas ’gainst orders for bayonets to be crossed, an’ so we played dat we was captured. But we wasn’t, all de same, for if’t had b’en really war we’d have kep’ a coroner’s jury busy for a week sortin’ out de remains o’ K. “An’ dat, sir,” said Major Larry, facing towards the colonel with a final salute, “near’s I c’n remember, is w’at A done, two weeks ago yesterd’y, at de right o’ Major Pollard’s line o’ battle.” Larry left the room with the step of a grenadier. Rodman closed his note-book with a snap, saying softly, “That’ll be good for two columns.” There was an instant of awed silence. And then the colonel turned to the adjutant, and said, “Hereafter, Charley, there’ll be two reports made of anything that A may be concerned in—one written, and one oral. That’s a standing order. See?” Rodman’s notes worked up to two columns and a half of the next day’s Globe, and for a second time Major Larry Callahan found himself locally famous. What Captain Tom Stearns said when his eye fell upon the marked copy of the paper which was thoughtfully mailed to him by the adjutant, is not upon record. But it is a fact that he has been more than prompt, of late, in the matter of forwarding required reports. |