McClure's Magazine, Vol. XXXI, No. 3, July 1908.Various
History
McClure's Magazine, Vol. XXXI, No. 3, July 1908.
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals
"Right, Massay, the very thing. Somebody give me a lantern. Confound it,
one of you men get me a lantern, and be quick about it." A member of the
guard gave him the required article, and concealing it carefully under
his poncho, he went quickly out. The Major and other officers jumped up
and followed. All the way down the dreary, rain-swept street the Major
attempted to persuade the Captain to give up his foolhardy enterprise,
but without result. Finally, when they reached the cordon of surrounding
troops, the senior officer said:
"Well, North, this is absolutely absurd, and out of the question. If you
insist, I shall have to give you an order not to go."
"No, you won't do that, Bliss." The Captain's anger had left him now,
and he spoke quietly. "We have known each other a long time, and seen a
lot of service together. You won't take advantage of your rank to stop
me now. I am only doing what you would do in my place. It is my troop.
The shame and disgrace are mine. You won't stop me now."
The Major hesitated a moment and then spoke slowly, and with evident
feeling:
"Well--well. Have your way; but be careful, John, be careful."
They saw him move quietly along under the shadow of a wall, cross the
street, and disappear in a small side door of "B" Troop's quarters. He
was not discovered.
* * * * *
For the last half hour the silence and the blackness of the grave had
existed in "B" Troop's big squad room. The "shouting and the tumult" had
died a lingering death. One cannot yell and hurl challenge indefinitely,
and shouting up one's courage begins to lose its efficacy if long
continued. One big-lunged mutineer had held out with his firing and
bellowing until the nerves of the rest could stand it no longer. They
then rudely suppressed him. He sounded so absurdly and pathetically
foolish. He was typical of their own status. "One nigger shootin' a
bluff at de whole United States Army!" They realized that with fifty it
was no less idiotic.
If it had not been for old Wilson passing stealthily to and fro among
them, with that wild light in his eyes, and those crazy mumblings,
doubtless there would have, already, been breaks in the ranks. But no;
there was that other thing, lying over there where it fell. There was no
use now; there could be no looking back. Each turned wearily to his door
or window and renewed his wide-eyed effort to pierce the web of
blackness over the square. And the everlasting rain still fell.
A door swung cautiously somewhere. There was the sound of some one
moving with steady, determined step down the center of the room. Then,
without warning, their unaccustomed eyes were momentarily blinded by a
light taken suddenly from under a poncho; and there in the center of the
room stood a lone officer; in one hand a lantern, in the other a big
blue revolver.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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