Billie blinked stupidly at the light until his mind
returned from the journeys of slumber. The sergeant
stooped among the unconscious soldiers, holding the
candle close, and peering into each face.
“Hello, Haines,” said Billie. “Relief?”
“Hello, Billie,” said the sergeant.
“Special duty.”
“Dan got to go?”
“Jameson, Hunter, McCormack, D. Dempster.
Yes. Where is he?”
“Over there by the winder,” said Billie,
gesturing. “What is it for, Haines?”
“You don’t think I know, do you?”
demanded the sergeant. He began to pipe sharply
but cheerily at men upon the floor. “Come,
Mac, get up here. Here’s a special for
you. Wake up, Jameson. Come along, Dannie,
me boy.”
Each man at once took this call to duty as a personal
affront. They pulled themselves out of their
blankets, rubbed their eyes, and swore at whoever
was responsible. “Them’s orders,”
cried the sergeant. “Come! Get out
of here.” An undetailed head with dishevelled
hair thrust out from a blanket, and a sleepy voice
said: “Shut up, Haines, and go home.”
When the detail clanked out of the kitchen, all but
one of the remaining men seemed to be again asleep.
Billie, leaning on his elbow, was gazing into darkness.
When the footsteps died to silence, he curled himself
into his blanket.
At the first cool lavender lights of daybreak he aroused
again, and scanned his recumbent companions.
Seeing a wakeful one he asked: “Is Dan
back yet?”
The man said: “Hain’t seen ’im.”
Billie put both hands behind his head, and scowled
into the air. “Can’t see the use
of these cussed details in the night-time,” he
muttered in his most unreasonable tones. “Darn
nuisances. Why can’t they——”
He grumbled at length and graphically.
When Dan entered with the squad, however, Billie was
convincingly asleep.
The regiment trotted in double time along the street,
and the colonel seemed to quarrel over the right of
way with many artillery officers. Batteries were
waiting in the mud, and the men of them, exasperated
by the bustle of this ambitious infantry, shook their
fists from saddle and caisson, exchanging all manner
of taunts and jests. The slanted guns continued
to look reflectively at the ground.
On the outskirts of the crumbled town a fringe of
blue figures were firing into the fog. The regiment
swung out into skirmish lines, and the fringe of blue
figures departed, turning their backs and going joyfully
around the flank.
The bullets began a low moan off toward a ridge which
loomed faintly in the heavy mist. When the swift
crescendo had reached its climax, the missiles zipped
just overhead, as if piercing an invisible curtain.
A battery on the hill was crashing with such tumult
that it was as if the guns had quarrelled and had
fallen pell-mell and snarling upon each other.
The shells howled on their journey toward the town.
From short-range distance there came a spatter of
musketry, sweeping along an invisible line, and making
faint sheets of orange light.
