CHAPTER XVIII.
The ragged line had respite for some minutes, but during its pause thestruggle in the forest became magnified until the trees seemed toquiver from the firing and the ground to shake from the rushing of themen. The voices of the cannon were mingled in a long and interminablerow. It seemed difficult to live in such an atmosphere. The chests ofthe men strained for a bit of freshness, and their throats craved water.
There was one shot through the body, who raised a cry of bitterlamentation when came this lull. Perhaps he had been calling outduring the fighting also, but at that time no one had heard him. Butnow the men turned at the woeful complaints of him upon the ground.
"Who is it? Who is it?"
"It's Jimmie Rogers. Jimmie Rogers."
When their eyes first encountered him there was a sudden halt, as ifthey feared to go near. He was thrashing about in the grass, twistinghis shuddering body into many strange postures. He was screamingloudly. This instant's hesitation seemed to fill him with atremendous, fantastic contempt, and he damned them in shriekedsentences.
The youth's friend had a geographical illusion concerning a stream, andhe obtained permission to go for some water. Immediately canteens wereshowered upon him. "Fill mine, will yeh?" "Bring me some, too." "Andme, too." He departed, ladened. The youth went with his friend,feeling a desire to throw his heated body onto the stream and, soakingthere, drink quarts.
They made a hurried search for the supposed stream, but did not findit. "No water here," said the youth. They turned without delay andbegan to retrace their steps.
From their position as they again faced toward the place of thefighting, they could of course comprehend a greater amount of thebattle than when their visions had been blurred by the hurling smoke ofthe line. They could see dark stretches winding along the land, and onone cleared space there was a row of guns making gray clouds, whichwere filled with large flashes of orange-colored flame. Over somefoliage they could see the roof of a house. One window, glowing a deepmurder red, shone squarely through the leaves. From the edifice a tallleaning tower of smoke went far into the sky.
Looking over their own troops, they saw mixed masses slowly gettinginto regular form. The sunlight made twinkling points of the brightsteel. To the rear there was a glimpse of a distant roadway as itcurved over a slope. It was crowded with retreating infantry. Fromall the interwoven forest arose the smoke and bluster of the battle.The air was always occupied by a blaring.
Near where they stood shells were flip-flapping and hooting. Occasionalbullets buzzed in the air and spanged into tree trunks. Wounded men andother stragglers were slinking through the woods.
Looking down an aisle of the grove, the youth and his companion saw ajangling general and his staff almost ride upon a wounded man, who wascrawling on his hands and knees. The general reined strongly at hischarger's opened and foamy mouth and guided it with dexteroushorsemanship past the man. The latter scrambled in wild and torturinghaste. His strength evidently failed him as he reached a place ofsafety. One of his arms suddenly weakened, and he fell, sliding overupon his back. He lay stretched out, breathing gently.
A moment later the small, creaking cavalcade was directly in front ofthe two soldiers. Another officer, riding with the skillful abandon ofa cowboy, galloped his horse to a position directly before the general.The two unnoticed foot soldiers made a little show of going on, butthey lingered near in the desire to overhear the conversation. Perhaps,they thought, some great inner historical things would be said.
The general, whom the boys knew as the commander of their division,looked at the other officer and spoke coolly, as if he were criticisinghis clothes. "Th' enemy's formin' over there for another charge," hesaid. "It'll be directed against Whiterside, an' I fear they'll breakthrough there unless we work like thunder t' stop them."
The other swore at his restive horse, and then cleared his throat. Hemade a gesture toward his cap. "It'll be hell t' pay stoppin' them,"he said shortly.
"I presume so," remarked the general. Then he began to talk rapidlyand in a lower tone. He frequently illustrated his words with apointing finger. The two infantrymen could hear nothing until finallyhe asked: "What troops can you spare?"
The officer who rode like a cowboy reflected for an instant. "Well,"he said, "I had to order in th' 12th to help th' 76th, an' I haven'treally got any. But there's th' 304th. They fight like a lot 'a muledrivers. I can spare them best of any."
The youth and his friend exchanged glances of astonishment.
The general spoke sharply. "Get 'em ready, then. I'll watchdevelopments from here, an' send you word when t' start them. It'llhappen in five minutes."
As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his cap and wheeling hishorse, started away, the general called out to him in a sober voice: "Idon't believe many of your mule drivers will get back."
The other shouted something in reply. He smiled.
With scared faces, the youth and his companion hurried back to the line.
These happenings had occupied an incredibly short time, yet the youthfelt that in them he had been made aged. New eyes were given to him.And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly that he was veryinsignificant. The officer spoke of the regiment as if he referred toa broom. Some part of the woods needed sweeping, perhaps, and hemerely indicated a broom in a tone properly indifferent to its fate. Itwas war, no doubt, but it appeared strange.
As the two boys approached the line, the lieutenant perceived them andswelled with wrath. "Fleming--Wilson--how long does it take yeh to gitwater, anyhow--where yeh been to."
But his oration ceased as he saw their eyes, which were large withgreat tales. "We're goin' t' charge--we're goin' t' charge!" cried theyouth's friend, hastening with his news.
"Charge?" said the lieutenant. "Charge? Well, b'Gawd! Now, this isreal fightin'." Over his soiled countenance there went a boastfulsmile. "Charge? Well, b'Gawd!"
A little group of soldiers surrounded the two youths. "Are we, sure'nough? Well, I'll be derned! Charge? What fer? What at? Wilson,you're lyin'."
"I hope to die," said the youth, pitching his tones to the key of angryremonstrance. "Sure as shooting, I tell you."
And his friend spoke in re-enforcement. "Not by a blame sight, heain't lyin'. We heard 'em talkin'."
They caught sight of two mounted figures a short distance from them.One was the colonel of the regiment and the other was the officer whohad received orders from the commander of the division. They weregesticulating at each other. The soldier, pointing at them, interpretedthe scene.
One man had a final objection: "How could yeh hear 'em talkin'?" Butthe men, for a large part, nodded, admitting that previously the twofriends had spoken truth.
They settled back into reposeful attitudes with airs of having acceptedthe matter. And they mused upon it, with a hundred varieties ofexpression. It was an engrossing thing to think about. Many tightenedtheir belts carefully and hitched at their trousers.
A moment later the officers began to bustle among the men, pushing theminto a more compact mass and into a better alignment. They chasedthose that straggled and fumed at a few men who seemed to show by theirattitudes that they had decided to remain at that spot. They were likecritical shepherds struggling with sheep.
Presently, the regiment seemed to draw itself up and heave a deepbreath. None of the men's faces were mirrors of large thoughts. Thesoldiers were bended and stooped like sprinters before a signal. Manypairs of glinting eyes peered from the grimy faces toward the curtainsof the deeper woods. They seemed to be engaged in deep calculations oftime and distance.
They were surrounded by the noises of the monstrous altercation betweenthe two armies. The world was fully interested in other matters.Apparently, the regiment had its small affair to itself.
The youth, turning, shot a quick, inquiring glance at his friend. Thelatter returned to him the same manner of look. They were the onl
yones who possessed an inner knowledge. "Mule drivers--hell t'pay--don't believe many will get back." It was an ironical secret.Still, they saw no hesitation in each other's faces, and they nodded amute and unprotesting assent when a shaggy man near them said in a meekvoice: "We'll git swallowed."