From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

"Then the sooner we get there the better," was the prompt answer, and, glancing over his shoulder, the major signalled again, his right hand high in air at first, then pointing to the front, but in the gathering darkness the gesture was not fully understood. "Ride back, Lawton, and tell Captain Flint to follow with the battalion," and the two mounted officers rode rapidly ahead, and in a moment were lost to sight among the shadowy trees.

It was Snipe's first mission as an orderly, and well he remembered it. Whirling his horse about, he trotted back to where the head of the column stood silently with ordered arms, the men leaning on their muskets. "Major Stark says to follow with the battalion, sir," he promptly announced to the alert captain, using as nearly as possible, as he had read was the duty of staff-officers and messengers, the exact words of the commander; and then, seeing the column instantly obeying, he again turned, rode sharply past the silent picket-post, and, straining his eyes for a sight of his major, while threading the dim vista of the wood path, he soon overtook the two again, halted once more and in earnest converse with a bearded, sturdy-looking sergeant, who, with a little squad of dark-uniformed infantry, formed the outpost.

"The sentinels are not a hundred yards beyond us," he heard him say. "All three saw them. The ground slopes gradually to the south and west. It's quite open. They crossed the Run down yonder, and rode straight away northward," and the sergeant pointed to a distant ridge. "None of 'em came within range. They didn't seem to think anybody would be out here at all."

The staff-officer sat listening quietly and attentively until the sergeant finished. Then he turned to the major. "I chose this ground myself," he said. "The sentries are hidden by bushes from the front, and have a clear view for nearly a mile, by day at least, and looking back you could see the roofs of Centreville on the high ground to the east. I reconnoitred all through here yesterday and came across that bridge about three o'clock. There's a deep wide ditch, marshy in places, wet and miry everywhere for a mile either way, and the banks are steep. Foot troops and cavalry can cross all right, but we've got to keep that bridge for the guns, especially that big thirty-pound Parrott General Hunter's to bring along. I wish we'd been sent out earlier, though of course we might have been seen crossing the open fields. Look!" and Lieutenant Upton led a few paces to the edge of the scattered trees, and there the whole westward firmament was visible, even down to the black lines of the Bull Run Mountains, just setting its own "sentinel stars" for the long night-watch.

"I wish so, too," said the major. "Lawton, ride back and guide the column. It may lose the way."

Again the lad turned and trotted away, but before he had gone a hundred yards he could see the faint gleam of steel come dancing through the glade, and almost instantly there followed the stern, sharp, low-voiced challenge. "It's Lawton," he answered quickly. "The major feared you might lose the way, and told me to guide you."

The men were panting a little now, for Flint was forcing the pace. Something told them there was work ahead. "Know what's up, orderly?" muttered the captain.

"No, sir. The pickets say some rebel cavalry crossed the front just before dark, somewhere about two dozen of 'em." And as Snipe now rode along, with over three hundred stalwart fellows trudging at his back, despite all the excitement of the moment his thoughts went back to the school-days and the First Latin, and he wondered what the fellows would think to see him now, guiding a whole battalion to its post of duty, perhaps to its place in battle. He wondered with clinching teeth and quickening breath who could have made those fellows he had so sworn by believe that he, Snipe Lawton, was a common thief. Was that the reason Shorty never wrote again? Was that why no one now seemed to care where he was or what had become of him? The boy's wounded heart beat vehemently in protest and in indignation, and there in the darkness of that 'cross country wood path his lips murmured a prayer for guidance and protection, that he might live to give the lie to that slander, – might so live as to win honor and credit for the name his enemies had besmirched. Two nights before, following his major through a dark lane when visiting sentries, the boy's heart had bounded uncontrollably, and his knees had trembled so hard that his horse, too, seemed to shake, all because a nervous raw recruit had fancied he saw a rebel stealing on him through the blackness of the night, and after vainly challenging a wandering mule, had roused the whole division and nearly killed his major with a single wildly aimed shot. To-night as Snipe thought of the story he had wrung from the unwilling lips of Sergeant Keating, of the Fire Zouaves, one of 40's old "bunkers," the sense of pride and indignation bore down all thought of fear, and Snipe Lawton, who the year before hated drill and wouldn't be a soldier for anything, even now in the dark, where Napoleon himself had said most men were cowards, was praying that the rebels might be there at the bridge, and that he might be foremost in the dash upon them.

On past the peering, shadowy knots of soldiers of Sergeant Holman's party he led them, the hard-breathing, swift-striding Yankees swinging along behind. Out over the starlit open to where, well across the field, he could dimly descry the forms of two horsemen. "Well done, orderly," muttered the regular. "You've lost not a second. Now, major, we'll push ahead. Better caution them not to make a sound."

"They won't," said Stark, in answer, and resumed the northward way. Five minutes and they were skirting an old snake-fence, well out beyond the hail of the last sentry or vedette of the Union lines. Any moment now they might meet scouting parties of the rebel horse, and here Lieutenant Upton warned the major to keep with his command, while he himself, bending low on his horse's neck, pushed out ahead. Ten minutes more they went without halt of any kind, but now Stark noted how hard the men were breathing, and ordered Flint to take it easy. "Soldiers need their wind if it comes to fighting," said he. Fifteen minutes, and there was a long fringe of timber ahead, and farther off to the north a light was shining, like a candle, in a farm-house window, but still the dim cart-track led on, and the young staff-officer kept out ahead. Little by little they drew closer to the trees, and eyes and ears were strained for sight or sound. The major, too, was bending low by this time, and eagerly, anxiously, scanning the shadowy line ahead. Presently he drew rein and muttered a call to Snipe, and the lad spurred up alongside. Both horses were pricking up their ears. "This horse acts as though there were others ahead there," whispered Stark. "It may be only the lieutenant's. Here he comes now!"

It was Lieutenant Upton, riding cautiously back. "Major," he muttered, "that bridge is just across the next field, and I could hear voices and the sound of horses' hoofs on the planks. If it's that patrol, we've got 'em. We can't deploy yet. We must creep through these woods and deploy beyond them. I know the ground."

The column had not even halted, for the moment the staff-officer joined the leader he reined about and rode on, talking eagerly in low tone as he rode, then once more pushed cautiously ahead, the hoof-beats hardly audible on the springy turf, and was soon lost among the trees. Five minutes more and the major and his faithful orderly emerged again under the open starlight, and there they found their alert guide. "Let them halt in the timber a moment," whispered Upton. "Look at that light." And while the head of column abruptly ordered arms, and each succeeding set of fours almost bumped up against that which preceded it before it could do likewise, the aide-de-camp pointed southward.

Upon some dark height full three miles away toward the Junction, and evidently some distance beyond the stream, a bright light, as of a lantern with brilliant reflector at its back, was shining steadily. "There was another a mile to the north of us as we crossed the last open common," said Stark. "Why, look! There it is again, yet it was dark just now."

And then, suddenly as that northern light appeared, it was extinguished or hidden. Then, before any one could speak, again it flamed. Again it disappeared, and the explanation occurred to all three at the same instant. "Signalling, of course," muttered Upton. "Now get two companies into line, facing west; then we'll leave our horses with them and creep out toward the bridge."

Another moment, and while Flint was noiselessly leading the foremost two into line, the major and the staff-officer had dismounted, handed their reins to silent Snipe, and out they went, crouching low, into the westward darkness, while every man breathed hard and listened. Then the southern light began to flash and disappear alternately. "We are far out to the west of Centreville," murmured Flint. "Those windows are hidden from that point. They doubtless think no one can see them here."

Five minutes, and still no sound came from their venturesome scouts. They had had time to go all the way across if need be. "What d'you s'pose they signal for?" whispered a young soldier in the leading set, whereupon the sergeant turned and muttered, "Hush!" and men began to realize that it was a time to listen – not to talk.

All of a sudden, low, clear, and distinct, a whistle was sounded not four hundred yards away. The first thought to strike every man was, the major! but the major had gone straight to the west; this sound came from across the wide field well to the northward of the supposed position of the bridge. Before there was time to comment the answer was given straight out ahead, soft, yet just as distinct. Then all three horses left with Snipe pricked up their ears and whirled toward the northwest, for from that quarter came the sound of hoof-beats, the low thud and rumble of horses moving at lively lope. Swift, invisible, they swooped down from the northward across the front. Then came sudden check, then silence, then the next minute the hollow sound of iron-shod hoofs upon resounding boards. First one horse, at a walk, then two, three, half a dozen together, and then silence again.

Two minutes later, back from the front, running, came the major. "Forward, just as you are!" he muttered to Flint. "The bridge is safe," and, swinging into saddle and bidding Snipe come on with the lieutenant's horse, he sped swiftly away across the field. At its western limit, at the edge of a deep, black trench that stretched away southward toward Bull Run, they found the staff-officer, standing at the old wooden bridge.

"They've left it intact," murmured Upton, gleefully, "and they've been scouting around our right flank for indication of any attack from this direction, and have missed us entirely. Now let 'em come back and get it if they can!"

In ten minutes three of Stark's strong companies had stacked arms among the timber to the west of the clumsy yet precious structure. The fourth was chosen for guard and picket duty, and, under the guidance of the energetic young staff-officer, every approach was covered. Wary sentries were stationed five hundred yards away, up and down the unsightly trough and well out toward the winding run, with supports and small reserves intervening between them and the main body. Even the open field to the east was guarded, for Major Stark meant that no enemy should come upon him unawares. Finally, deep in the shelter of the grove, they struck a light and consulted their watches. "Just half-past nine," said Upton, "and at midnight the move begins. Now I'll ride back and report. What splendid luck thus far!"

"You have no orderly, lieutenant," said Major Stark. "Let Lawton ride back with you until you reach our lines. I'd be better satisfied."

"There is no need, thank you, major. There is no likelihood of my meeting rebel patrols between this and our pickets. Those fellows are back across Bull Run by this time and riding away to tell Beauregard the Yanks have no idea of reaching round him this way."

Snipe, listening in silence, hoped, despite the brave resolution of the earlier evening, that nothing would happen to change the lieutenant's mind. It wasn't the riding back with him that he dreaded to think of, it was the solitary trot to rejoin the major after seeing Upton safely to the lines. There on the distant heights the lights around Centreville were twinkling, and, even while the officers were consulting a moment before, the lad noted that while they could no longer see the gleam on the high ground south of the Run, the men were again whispering together about that signal to the north of them.

Then the staff-officer held out his hand. "Good-night, Major Stark. I shall take pleasure in telling the general how prompt and soldierly your command has been. After all the go-as-you-please business I have had to note on the march it is good to see a regiment behave like regulars. Good-night to you, too, my lad. If I ever get a regiment I'd like to have a hundred young fellows of your calibre," said he, and to Snipe's surprise and delight Lieutenant Upton was grasping his hand too.

But just as the young officer turned away a thought occurred to him. "The general will be anxiously awaiting my report, and I must hurry. If it weren't for that I'd find out what's going on where that light is up yonder. Good-night again. Look for us along about two o'clock."

The muffled sound of the hoof-beats died away across the open field. The men close at hand unrolled their blankets and stretched themselves upon the turf. No fires were allowed, but many a pipe was lighted well within the shelter of the trees, and, too excited to sleep, they lay chatting in low tones. Several of the officers grouping about had heard the young regular's closing words. "That light can't be more'n a mile off," said Captain Flint. "I would like to know what's going on there myself."

The major had dismounted, and by the gleam of a little folding lantern was jotting down some memoranda at the moment in the note-book he always carried. Method was second nature to Stark. Not until he had finished his writing did he reply. Then, even while glancing over his lines, he quietly said, —

"You shall. Bring twenty men and come along."

Quarter of an hour later, with the senior captain left in command at the bridge, Major Stark, Lawton as ever riding close behind him, was leading slowly and cautiously out of the shadows and across an open field that sloped gradually toward a low ridge against the northern sky. Behind them, treading softly, came Flint, a lieutenant, and twenty men. The latter had fixed bayonets and discarded anything about their equipment that would rattle. The north star gleamed right over what seemed to be a little grove along the ridge, and on the edge of the dark patch stood, against the sky, regular and square in outline, an object like a house. Not five minutes back a light was shining in the midst of it, but now that was gone. Slowly, cautiously, the little party continued its silent move, rising gradually with every rod, and at last the leader came to another snake-fence, and three or four stout fellows sprang forward and threw down a panel or two. While this was being done the major looked back, and there, shining over the low ground from the distant heights beyond Bull Run, that clear, steady light was gleaming again, powerful, almost, as the head-light of a locomotive. Away to the southeast, grouped about Centreville, the camp-fires of the Union troops were blazing, and from along this ridge their position was plainly visible. No wonder Virginia sympathizers chose the spot from which to signal! Now what message might they not be sending two hours later when the army began to move? It was after ten o'clock, and that house had been dark for over ten minutes, yet Stark felt confident their stealthy approach was unsuspected. Then comes the stifled cry, "Ha! there it is again! – the light in the upper window, well under the eaves!" Snipe's heart bounds almost into his throat in his excitement, for now it is barely long pistol-shot away, and he is the proud possessor of a new Colt's revolver, much handier, he thinks, than the long, cumbrous musket. And now it's out again; and now, five seconds later, shines anew, and so it goes, – darkness alternating with light three times, then all is black and unbroken. A sergeant is somewhere ahead looking for the next fence. The little party scrambles on up the steeper slope. If only there are no dogs about! Hear them baying over there toward Centreville? and over there yonder to the west toward Sudley Church? Surely if there are dogs here they would be out and baying their reply. Bigger and blacker looms the house ahead, and still no challenge from dog or man. Can it be that the farm folk have deserted it, and that only lurking scouts or spies are here?

And now they come upon a dilapidated picket-fence; beyond it a row of bushes. The sergeant in advance turns back and tells the major there's a wide open gateway at the east, and into this he cautiously rides, Snipe still following. But, oh, how the boy heart is thumping! The roadway is soft Virginia earth, and the hoofs strike no pebbles. Presently the major dismounts, and, handing his reins up to Snipe, bids him wait there in a little open space. Then, noiselessly, he and Flint lead on with the men, and Snipe feels, rather than sees, that they are surrounding the house and stationing soldiers at every door and under every window. All these now are dark save two on the lower floor in front. There are thick shades within, but they show a dull light, as from a table-lamp. Not a sound beyond a creaking of a shoe or plank is heard. The men move like kittens, but it is their first experience of the kind, and most of them are excited, even nervous. As for Snipe, he rages to see how he is trembling.

And then all of a sudden the major's horse, rejoicing that the weight is gone, gives himself a thorough shake, rattling housing and stirrups and accompanying the shake with a loud b'r-r-r-r of satisfaction. All too late Snipe springs from saddle and seizes both horses by the nostrils. Almost instantly booted heels are heard within, and manly, ringing voices. Somebody comes striding to the door and throws it open. A tall, slender, shapely fellow is outlined against the dim light within, and a voice hails cordially, —

"Hullo! What brings you back? Anything the matter over yawnduh?" And that "yawnduh" betrays the Virginian.

"Nothing," is the answer, in Stark's quiet tone. "But your house is surrounded by the troops of the United States and I'll trouble you to come out."

For answer, out goes the light in the room, slam goes the door, and then there is dead silence just about five seconds. Then the order, "Break it in!"

Up the low steps spring a sergeant and two men. Crash goes the door before their heavy rifle-butts, and then, bayonets advanced, in they go. The major, following coolly, strikes a light, and holds aloft his little lantern. The candles on the table are still smoking, and are quickly again ablaze. "Come in here, three or four more of you," orders Stark, while Flint comes hurrying round to the front. There is a rush of feet on the upper floor, a back window is hurled open. "Head 'em off there!" shouts Flint, as again he runs back. There is a sound of sudden scuffle, and some stern order within. Then Snipe can stand it no longer and leads his excited horses closer to the house. He hears the rifle-butts go banging at the doors up-stairs and more men hurrying into the hall. He hears Flint repeat the cry, "Watch every window!" And now he shifts the bight of both reins into the left hand and whips out his revolver, still towing his suspicious and reluctant steeds, and just as he nears the front, almost at his feet, the doors of a cellarway, hitherto unseen and unsuspected, fly open. Two dark figures burst forth. He feels again, rather than sees, that a murderous blow is aimed at his head, and even as he ducks out of the way a revolver flashes and barks just at his ear, and, now instinctively, he pulls trigger. At the flash and bang of the pistols the startled horses both jerk back, pulling him with them. One rein is torn from his grasp, but the captor gains nothing, for before he can reach pommel or stirrup, two long-legged Yankees are on him, and he is dragged back into the light. A third stumbles over a prostrate form writhing in the road, as Snipe quickly finds his feet; and, as Major Stark comes striding out and brings his lantern to bear upon the scene, the lad, pale, breathing hard, but with flashing eyes and that revolver grasped in his clinching hand, is standing over his stricken prisoner, – first capture of the advancing arms of the Union, – a young Confederate officer, whose brand-new uniform is richly laced with gold, but whose face is now white as death as he swoons away.

CHAPTER XVIII

War was a new, strange, and terrible thing to George Lawton. For a few minutes after his thrilling adventure, while the soldiers were binding with bed-cords the wrists of the three unscathed captives, and Stark and Flint were ministering to the wounded officer, Snipe leaned against a tree, the same feeling of nausea and faintness overcoming him now as it did one day when he saw the brutal beating of an Irish wagoner on Fourth Avenue. Others of the New England men were searching the premises from garret to cellar, finding no human beings but two trembling old negroes, who had never been allowed to regard themselves as possessed of any rights a white man was bound to respect. The prisoners, sullen, scowling, and very much amazed that such a thing could happen on the sacred soil of Virginia, refused to answer questions as to the owners of the place. The young officer was only just recovering from the swoon that followed upon the shock of his wound, but the darkies humbly told all they knew. They were household servants, – slaves, of course. The farm was owned by a wealthy resident of Alexandria. The farmer and his family had gone. The young officer was "Marse Grayson," a nephew of the owner. The other gentlemen belonged to his troop in the cavalry, and there were four more of them somewhere over toward Centreville. They had been round there for several days, and signalling to their comrades over where "Marse Henry" and "Marse Robinson" lived, on the heights beyond Bull Run. Up in the attic the New-Englanders found candles, a polished tin reflector, and a flat board screen that just fitted in the window. A fine telescope and smaller field-glass were also there. A bountiful spread was on the table in the dining-room. The larder and cellar were well stocked, and the men from the land of steady habits did not disdain to "sample" the fluid refreshment found in the cool depths below the house or the delicacies in the pantry. Out in a wooden shed were four fine horses, with new saddles and bridles. Opulence was the rule in the Confederacy the first few months of the war; and now the sergeant and half a dozen men moved out to the front gate to look for those four troopers who were supposed to interpose between their feasting comrades and the possibility of surprise from the direction of the Yankees, and who, so early in the war, had not dreamed of foemen coming from the south. Possibly they had heard the sound of shots at the farm-house and would come galloping back to ascertain the cause. The young officer was reviving. The flow of blood was stanched. He was laid upon a mattress and, with six men to carry him, was started down the slope toward the main body at the bridge. Stark then ordered the party to bring the horses, captives, arms, – everything that could be considered legitimate spoil of war, – and follow at once. The signal outfit was smashed, and Flint, a veteran of the old Covenanter type, was for burning the house, which Stark forbade, if for no other reason than that it would instantly bring patrols of Southern cavalry out to inquire the cause. Indeed, it was a problem with him what to do about the signals. Through the powerful glass he was able to see that the light still burned on the distant heights to the south, and at any moment it might brightly blaze again, asking some question and demanding reply. "Better let them waste time in endeavors to extract an answer than lose none in galloping over to investigate a fire," he reasoned, and then turned to where his young orderly stood, again silently holding the reins of the horses.

"We will push ahead," he said, as he mounted. A few minutes of search and they found the gap in the rail-fence, and overtook the party carrying the wounded Confederate. His youth and gentle breeding had both impressed the taciturn major, and now the fortitude which enabled him without a moan to bear the pain of this swaying motion roused the major's admiration. "Gently, men. There's no hurry. We'll have a surgeon for you in a short time, lieutenant," he said, encouragingly, then spurred on to rejoin his battalion at the bridge. Sharp and clear came the "Halt! Who goes there?" of the northernmost sentry, and Stark reined back instantly as he answered, "Friends, – Major Stark and orderly." "Dismount, both," was the order, as from a dew-dripping clump of blackberry-bushes the rifle-barrel glinted in the starlight. A dark form came running up from the rear, bayonet advanced, and peered searchingly into the major's face. They had no countersign, but those lads had learned their duty from a veteran colonel who had practised it before the Seminoles, the Sioux, and Mexicans, too, and Stark could not forbear a word of praise to both sentry and corporal as he bade the latter summon the officer of the guard. In ten minutes the entire detachment, with its prisoners, was safe within the wakeful lines, and the whole battalion roused up as one man to welcome and rejoice. A year later the incident would have been too trivial to stir a man from sleep. Now it was of tremendous importance. Eagerly Flint's men were detailing their share in the exploit, some of them, exhilarated both by the event and the potent apple-jack, telling rather more than their share. Gently the bearers laid the young officer under the trees. Stark motioned back the inquisitive circle that promptly formed, gave his patient a long pull at a flask and another of cool spring water from a canteen, and then gently asked him which he would prefer, – to be carried into Centreville or wait there until a surgeon could come out.

"I do not care," said the wounded boy, with a sigh. "Can't you suppress this somehow?"

"The bleeding?" asked Stark, anxiously. "Why, I thought I had."

"No, – the whole business. I don't want mother to know I'm hurt."

Stark scratched a match and looked at his watch. Just twenty-five minutes past eleven. In half an hour, as Upton said, the army would be astir and moving. There would be many another name added to the list before the setting of another sun. Already, North and South, the papers were ablaze with tidings of that misguided "reconnoissance in force" toward Blackburn's Ford, which had felled some sixty men on each side, sent Tyler's men back to Centreville disgusted, and inspired those of Longstreet and Ewell with a craze of undeserved triumph. By two o'clock in the morning the column of Hunter and Heintzelman would be crossing that guarded bridge on the way to the upper ford, but they would not wish to be burdened with wounded and prisoners when going into action. The battalion would undoubtedly be ordered to join its own regiment as it came tramping along. The general might extract from these prisoners information which would be of value. Stark's mind was made up quickly. A lieutenant and half a dozen men were selected as guards, another six to carry the mattress and wounded prisoner. Lieutenant Payne was given his choice of the captured horses while Stark wrote brief report of the affair. In ten minutes everybody was ready. Still bound with bed-cords, the three silent rebs were bidden to fall in, and then for the first time did Stark open his lips to his orderly since the brief words at the farm. In the hearing of half his little command, the major turned to where the latter stood, silent and a trifle awed and wearied.

"Lawton," said he, "I send you back to the general with this party for two reasons: first, because you know the way and can guide them; second, because you made to-night the most important capture of the campaign thus far, and I mean that you shall have full credit."

For a minute there wasn't a sound. Snipe felt dizzy with the sense of instant elation, following as it did the languor and depression of the moment before. Then some sympathetic soul among the listeners began a soft clapping of the hands. The example was contagious. Before a repressing word could be heard, the New-Englanders gave vent to their feelings in a volley of hearty, if suppressed applause. The major had to order silence and caution. Then handing a folded paper to his orderly, with a grim smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder, bade him mount and be off, and like a boy in some wild dream, incredulous, unrealizing, yet with a heart throbbing with thankfulness, George Lawton remounted and rode out into the starlight, over the echoing bridge, and took the front of the little detachment, his cheeks, so pale awhile ago, burning now with pride and hope, his thoughts drifting back to mother and the boys. What wouldn't Shorty give to be in his place this night?

An hour later a knot of newspaper correspondents, orderlies, stragglers, and servants clustered about the party as it rested in the starlight in front of an old Virginia homestead. On a bed in the rear room the surgeons had laid the wounded Confederate. In the main room, with two or three of his staff and half a dozen correspondents pencil-driving about him, sat the commanding general. Before him, silent and respectful, stood brown-eyed, long-legged Snipe. The camp lanterns burned brightly on mantel and table. The sound of many voices, low-toned but impatient, came from without. Something had blocked the road in front, and the march of the rear divisions was stayed. The general was vexed, as all could see, – impatient and indignant. But as he read the pencilled lines, handed him by the adjutant-general, something like pleasure shone on his florid, soldierly face.

"You chose the right man, Burnside," he suddenly exclaimed, as he turned to a stalwart, heavily whiskered officer who entered at the moment, clad in a pleated flannel blouse, with heavy riding-boots and breeches. "Look at this," he added, handing up the brief despatch. "I wish I could inject as much sense into some – generals." Then he turned on Snipe, his stern face relaxing:

"You have done admirably, my lad. How old are you?"

For a moment the light went out of Lawton's eyes, giving way to trouble and embarrassment. He twisted his forage-cap in his trembling fingers. At last, huskily, but with reviving hope, he answered.

"I told them I was eighteen. To-night I tried to prove I was as good as my word."

A smile went round the room. The general beamed.