Part 26 (2/2)

RECEIVING THE CHARGE

What about Stransky of the Reds, who would not fight to please the ruling cla.s.ses? What about Grandfather Fragini, who would fight on principle whenever a Gray was in sight? Now we leave the story of Fraca.s.se's men at the foot of the knoll for that of the Browns on the crest.

Young Dellarme, new to his captain's rank, with lips pressed tightly together, his delicately moulded, boyish features reflecting the confidence which it was his duty to inspire in his company, watching the plain through his gla.s.ses, saw the movement of mounted officers to the rear of the 128th as a reason for summoning his men.

”Creep up! Don't show yourselves! Creep up--carefully--carefully!” he kept repeating as they crawled forward on their stomachs. ”And no one is to fire until the command comes.”

Hugging the cover of the ridge of fresh earth which they had thrown up the previous night, they watched the white posts. Stransky, who had been ruminatively silent all the morning, was in his place, but he was not looking at the enemy. Cautiously, to avoid a reprimand, he raised his head to enable him to glance along the line. All the faces seemed drawn and clayish.

”They don't want to fight! They're just here because they're ordered here and haven't the character to defy authority,” he thought. ”The leaven is working! My time is coming!”

But Grandfather Fragini's cheeks had a hectic flush; his heart was beating with the exhilaration of an old war-horse. Looking over Tom's shoulder, he squinted into the distance, his underlip quivering against his toothless gums.

”My eyesight's kind of uncertain,” he said. ”Can you see 'em?”

”There by the white posts--those lying figures!” said Tom. ”They're almost the color of the stubble.”

”So I do, the land-sharks! Down on their bellies, too! No flag, either!

But that ain't no reason why we shouldn't have a flag. It ought to be waving at 'em in defiance right over our heads!”

”Flags draw fire. They let the enemy know where you are,' Tom explained.

”The Hussars didn't bother about that. We let out a yell and went after 'em!” growled grandfather. ”Appears to me the fighting these days is grovelling in the dirt and taking care n.o.body don't get hurt!”

”Oh, there'll be enough hurt--don't you worry about that!” said a voice from the line.

”Good thing an old fellow who's been under fire is along to stiffen you rookies!” replied grandfather tartly. ”You'll be all right once you get going. You'll settle down to be real soldiers yet. And I'd like to hear a little more cussing. How the Hussars used to cuss! Too much reading and writing nowadays. It makes men too ladylike.”

By this time he had once more attracted the captain's attention.

”Grandfather Fragini, you must drop back--you must! If you don't, I'll have you carried back!” called Dellarme, sparing the old man only a glance from his concentrated observation on the front.

When he looked again at the enemy any thought of carrying out his threat vanished, for the minute had come when all his training was to be put to a test. The figures on the other side of the white posts were rising. He was to prove by the way he directed a company of infantry in action whether or not he was worthy of his captain's rank. He breathed one of those unspoken prayers that are made to the G.o.d of one's own efficient, conscientious responsibility to duty. The words of it were: ”May I keep my head as if I were at drill!” Then he smiled cheerily. In order that he might watch how each man used his rifle, he drew back of the line, his slim body erect as he rested on one knee, his head level with the other heads while he fingered his whistle. His lieutenants followed his example even to the detail of his cheery smile. There was a slight stirring of heads and arms as eyes drew beads on human targets. The instant that Eugene Aronson sprang over the white post a blast from Dellarme's whistle began the war.

It was a signal, too, for Stransky to play the part he had planned; to make the speech of his life. His six feet of stature shot to its feet with a Jack-in-the-box abruptness, under the impulse of a mighty and reckless pa.s.sion.

”Men, stop firing!” he cried thunderously. ”Stop firing on your brothers! Like you, they are only the p.a.w.ns of the ruling cla.s.s, who keep us all p.a.w.ns in order that they may have champagne and caviare.

Comrades, I'll lead you! Comrades, we'll take a white flag and go down to meet our comrades and we'll find that they think as we do! I'll lead you!”

Grandfather Fragini, impelled by the hysterical call of the Hussar spirit, also sprang up, waving his hat and trembling and swaying with the emotion that racked his old body.

”Give it to 'em! Aim low! Give it to 'em--give it to 'em, horns and hoofs, sabre and carbine!” he shouted in a high, jumpy voice. ”Give it to 'em! Make 'em weep! Make 'em whine! Make 'em bellow!”

Both appeals were drowned in the cracking of the rifles working as regularly as punching-machines in a factory. Every soldier was seeing only his sight and the running figures under it. Mechanically and automatically, training had been projected into action, antic.i.p.ation into realization. A spectator might as well have called to a man in a hundred-yard dash to stop running, to an oarsman in a race to jump out of his sh.e.l.l.

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