THROWING A HORSE
THROWING A HORSE
“But what’s this got to do with soldiers; is it not highly flavored with circus?”
I could offer no excuse except the tradition that cavalrymen are supposed to ride well. All the men were young and in first-rate physical fix, and seemed to enjoythe thing—all except one old first sergeant, who had been time-expired these half-dozen times, whose skin was so full of bullet-holes that it wouldn’t hold blood, and who had entered this new régime with many protests:
“O’me nau circus ape; I can’t be leppin’ around afther the likes av thim!” whereat the powers arranged it so that the old veteran got a job looking after plug tobacco, tomato-cans, tinned beef, and other “commissaries,” upon which he viewed the situation more cheerfully.
The drill was tremendously entertaining to the ladies and gentlemen in the gallery, and they clapped their hands and went bustling into their traps and off down the road to the general’s house, where Madam the General gave a breakfast, and the women no doubt asked the second lieutenants deliciously foolish questions about their art. The gentlemen, some of whom are Congressmen and other exalted governmental functionaries, felt proud of the cavalry, and went home with a determination to combat any one hostile to cavalry legislation, if a bold front and firm purpose could stay the desecrating hand.
But all this work is primary and elementary. The second degree is administered in field-work, comprising experimental marches, and those who know General Henry by reputation will not forget his hundred-mile march with the Ninth Cavalry at Pine Ridge, and those who know him personally will become acquainted with his theory that a cavalry command in good condition, with proper feeds, should make fifty miles a day, with a maximum on the road of ten hours a day, moving at the rate of five miles an hour in cavalry halts, the gaits being walk, trot, and leading, with a day’s rest each week, to be continued indefinitely. And knowing all this, they will be sure that the model squadron wears out a good many horseshoes in a season.
OVER THE HURDLES IN LINE
OVER THE HURDLES IN LINE
The “Cossack outposts” are another feature much insisted on, and, strange to say, this arrangement was first invented in America, despite its name (see Wagner’sOutposts), and is an improvement on picket posts in a ratio of 240 to 324. Another movement is the “form square,” which is an adaptation of the “Indian circle,” it being a movement from a centre to a circle, and useful when escorting wagons or when surprised. The non-commissioned officers are sent on reconnoissance, on patrols, and are required to make maps, which are submitted to an inspector.
Another scheme which I have never seen was the linking of a troop of horses, formed in a circle, to one another, by hooking the regular cavalry links from one horse’s bridle to the next one’s halter ring, and then leaving them in charge of one man. I also saw the new cavalry bit for the first time. It is commended by all who use it, and I saw no horses boring on it or in the least uppish about going against it, and I never remember a horse who would not do either the one or the other to the old trap which was formerly worn.
Two other curious movements indulged in by this squadron are the firing over horses while they are lying down; and, riding double—the man faced to the rear draws his pistol, and while moving to the rear keeps shooting. It might be useful during a slow retreat, and could be done with the carbine equally well.
This whole enterprise at Fort Meyer is vastly encouraging. As one officer said, “We take no credit for it, since others could do the same if they had riding-halls and cavalry officers in command.” But there are cavalry officers and there are cavalry officers, and it is not every day one is born. For thirty-five years has the old general sat in a McClellan saddle, and the tremendous enthusiasmof newly joined “sub” still remains. The very thought of a wagon arouses his indignation, and every day the mules are brought into the riding-hall, and the men initiated into the intricacies of the “diamond hitch.” It takes a past-master to pack a mule in twenty-two seconds, however, and I saw that feat accomplished in General Henry’s command.
It is a grand thing for the young men to have this practical training by these old veterans of the civil war and the alkali plains before they go on the retired list. It is well for a young man to know enough not to unsaddle a sweating troop of horses in a broiling sun, and to learn that it makes sore backs; and it is quite important if men can cook rations, and not go up to the sky-line of a hill when scouting, and rival the statue of “Liberty Enlightening the World,” when it is clearly their business to throw what light they have behind them and not before. It takes experience to put the sole of a boot back on the upper, when it has fetched loose, with four horseshoe nails, and it is not every man that knows that the place to intrench is on the edge of a cut bank, near water, if one expects ever to get out of a round-up. No one can figure that a recruit will know how many people passed over the road before him, or which way they were going, and it takes a long head and good nerves not to pull a trigger unless the sight is dark on the object when the fight may last all day and probably all night; but all these things are not taught in school. If a horse under him is weakening on a long march in an enemy’s country, it is an ignorant fool who uses a spur instead of good sense. That’s the time to unload a few dollars’ worth of government property. But who can understand the value of a rubber blanket, fifty rounds of ammunition, and a pocket full of grub, with a feed of grain in the bag, but one whohas tried it? There are lots of dead soldiers who would have learned these lessons if they had been older. In my opinion, the tremendous box of tricks which Uncle Sam’s horses are supposed to carry has put more men afoot than will ever be admitted; but at least the old boot has gone, though there is yet room for an intelligent hand with a jack-plane to shave off that cavalry pack. I am inclined to take what every one tells me is a “cranky” view on this subject, but let it stand until the next hard campaign, and I hope to be able to be more lucid. Horses are horses, and horses are not made of wood, iron, or by rule of thumb.
To revert to Fort Meyer: it is altogether refreshing; it is worth any one’s while to go there and see four troops of cavalry which cannot be beaten, and it is positively exhilarating to meet their creator, a thoroughly typical United States cavalry officer, and I’m bound to say his successor in command has had a hard pace set for him.
The following is a letter from a young military aide-de-camp who was in position to see a great deal of the great riots in Chicago.
Chicago, July — 18—
My Dear Friend,—In your last you ask me to give you my experiences in the affair of the other day here in Chicago, and although I played but a small part, yet I do not mind adding my little quota to the volumes of matter already written on the subject. To begin with, we at headquarters had known for sometime that the turbulent elements were organizing an opposition to Federal authority, and indeed after the demoralization of the police power in the affairs of Monday and Tuesday, the general issued his proclamation putting the city under martial law. The people were ordered to keep within their own doors, under penalty of shooting or drum-head court-martial, after seven o’clock in the evening, and it was also explained that any domicile harboring an active enemy was to be reduced by the sharpest means at command. The reinforcements arrived on Tuesday, and militia and police were embodied in our command. I had been out on a patrol with a troop of the Third Cavalry late in the afternoon, and I reported to the general that there was an ominous lull in the city, and that I feared the enemy were to take some active measures. We had tried, unsuccessfully, to locate the rifles looted from the gun-stores, andalso to find anything like a rendezvous of insurgents. The better class of people had nearly all left the city, and what remained were guarding their business property. Chicago streets, usually so teeming with human life, were almost deserted. No smoke came from the big chimneys, and the shops were shuttered and boarded up. A great many honest people of small means were much put to it to obtain food, and I cannot but tell you how I saw some of the troopers divide their rations with the citizens. At the time we had no intimation of the serious turn affairs would take on, but the remark of the general’s, that “every soldier will die right in his tracks,” had gone the rounds of the camps, and nerved the men to face the music. I was eating my dinner in the Chicago Club when I thought I heard rifle-shots. This was about nine o’clock, and the moon was shining on the Lake Front, although the side streets were dark, since the lights were out all over the city. In a minute more a squad of cavalry swept up the street at full gallop. They were heading for the general’s tent, and I grabbed my cap and ran down-stairs three steps at a time. As I made my way along Michigan Avenue I could hear carbine-shots over in the city, and shortly all the bugles giving “The Assembly.”
I got to headquarters, and met old Hewer of the Seventh, and it was his troops which had come in; he told me they were then standing off a mob, which was returning the fire down in the city.
I got an order from the general to deliver to the lower section of the camp, and getting on my “wheel” (which is better for this work than a horse), I pulled out. I delivered my order to Colonel Loftowne, and then waited to observe things, as I was to report back to headquarters. Rawball’s battery went into “action front,” two sectionsto a street. They were loaded, and then down on the next corner came the order through the still night to fire. A terrific flash illuminated the black square, and then with a howl down the long street went the 2-3/4 inch, and far down in the darkness I could see her explode; then all was silent. The signal-rockets were going from the top of the Auditorium, and I saw the answering upward sweep of the balls of fire as they were replied to farther down the street. We were on the extreme right, which was below the Art Building, and were ordered to move for an attack on the streets of the cityen échelon. The guns limbered up, and, escorted by two companies of infantry, we passed into the dim light. At the corner of Wabash Avenue we halted.
Four or five blocks down we could both hear and see rifle-firing, evidently directed on our camp, and also a great crowd. At this juncture we heard a most awful explosion, dull and not like a rifle-canon. “Dynamite!” we all exclaimed in a breath.
“Cut the fuse to zero! Fire!” And with a terrific crash the missile sped on its way. “I think that street will be clear for a spell,” drawled the captain, in his delicious old Georgia manner, as he got his guns in motion. We could hear the occasional boom of a 3-inch and the loud grinding of the Gatlings, and we knew it was enfilading our fire. The rifle-fire was silenced down the city, and the mob, as we judged by the noise, was running away. Over in the direction of the post-office we then heard rifle-shots.
“That’s that outpost of the Twenty-seventh guarding the building,” we said to each other. It fairly crackled now—“giving ’em hot stuff.”
“Halt!” came the command, and the men stopped. “We will wait here for orders.”
“What do you suppose that report was?” we asked each other as we stood on the curbing.
“It must have been dynamite. I know the sound of this ordnance too well to be mistaken,” commented the captain of artillery. “What’s that? Hark!” as a clatter sounded on the pavement in our rear. “It’s a horse coming at full speed. Spread out, men, and stop him.” And, sure enough, a frightened cavalry horse came charging into the midst of the infantry, and was only stopped after he had knocked down two men.
“He only has a halter on; he’s got away from the picket line; here, boys—here comes another.” This one in turn was stopped, and two more which followed directly. Detailed men were sent back with the horses, while I went also to make my report. As I sped on ahead I was startled by a shot, and with a sputter I heard the bullet go to pieces at my feet. I looked around, and from the dark of a window came a flash and another sputter.
“D—— him, he is firing at me,” I ejaculated, and I made the pedals fly. I had no idea of stopping, but I thought I could remember the building; and thinks I, “I am not after game, but whoever you are, I’ll hunt you up, my lad.”
At headquarters everything was bustle.
“Some one exploded a big dynamite bomb right in the street, in front of the Fifth Infantry camp,” said Captain Moss to me, “and killed four men and wounded a dozen more. Some of the cavalry horses broke away from the picket lines and stampeded,” he went on.
The hospital tents were ablaze with light, and I knew that the surgeons were at their grewsome work.
I reported for orders, and shortly was given one to deliver at my old post. Back I sped, and came near tumblinginto a big hole, which I knew had been made by the dynamite bomb. I will go down another street and cross over, so as to avoid that fellow who potted at me, I reasoned; but before I turned off I saw the two infantrymen and the four old cavalry horses coming along.
“Oh, lieutenant,” they called, and I went up to them. “We saw that fellow shoot at you, and McPherson held the horses and I slipped down the dark side of the street and located him. He stuck his head out of the window, and I rested across a door-post and let him have it.”
“Did you hit him?”
“Well, you kin bet! He came out of that window like a turkey out of a pine-tree. A little slow at first, but kerflop at last.”
So I took the street of my late enemy, and had a look at a dark object which lay on the sidewalk under the house I had located. In response to the order I bore, the infantry advanced to develop any opposition which there might be. Men were thrown out in front, and the heavy body marched in rear. We had proceeded this way for some blocks with no sound but the dropping rifle-fire some quarter of a mile to our left and behind us, when we began to find men huddled in doorways, who were promptly taken prisoners and disarmed, and sent to the rear. Some bore rifles and all had revolvers, and a hard-looking set they were. The artillery fire had demoralized them, and whatever they were to have done they had abandoned after the first shell had gone shrieking and crashing down the street.
“They’ll get a drum-head in the morning, and it won’t sit ten minutes,” mused an officer. “I suppose they are anarchists. Well, they ought to like this; this is a sort of anarchy. It’s the best we have got in our shop.”
These words were scarcely spoken before a blinding flash lit up the street as lightning might. A tremendous report followed, and I was knocked down right over my bicycle, which I was trundling. I was up in an instant, and with a ringing clash an object had fallen at my feet and struck my leg a smart blow, which pained me considerably. I reached down and picked up a Springfield rifle barrel without lock or stock. A dynamite cartridge had been exploded in our front. The infantry hesitated for a moment. Many men had been flung on their backs by the force of the concussion. “Forward!” was the command, and dropping my bicycle, I followed the dark figures of the infantry as they made their way down the sides of the streets. Half a block ahead was a great hole in the pavement, and the sidewalk was littered with cobble-stones and débris from the walls of the surrounding buildings. The bomb had been exploded over the advance-guard, and had destroyed it utterly. Which building had it come from? We stood in the doorways, and held our breath and waited. A stone dropped in the street with a crash. A tiny light appeared in one of the upper windows of a tall narrow office building. It disappeared instantly, and all was dark. Two men put their heads out of the window. “See-e!” I hissed, as a soldier drew up his rifle. All was quiet. The two heads peered down the street, and then whispered together, when shortly we caught the hollow echo of the words, “D—— ’em, they don’t want any more.”
“Now run for it,” said the captain in command, who was a big fellow, and we all scampered off down the street to our main body. What we had discovered was reported to the battery commander. He swore a great oath.
“Bring that gun up here to this side; boost her on to the sidewalk. Come, get hold here, you fellows; lend usa hand; run her along a little; train her on that doorway. Now fire!” And then, in a high voice, “Captain, let your men cover that house with rifle-fire, and detail some men to break into a store and get inflammables.”
The big gun went with a deafening crash, and the doorway was in slivers. A dropping rifle-fire rained into the windows. Crash went the big gun after a minute, but the building was dark and silent, as though holding their sputtering toys in contempt.
“I’m going to burn that building. Send a man to call out the fire department!” roared the old captain, who had now lost all his drawling, and was bellowing like a bull. After a time infantrymen came along with their arms full of bottles and cans of kerosene, and I know not what else. They had broken into a drug-store, and told the proprietor, who was found there in the darkness with his three clerks, to give them the most inflammable substances at his command.
The squad of infantry formed on the side of the street occupied by the ill-fated house, and as the big gun crashed and the rifle-fire redoubled, they dashed down the street and swarmed into the building.
“Keep up that rifle-fire!” howled the senior officer. It was bang! bang! bang! for a full minute, when a flash of light lit up the doorway, and with a rush out came the squad, and made its way to us on the run.
“We have fired the elevator shaft,” said a young officer, breathing heavily with excitement. The doorway was very light now, and shortly the second-story windows over it showed yellow. Windows farther up the tall building began to redden and then to glow brightly. It was ten minutes now since the first gleam of fire, and the rifles had ceased. The building was now ablaze. A huge roaring was heard, and the black smoke poured from the hallwindows, while the side windows were yet dark. A harsh yelling came from the window where I had seen the little match struck, and the thick black smoke eddied around and hid it all.
“By sections—forward—trot—march,” and with a dash we moved forward past the roaring furnace and down into the darkness below.
“My orders were to move forward,” muttered the old captain, as he bit at a plug of tobacco.
It was now nearly twelve o’clock, and I could hear a great deal of small-arm firing down the city on my left in front, and also the boom of cannon away on the other side of town. Shortly a note was handed me by an adjutant, and I was to go to a command on a street nearly in front of headquarters. I sped along, and shortly met men by twos and threes, wounded men going to camp, and two fellows sitting on the curbing. “Where is Captain B——’s command, my men?”
“Right on down the street—me bunkie’s got it,” was all I heard as I shot along.
The rifle-fire grew, and the crash of a Hotchkiss came at intervals. Then I made out a small infantry reserve, and then the guns. I found the captain, and delivered my note.
“Wait by me,” said the captain, as he went into a doorway and read the order by scratching matches on his pantaloons, and the Hotchkiss nearly broke my ear-drums. “Wait a minute or so,” said the captain, as he crushed the note into his trousers-pocket.
I waited, and a “kid” of the reserves, whom I knew, greeted me and explained. “They are in the depot, and we are going to carry it by storm in a minute.”
Again the Hotchkiss went, and “Come on!” rang the order as the men moved forward. It was the captain,and he wanted me to “wait a minute,” so, thinks I, I will wait near him; and pulling my bicycle into a dark doorway, I waited along by the captain, near the head of the procession. As we moved out from the protection of the street the report of a Hotchkiss nearly threw me from my pins, and then we ran silently under a rather hot fire from the windows and doorways. I heard the balls strike—a dull slap—and a man stumbled forward ahead of me and dropped. I sprang over him, and was soon out of fire, and with the little column passed through the big doorway under which I had so often passed with my gripsack and on thequi vivefor a hansom-cab driver. There was a tremendous rattle of fire, the bullets struck the stonework viciously; the hollow pat sounded, and men sank reeling and lay prone under my feet. We piled in and returned the fire. It was all smoke now; nothing distinguishable. “Come on!” came a voice which interlarded itself with the reports, and we went on wildly. We were now out of the smoke, and then I saw, by the light of a fire, figures running. A man fired in our faces. He was sitting up; a bayonet went into him, and he rolled over, clutching his breast with his hands. “The house is on fire!” came the cry, and the infantry continued to discharge on the retreating figures. A great flash lighted everything, and as my senses returned, it came over me “that was a bomb.” I passed my hand over my eyes. The building was on fire. I could see men lying around me breathing heavily and groaning. I got up; a voice said, “Get these men out of here!” “Get these men out of here!” I echoed, as I grabbed a big Irish sergeant, and supporting him under the arms, I strove forward. The living soldiers took hold of the dead and wounded comrades, and bore them back through the smoke and into the street. The station was now on fire, and every onewas highly excited, for these bombs made strange work, and were very demoralizing. They did no particular good to the enemy beyond that point, since they did not stop our advance, and they also demoralized the enemy quite as much as ourselves. There seemed to be no further opposition to the troops. I went back to head-quarters, got my horse, and received permission to go with a detachment of cavalry. We pulled out up Michigan Avenue. We were to scout and make a junction with stock-yard troops out to the south of the city or in Washington Park. The moon was going down, and there was no sound but the clattering of the troops and the jingle of the sabres. We passed a large squad of police, with their lanterns, moving out south to protect private residences and arrest prowlers. Ahead of us we heard three revolver-shots, and galloping forward, we were hailed by a voice from a window. “They have been trying to break into my house, catch them; they are running up the street.” The road here was very wide, with two rows of trees in the centre and narrow grass-plots.
“Come on!” shouted the captain, and spurring up, we moved forward.
“There they are, captain: can’t you see them?” spoke the old first sergeant, as he drove his horse forward to the captain’s side.
We rode over the grass-plot, and, sure enough, forms were seen to run up the steps of houses and behind shrubbery.
“Dismount!—shoot them down!” came the command, and the men sprang forward with a rush. A revolver flashed, and was followed by a dozen carbine-balls, and from the blackness of a high front stoop rolled a figure grunting and gasping. Shot after shot rang through the darkness, and the troopers routed the vermin from step and shrubbery, until shortly it ceased.
“Captain, here is Foltz—he’s been shot; and McInerny—he’s shot too.”
I sprang up the steps of a great stone mansion and pounded on the door with the butt of my six-shooter. A window was raised and a head peered out. “What do you want?”
“We are United States cavalry, and we have two wounded men. Open your doors; we want you to put them to bed,” and the window went down with a bang. Shortly the bolts were drawn, the door opened, and an old gentleman with white hair and carrying a lamp appeared.
“Certainly; bring them right in, captain,” said the old gentleman, and the two men were carefully lifted and borne in by their comrades. I helped to carry one man up-stairs, and to take off his great boots and to strip him.
“Is there a doctor near here, sir?” I asked.
“Right across the street; will I send my man?”
“Yes, and a-running, too,” replied a comrade, who was stanching the blood on the man’s chest with a bed-sheet.
We laid the man out, and I paused to note the splendor of the apartment, and to think it none too good for a brave soldier. The doctor came shortly, and I left the house. The troop was mounted and moved on. From a mansion across the street came a shot and loud shouting. We rode up and dismounted. There was a light in the front room and the door was open. The captain sprang up the steps, followed by ten or twelve men. As we entered we saw a half-dozen of the most vicious-looking wretches I have ever seen. They were evidently drunk, and did not comprehend the import of our presence. One man raised a champagne-bottle and threatened the captain. A carbine flashed—the report was almost deafening—and the drunken man dropped the bottle, threw up his hand, turned half round, and sank with a thud.
“Take these men out and shoot them, sergeant.” And the now thoroughly terrorized revellers, to the number of six, were dragged, swearing and beseeching, to the pavement, and I heard shots.
The room we were in was magnificent, but in the utmost disorder. The floor was strewn with broken bottles, vases, and bric-à-brac.
A form appeared in the door. It was a woman. She was speechless with terror, and her eyes stared, and her hands were clutched. We removed our hats, and the woman closed her eyes slowly.
“Look out, captain, she’s going to faint!” I cried.
The captain slapped his hat on with a crush.
“That’s what she’s going to do,” he said, as he stood like a football-rusher before the ball is put in play.
“Grab her!” I shouted; and, with a bound, the captain made a high tackle just as the lady became limp. Out in the hall I jumped, and yelled, “Oh, you people up-stairs there, come down; come running; the lady has fainted; we are soldiers; come down; come down; come down, somebody!” And from the upper darkness a white-robed figure glided past me into the lighted room.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she said, as she swept up to the rather engaging scene of the beautiful woman and the captain, who was “not glad,” judging from his disconcerted air; and to make a story short, we left the house.
As we mounted we could see the darkness beginning to gray, and knew that morning would come shortly.
“It’s been a nasty night’s work, but if it once comes daylight I’ll leave nothing of these rioters but their horrible memory,” mused the old captain.
“There is a glow in the sky off there—don’t you see?” I added.
“Fire! Oh, I’ve expected that.”
As the light grayed I could see the doors of majestic residences open, windows broken, and débris trailing down the steps.
“Looted.”
“There are people ahead—trot!” said the captain, half turning in his saddle. The bray of the trumpet was followed by the jingle of the forward movement.
The captain pulled off to the side and shouted, “No prisoners, men—no prisoners!” And the column swept along.
We could make out more human forms, all running by the side of the road. There were more and more fugitives as we drew nearer.
“Come on,” sang out the first lieutenant, as he put his horse into a gallop and drew his six-shooter; and shortly we were among them, scattering them like chaff and firing revolver-shots into them. Up the side streets they went, scampering, terrorized.
“I guess they will keep that gait for a mile,” said the lieutenant, as he turned grinning to me. “That is the outfit which has been looting down Michigan Avenue. I wish the light would come, and we’ll give ’em hot stuff.”
At Washington Park we dismounted, and shortly were joined by B Troop from Hordon’s command. They told us they had been fighting all night, and that the stockyards and many buildings were on fire. They had encountered opposition, which seemed to be armed and to have some organization, but, laughing, he said, “They couldn’t stand the ‘hot stuff.’”
After this we made the ride back. It was now light, and as we rode slowly, men dismounted at intervals, and did some pretty work at rather long ranges with the carbines. The enemy would see us coming, and start to run up side streets, and then, riding forward, we dismountedand potted at them, I saw a corporal “get a man” who was running upwards of six blocks away—it was luck, of course. The police were now seen posted along at intervals, and were going into houses to tell the people of the order to remain in-doors for twenty-four hours more, which was the latest from headquarters, and I suppose was intended to give the police and troops an opportunity to seek out armed insurgents.
I got back to camp, dismounted, and, being hungry, bethought me of the Auditorium for breakfast. I didn’t think, after the pounding the hotel had gotten in the early evening previous, that they would come out strong on an early breakfast, but they did fairly well. You remember Ed Kennedy, the popular clerk there—well, he was shot and badly wounded while behind the desk, after the bomb drew our fire. He will get around all right, I am told.
I saw some of the execution of those hundreds of prisoners next day, but I didn’t care to see much. They piled them on flat-cars as though they had been cordwood, and buried them out in the country somewhere. Most of them were hobos, anarchists, and toughs of the worst type, and I think they “left their country for their country’s good.” Chicago is thoroughly worked up now, and if they keep with the present attention to detail, they will have a fine population left. The good citizens have a monster vigilance committee, and I am afraid will do many things which are not entirely just, but it is the reaction from lawlessness, and cannot be helped. They have been terribly exasperated by the rioting and license of the past. Of course, my dear friend, all this never really happened, but it all might very easily have happened if the mob had continued to monkey with the military buzz-saw.
Yours faithfully,Jack.
"WE WERE NOW OUT OF THE SMOKE"
"WE WERE NOW OUT OF THE SMOKE"
“You certainly are a tough outfit, colonel—you and your night-hawks of the First Bikes—and I am not sure you could not have us cavalrymen going to bed with our boots on, if we were on the other side,” said Major Ladigo, as he bit at the end of a fresh cigar.
“Yes—bless me—Pedal’s outfit might come into camp on top of yours, Ladigo, and where would my guns be then? I can’t have my gunners sitting on their trails all day and all night too,” sighed the big gunner, from the other end of the tent.
“It was good work,” continued the old brigadier—“here, boy, pass those glasses—and I have always thought well of the possibilities of that machine in a certain sort of military operations. I don’t think you can chase Apaches with it—in fact, the only way to chase Apaches is to agree to pay about $500 a head for them; and, also, I don’t think, Colonel Pedal—with all due respect for your enthusiasm—that you could ever become of all-absorbing interest in great operations between organized armies, but I do not want to commit myself since you seem to accomplish such feats in these days. If we had not had a really progressive man at the head of the army you would not have had this opportunity; but now, Pedal, all these fellows want to hear about your outfit, and especially how you conducted that affair at North Colville—they allwant to know—go ahead now—we have plenty of time to listen,” and Colonel Pedal of the First Bikes twirled his forage cap in his two hands and grinned pleasantly.
“Well—it was simple enough,” he said.
“Oh yes—it’s simple now, but how did you get at it?” was the remark of encouragement from somewhere.
“Oh, well, you know, when I had organized and drilled this regiment, the people up at headquarters used me in a fussy way as orderlies, messengers, and in light outpost work, until my outfit was scattered all over this country, and that was not my idea at all. I knew by long experiment that bicycles were perfectly mobile in any country not strictly mountainous, and my idea was that I could fight my outfit in a new way; but fight it, that was my idea—and march it, too. I wanted a few holes in that flag, and so I used to go up and labor with the general. I pleaded and begged to be turned loose. So one afternoon the general sent for me, and I went to headquarters.
“He said that a big band of insurgents were gathering and organizing up at North Colville, and that he wanted them destroyed or dispersed, and asked me if I could do it without asking for supports. I knew the old man had all he could do to open the communications to the west, and that he was going to give the bikes a try to prove what they were good for, so I said ‘Yes, sir,’ right away, though I did not know the situation thoroughly; but I wanted a job of that sort, and I was in for it. So he gave me orders to that effect, and after some inquiries I left him. Through spies he knew of this condition, and that all the communications were cut except the marine cable, which he laid in the bed of the Kaween River to Northport, and that was thirty miles from North Colville. I knew that all those upper counties were in a state of insurgency, and my orders were to destroy the rendezvousat North Colville and to then retreat; so my chief concern was to get through the country without being stopped or engaged seriously by intervening bodies of the enemy which I might encounter, and says I to myself, says I, ‘Old man, show ’em what bikes are good for.’ Pardon me if I become enthusiastic. I started down to my command, fell in my men, with two days’ rations and one hundred and fifty rounds. I made my inspection, for, of course, you know, bike soldiers have a very complicated equipment; what with bombs, telegraphic apparatus, tools, and the extra parts of wheels, one must look well to his inspection. They have the Rice equipment—combined cartridge-belts and garment—which enables them to carry almost anything on the shoulder-belt. At five o’clock we pulled out, and at dark found ourselves at our extreme outposts, as I had calculated. I did not want the enemy to see me, as I was afraid of the telegraph, but as I proceeded I tapped the wires and cut them again and again. In fact, I cut wires all night, for fear that they might not have been destroyed, or that they might have been repaired. I ran smoothly through little hamlets, and knew that I could not be overtaken. I made a slight detour around villages of any size, such as Wooddale, Rockville, and Freeport, for fear that the insurgents might be in force enough to detain me. Back of Wellsville I got awfully tangled up in a woods, and, in short, was lost; but I jumped an old cit. out of his cosey bed, put a .45 on the cabin of his intellect, a flash-lantern in his two eyes, and he looked sufficiently honest and intelligent to show us the road, which he did, and we were not detained long.
“I felt fear of Emmittstowne, as I had information that the insurgents were in force there. We picked up a man on the road who seemed to be one of our sympathizers, and he informed us that there were pickets all along theroad which we were travelling, and also mounted patrols. He said that there were a terrible lot of insurgents in Emmittstowne, but mostly drunk.
OFFICER AND MEN—FIRST CYCLE INFANTRY
OFFICER AND MEN—FIRST CYCLE INFANTRY
“Captain Bidewell, who was in command of the advance, did a rather clever piece of work here. He suspected that he would find a picket at a certain place, and sent a dismounted squad on either side of the road, which was bounded by meadow land with stone-walls, brush, and trees on either side, and he himself walked down the road with two men. They talked loudly, as though drunk, and sure enough, were shortly held up by the picket. They surrendered and expostulated in a loud voice, and offered their captors a bottle of whiskey. The advance closed in on them and even got in their rear, and, of course, held up the picket without a shot. A six-shooter argument used on these people shortly disclosed the conditions, and we advanced.”
“Say, colonel, I know that Bidewell; he is organizing a bike regiment out West now—met him as I came through,” interpolated a medical major.
“Yes—nice fellow—held the ten-mile record for two years before this trouble,” replied Pedal; “but, as I was saying—
“Here isHow!gentlemen!
“Well, to continue—to show you a curious phase of bicycling—my advance ran a picket farther along the road and were fired on, but, bless me, they had gone through so quickly and silently that they were not hurt, and the sergeant, who was very wise, dismounted and blew his whistle for us to advance. Bidewell dismounted and immediately advanced, and the picket, hearing his men smashing brush, retreated, and the sergeant turned a pistol loose in their faces and bellowed for them to go out in the road, throw up their hands, and surrender, which they did. Yousee, Colonel Ladigo, it is very hard to estimate bike forces in the night, they go so silently—they simply flit; and when you first notice them you wonder how many have gone before. A sleepy picket is waked up by a lot of bellowing and shots and smashing of brush, and he doesn’t know anything, especially if the row is half in his rear. Well, the shooting must have aroused the village of Emmittstowne, and I made up my mind to run right into the town. The moon was rising, and we could see fairly well; but first I tried a little ruse with the captured picket. We advanced down the road a piece, and the men ensconced themselves in the brush, while one of the captured men stood in the middle of the road. We heard quite a party coming up the road rapidly, and the picket called out to them that it was nothing—that they had fired at some shadows, and that they might go back. Two men actually advanced to him, but he insisted that all was right, and that they might return; in fact, he protested too much, since he knew that he was lying for his life, and that the date of his demise was fixed at the instant he told the truth. We gave the town half an hour to settle down, and then started on a down grade—coasting silently. All was still. There were lights in a few saloons, and a half-dozen men, who were immediately held up and disarmed. There was evidence of a great many people in the village, since wagons and horses stood about, and tents and huts were everywhere except on the main street. I stopped in front of the hotel, and, do you know, my column got three-quarters of the way through the town before we were discovered. My column is three-quarters of a mile long, you must remember, and that was very fortunate. Some one fired a shot from a darkened window of the hotel, and I ordered my men to use their revolvers. A man can shoot a revolver with greataccuracy from a wheel, as it glides so smoothly. Well, there was a deuce of a popping, and it must have fairly riddled the town. The fire was shortly returned, but in a desultory way which did not seem to do any damage, and shortly the tail of the column passed down the street. I had set the hotel on fire before we left, and I really do not think that those fellows know what really happened there yet. I immediately cut the telegraph line, and now had nothing to interfere with my march to North Colville. I had two bikes ruined by shots, and abandoned the riders; but they made their way to our lines later. As we proceeded the country grew more flat, and we made the pedals spin; at times we overtook night prowlers—tramps, for the most part—and one rather large party of drunken insurgents, all of whom we disarmed and left tied to trees and fences along the road. Do you know, Ladigo, that one cannot hear my whole regiment on a road until it is right on top of you. I have frequently seen men ride a bicycle right up beside a man, who never heard a word until ordered to throw up his hands.”
“Oh yes, Pedal, I’d like to catch your outfit at the foot of a long hill; I would fire yellow-legs into you in a way you would despise,” interpolated the impetuous cavalryman, as he blew smoke at the ridge-pole and slapped his one leg over the other in a satisfied way.
“Yes, you might, Ladigo; but I’m going to spend my life trying not to let you catch me at the foot of a long hill, and if you do, you will find about one hundred bicycles piled up in the road, and it makes bad travelling for horses, especially with unshaken infantry pointing at you from behind. Well, in this case, Ladigo, I did not have any of your enterprising yellow-legs to bother me. As I was saying, we went along swimmingly until we struck Cat-tail Creek, and found the bridge burned. It was ratherchilly, but I knew there was no help for it, so we got out our air-cushions and did our little swimming drill right there.”
“What are your air-cushions?” inquired the medical officer with the long pipe.
“They are made of rubber, and blow up, and will sustain five equipments, and weigh fourteen pounds. Every five men have one,” explained Pedal.
“Oh, I see—a quaint scheme!”
“Yes; bikes are perfectly mobile,” continued Pedal, with satisfaction. “As I was saying—oh yes, we got over the river all right, but—” and here he glanced apprehensively at Ladigo—“but I forgot to mention that we lost fifteen bicycles in the passage.”
“Ha-ha! oh yes—there are your dismounted men,” and Colonel Ladigo beamed.
“I think horses would have stuck in the mud of Cattail Creek, Ladigo; fact is, horses are not perfectly mobile. I also neglected to mention that the bicycles were all fished up and joined us later. We halted on a hill off the road an hour before gray dawn, to wait for the command to close up and to eat. There are always bikes which break down, and it takes a little time to repair them; and men will fall and injure themselves more or less. But within an hour I had my command all up except five men, having marched nearly seventy miles in eleven hours, had one engagement, crossed a river. And now, Colonel Ladigo, was that not good work?”
“Oh yes, Pedal, quite good—quite good; could do it myself, though,” and the soul of a cavalryman was bound to assert itself.
“Undoubtedly you could, but not next day.” And Pedal lit a cigar, conscious that he had Ladigo downed, but not finally suppressed.