"
"It's hut little I care, anyway, for such botherment; but fighting is
no play, and a body shouldn't be particular how they strike, or who they
hit, so it's the inimy."
"Are we likely to have a warm day, Captain Lawton?"
"'Tis more than probable," replied the trooper; "these militia seldom
fail of making a bloody field, either by their cowardice or their
ignorance, and the real soldier is made to suffer for their
bad conduct."
"Are you ill, John?" said the surgeon, passing his hand along the arm of
the captain, until it instinctively settled on his pulse; but the
steady, even beat announced neither bodily nor mental malady.
"Sick at heart, Archibald, at the folly of our rulers, in believing that
battles are to be fought and victories won, by fellows who handle a
musket as they would a flail; lads who wink when they pull a trigger,
and form a line like a hoop pole. The dependence we place on these men
spills the best blood of the country."
The surgeon listened with amazement. It was not the matter, but the
manner that surprised him. The trooper had uniformly exhibited, on the
eve of battle, an animation, and an eagerness to engage, that was
directly at variance with the admirable coolness of his manner at other
times. But now there was a despondency in the tones of his voice, and a
listlessness in his air, that was entirely different.
Pages:
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606