Active Service - Stephen Crane (librera reader .TXT) 📗

Suddenly Lent

Their Horses To Some Other People,  And After Cursing this

Versatility Of Interest,  He Summoned his Henchmen And They

Moved out On Foot,  Following the Sound Of The Creaking wheels.

They Came In time To A Bridge,  And On The Side Of This Bridge

Was A Hard Military Road Which Sprang Away In two Directions,

North And West. Some Troops Were Creeping out The Westward

Way And The Dragoman Pointing at Them                                    

Said: " They Going prevasa. That Is Road To Nikopolis."

Coleman Grinned from Ear To Car And Slapped

His Dragoman Violently On The Shoulder. For A Moment He

Intended to Hand The Man A Louis Of Reward,  But He Changed his

Mind.

 

Their Traps Were In the Way Of Being heavy,  But They Minded

Little Since The Dragoman Was Now A Victim Of The Influence Of

Coleman'S Enthusiasm. The Road Wound Along The Base Of The

Mountain Range,  Sheering around The Abutments In wide White

Curves And Then Circling into Glens Where Immense Trees Spread

Their Shade Over It. Some Of The Great Trunks Were Oppressed

With Vines Green As Garlands,  And These Vines Even Ran Like

Verdant Foam Over The Rocks. Streams Of Translucent Water

Showered down From The Hills,  And Made Pools In which Every

Pebble,  Every Eaf Of A Water Plant Shone With Magic Lustre,  And If

The Bottom Of A Pool Was Only Of Clay,  The Clay Glowed with

Sapphire Light. The Day Was Fair. The Country Was Part Of That

Land Which Turned the Minds Of Its Ancient Poets Toward A More

Tender Dreaming,  So That Indeed their Nymphs Would Die,  One Is

Sure,  In the Cold Mythology Of The North With Its Storms Amid The

Gloom Of Pine Forests. It Was All Wine To Coleman'S Spirit. It

Enlivened him To Think Of Success With Absolute Surety. To Be

Sure One Of His Boots Began Soon To Rasp His Toes,  But He Gave

It No Share Of His Attention. They Passed at A Much Faster Pace

Than The Troops,  And Everywhere They Met Laughter And Confidence

And The Cry. " On To Prevasa! "

 

At Midday They Were At The Heels Of The Advance Battalion,

Among Its Stragglers,  Taking its White Dust Into Their Throats And

Eyes. The Dragoman Was Waning and He Made A Number Of

Attempts To Stay Coleman,  But No One Could Have Had Influence

Upon Coleman'S Steady Rush With His Eyes Always Straight To

The Front As If Thus To Symbolize His Steadiness Of Purpose.

Rivulets Of Sweat Marked the Dust On His Face,  And Two Of His

Toes Were Now Paining as If They Were Being burned off. He Was

Obliged to Concede A Privilege Of Limping,  But He Would Not

Stop.

 

At Nightfall They Halted with The Outpost Batallion Of The

Infantry. All The Cavalry Had In the Meantirne Come Up And They

Saw Their Old Friends. There Was A Village From Which The

Christian Peasants Came And Cheered like A Trained chorus.

Soldiers Were Driving a Great Flock Of Fat Sheep Into A Corral.

They Had Belonged to A Turkish Bey And They Bleated as If They

Knew That They Were Now Mere Spoils Of War. Coleman Lay On The

Steps Of The Bey'S House Smoking with His Head On His Blanket

Roll. Camp Fires Glowed off In the Fields. He Was Now About Four

Miles From Nikopolis.

 

Within The House,  The Commander Of The Cavalry Was Writing

Dispatches. Officers Clanked up And Down The Stairs. The

Dashing young Captain Came And Said That There Would Be A General

Assault On Prevasa At The Dawn Of The Next Day. Afterward The Dragoman

Descended upon The Village And In some Way Wrenched a Little Grey Horse

From An Inhabitant. Its Pack Saddle Was On Its Back And It Would

Very Handily Carry The Traps. In this Matter The Dragoman Did Not

Consider His Master; He Considered his Own Sore Back.

 

Coleman Ate More Bread And Chocolate Tablets And Also Some

Tinned sardines. He Was Content With The Day'S Work. He Did Not

See How He Could Have Improved it. There Was Only One Route By

Which The Wainwright Party Could Avoid Him,  And That Was By

Going to Prevasa And Thence Taking ship. But Since Prevasa Was

Blockaded by A Greek Fleet,  He Conceived that Event To Be

Impossible. Hence,  He Had Them Hedged on This Peninsula And

They Must Be Either At Nikopolis Or Prevasa. He Would Probably

Know All Early In the Morning. He Reflected that He Was Too Tired

To Care If There Might Be A Night Attack And Then Wrapped in his

Blankets He Went Peacefully To Sleep In the Grass Under A Big

Tree With The Crooning of Some Soldiers Around Their Fire

Blending into His Slumber.

 

And Now,  Although The Dragoman Had Performed a Number Of

Feats Of Incapacity,  He Achieved during the One Hour Of

Coleman'S Sleeping a Blunder Which For Real Finish Was Simply A

Perfection Of Art. When Coleman,  Much Later,  Extracted the Full

Story,  It Appeared that Ringing. Events Happened during that Single

Hour Of Sleep. Ten Minutes After He Had Lain Down For A Night Of

Oblivion,  The Battalion Of Infantry,  Which Had Advanced a Little Beyond

The Village,  Was Recalled and Began A Hurried night March Back On The

Way It Had So Festively Come. It Was Significant Enough To Appeal

To Almost Any Mind,  But The Dragoman Was Able To Not

Understand It. He Remained jabbering to Some Acquaintances

Among The Troopers. Coleman Had Been Asleep His Hour When The

Dashing young Captain Perceived the Dragoman,  And Completely

Horrified by His Presence At That Place,  Ran To Him And Whispered

To Him Swiftly That The Game Was To Flee,  Flee,  Flee. The Wing of The

Army Which Had Advanced northward Upon Jannina Had Already

Been Tumbled back By The Turks And All The Other Wing had Been

Recalled to The Louros River And There Was Now Nothing practically

Between Him And His Sleeping master And The Enemy But A Cavalry

Picket. The Cavalry Was Immediately Going to Make A Forced

March To The Rear. The Stricken Dragoman Could Even Then See

Troopers Getting into Their Saddles. He,  Rushed to,  The,  Tree,  And

In. A Panic Simply Bundled coleman Upon His Feet Before He Was

Awake. He Stuttered out His Tale,  And The Dazed,  Correspondent

Heard It Punctuated by The Steady Trample Of The Retiring cavalry.

The Dragoman Saw A Man'S Face Then Turn In a Flash From An

Expression Of Luxurious Drowsiness To An Expression Of Utter

Malignancy. However,  He Was In too Much Of A Hurry To Be Afraid

Of It; He Ran Off To The Little Grey Horse And Frenziedly But

Skilfully Began To Bind The Traps Upon The Packsaddle. He

Appeared in a Moment Tugging at The Halter. He Could Only

Say: "Come! Come! Come! Queek! Queek! " They Slid Hurriedly

Down A Bank To The Road And Started to Do Again That Which

They Had Accomplished with Considerable Expenditure Of

Physical Power During the Day. The Hoof Beats Of The Cavalry

Had Already Died away And The Mountains Shadowed them In

Lonely Silence. They Were The Rear Guard After The Rear Guard.

 

The Dragoman Muttered hastily His Last Dire Rumours. Five

Hundred circassian Cavalry Were Coming. The Mountains Were

Now Infested with The Dread Albanian Irregulars,  Coleman Had

Thought In his Daylight Tramp That He Had Appreciated the Noble

Distances,  But He Found That He Knew Nothing of Their Nobility

Until He Tried this Night Stumbling. And The Hoofs Of The Little

Horse Made On The Hard Road More Noise Than Could Be Made By

Men Beating with Hammers Upon Brazen Cylinders. The

Correspondent Glanced continually Up At The Crags. From The

Other Side He Could Sometimes Hear The Metallic Clink Of Water

Deep Down In a Glen. For The First Time In his Life He Seriously

Opened the Flap Of His Holster And Let His Fingers Remain On The

Handle Of His Revolver. From Just In front Of

Him He Could Hear The Chattering of The Dragoman'S Teeth Which

No Attempt At More Coolness Could Seem To Prevent. In the

Meantime The Casual Manner Of The Little Grey Horse Struck

Coleman With Maddening vividness. If The Blank Darkness Was

Simply Filled with Ferocious Albanians,  The Horse Did Not Care A

Button; He Leisurely Put His Feet Down With A Resounding ring.

Coleman Whispered hastily To The Dragoman. " If They Rush Us,

Jump Down The Bank,  No Matter How Deep It Is. That'S Our Only

Chance. And Try To Keep Together."

 

All They Saw Of The Universe Was,  In front Of Them,

A Place Faintly Luminous Near Their Feet,  But Fading in

Six Yards To The Darkness Of A Dungeon. This Repre-

Sented the Bright White Road Of The Day Time. It Had

No End. Coleman Had Thought That He Could Tell

From The Very Feel Of The Air Some Of The Landmarks Of

His Daytime Journey,  But He Had Now No Sense Of

Location At All. He Would Not Have Denied that He

Was Squirming on His Belly Like A Worm Through Black

Mud.

They Went On And On. Visions Of His Past Were Sweeping

Through Coleman'S Mind Precisely As They Are Said To Sweep

Through The Mind Of A Drowning person. But He Had No Regret

For Any Bad Deeds; He Regretted merely Distant Hours Of Peace

And Protection. He Was No Longer A Hero Going to Rescue His

Love. He Was A Slave Making a Gasping attempt To Escape

From The Most Incredible Tyranny Of Circumstances. He Half

Vowed to Himself That If The God Whom He Had In no Wise

Heeded,  Would Permit Him To Crawl Out Of This Slavery He Would

Never Again Venture A Yard Toward A Danger Any Greater Than

May Be Incurred from The Police Of A Most Proper Metropolis. If

His Juvenile And Uplifting thoughts Of Other Days Had

Reproached him He Would Simply Have Repeated and Repeated:

"Adventure Be Damned."

 

It Became Known To Them That The Horse Had To Be Led. The

Debased creature Was Asserting its Right To Do As It Had Been

Trained,  To Follow Its Customs; It Was Asserting this Right During

A Situation Which Required conduct Superior To All Training and

Custom. It Was So Grossly Conventional That Coleman Would

Have Understood That Demoniac Form Of Anger Which Sometimes

Leads Men To Jab Knives Into Warm Bodies. Coleman From

Cowardice Tried to Induce The Dragoman To Go Ahead Leading the

Horse,  And The Dragoman From Cowardice Tried to Induce

Coleman To Go Ahead Leading the Horse. Coleman Of Course

Had To Succumb. The Dragoman Was Only Good To Walk Behind

And Tearfully Whisper Maledictions As He Prodded the Flanks Of

Their Tranquil Beast.

 

In The Absolute Black Of The Frequent Forests,  Coleman Could

Not See His Feet And He Often Felt Like A Man Walking forward To

Fall At Any Moment Down A Thousand Yards Of Chasm. He Heard

Whispers; He Saw Skulking figures,  And These Frights Turned out To Be The

Voice Of A Little Trickle Of Water Or The Effects Of Wind Among The

Leaves,  But They Were Replaced by The Same Terrors In slightly

Different Forms.

 

Then The Poignant Thing interpolated. A Volley Crashed

Ahead Of Them Some Half Of A Mile Away And Another Volley

Answered from A Still Nearer Point. Swishing noises Which The

Correspondent Had Heard In the Air He Now Know To Have Been

From The Passing of Bullets. He And The Dragoman Came Stock

Still. They Heard Three Other Volleys Sounding with The Abrupt

Clamour Of A Hail Of Little Stones Upon A Hollow Surface. Coleman

And The Dragoman Came Close Together And Looked into The

Whites Of Each Other'S Eyes. The Ghastly Horse At That Moment

Stretched down His Neck And Began Placidly To Pluck The Grass

At The Roadside. The Two Men Were Equally Blank With Fear And

Each Seemed to Seek In the Other Some Newly Rampant Manhood

Upon Which He Could Lean At This Time. Behind Them Were The

Turks. In front Of Them Was A Fight In the Darkness. In front It

Was Mathematic To Suppose In fact Were Also The Turks. They

Were Barred; Enclosed; Cut Off. The End Was Come.

 

Even At That Moment They Heard From Behind Them The Sound

Of Slow,  Stealthy Footsteps. They  Both Wheeled instantly,

Choking with This Additional Terror. Coleman Saw The Dragoman

Move Swiftly To The Side Of The Road,  Ready To Jump Into

Whatever Abyss Happened to Be There. Coleman Still Gripped the Halter

As If It Were In truth A Straw. The Stealthy Footsteps

Were Much Nearer. Then It Was That An Insanity Came

Upon Him As If Fear Had Flamed up Within Him Until It

Gave Him All The Magnificent Desperation Of A Madman.

He Jerked the Grey Horse Broadside To The Approaching

Mystery,  And Grabbing out His Revolver

Aimed it From The Top Of His Improvised bulwark. He

Hailed the Darkness.

 

"Halt. Who'S There?" He Had Expected his Voice To Sound Like

A Groan,  But Instead It Happened to Sound Clear,  Stern,

Commanding,  Like The Voice Of A Young Sentry At An

Encampment Of Volunteers. He Did