Then there were camp-followers who
straggled and could be cut up without fear. Their shrieks would
disturb the white boys, and the loss of their services would
inconvenience them sorely.
Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy became bolder and the
Regiment writhed and twisted under attacks it could not avenge.
The crowning triumph was a sudden night-rush ending in the cutting
of many tent-ropes, the collapse of the sodden canvas, and a
glorious knifing of the men who struggled and kicked below. It was
a great deed, neatly carried out, and it shook the already shaken
nerves of the Fore and Aft. All the courage that they had been
required to exercise up to this point was the "two o'clock in the
morning courage"; and, so far, they had only succeeded in shooting
their comrades and losing their sleep.
Sullen, discontented, cold, savage, sick, with their uniforms
dulled and unclean, the Fore and Aft joined their Brigade.
"I hear you had a tough time of it coming up," said the Brigadier.
But when he saw the hospital-sheets his face fell.
"This is bad," said he to himself. "They're as rotten as sheep."
And aloud to the Colonel - "I'm afraid we can't spare you just
yet. We want all we have, else I should have given you ten days to
recover in.
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