A Grey Sleeve

I

"It looks as if it might rain this afternoon," remarked the lieutenant
of artillery.

"So it does," the infantry captain assented. He glanced casually at the
sky. When his eyes had lowered to the green-shadowed landscape before
him, he said fretfully: "I wish those fellows out yonder would quit
pelting at us. They've been at it since noon."

At the edge of a grove of maples, across wide fields, there
occasionally appeared little puffs of smoke of a dull hue in this gloom
of sky which expressed an impending rain. The long wave of blue and
steel in the field moved uneasily at the eternal barking of the far-away
sharpshooters, and the men, leaning upon their rifles, stared at the
grove of maples. Once a private turned to borrow some tobacco from a
comrade in the rear rank, but, with his hand still stretched out, he
continued to twist his head and glance at the distant trees. He was
afraid the enemy would shoot him at a time when he was not looking.

Suddenly the artillery officer said: "See what's coming!"

Along the rear of the brigade of infantry a column of cavalry was
sweeping at a hard gallop. A lieutenant, riding some yards to the right
of the column, bawled furiously at the four troopers just at the rear of
the colours. They had lost distance and made a little gap, but at the
shouts of the lieutenant they urged their horses forward. The bugler,
careering along behind the captain of the troop, fought and tugged like
a wrestler to keep his frantic animal from bolting far ahead of the
column.

On the springy turf the innumerable hoofs thundered in a swift storm of
sound. In the brown faces of the troopers their eyes were set like bits
of flashing steel.

The long line of the infantry regiments standing at ease underwent a
sudden movement at the rush of the passing squadron. The foot soldiers
turned their heads to gaze at the torrent of horses and men.

The yellow folds of the flag fluttered back in silken, shuddering
waves, as if it were a reluctant thing. Occasionally a giant spring of a
charger would rear the firm and sturdy figure of a soldier suddenly head
and shoulders above his comrades. Over the noise of the scudding hoofs
could be heard the creaking of leather trappings, the jingle and clank
of steel, and the tense, low-toned commands or appeals of the men to
their horses; and the horses were mad with the headlong sweep of this
movement. Powerful under jaws bent back and straightened, so that the
bits were clamped as rigidly as vices upon the teeth, and glistening
necks arched in desperate resistance to the hands at the bridles.
Swinging their heads in rage at the granite laws of their lives, which
compelled even