The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1900-10-19
CASHIERED.
By Andrew Balfour.
Observation-Disclosures

THE lieutenant was but boy, q
product of the English public
school and of Sandhurst, with an in
cipient mustache and face which
six months before had been fresh and
ruddy as fox hunters at Christmas
tide. But the dreaded west coast had
done its work, in part at least; and
it was haggard, weary, yellow yis-
age which, with pair of field glasses,
swept the dull green fringe of the re-
lentless bush, and then turned to the
little garrison. The lieutenant gave
an order, pointed with his nnger, and
from loophole in the stockade came
a flash, sharp report. As if in an
swer to d summons, black shape
sprang up from the edge of the for
est cover, screamed wildly, and with
convulsive twitchings pitched out
into the open, rolled over and over,
and lay still.
Ready, lads" sang out their off,
GER; and the men of the frontier po-
lice prepared to do as they had done
every day and many night for the
past six weeks.
They were dusky lot, in ragged
uniforms, with cheek bones which
told tale of want of food, parched
lips which were evidence of the mud
dy, brackish water that could scarce
ly moisten them and yet was all their
comfort, and fierce, wild eyes which
spoke TO wakeful nights and dread
uncertainty. Day and night, night
and day, had they watched and fought
and suffered, and still the old flag
dropped idly from its post in the
simmePing heat, and still they waited
for relief with hope which waned
within them.
The lieutenant looked to his re-
volver, and with fingers which trem-
bled little rolled a thin cigarette
and tried hard to muster up CHEEKY
smile. 1t was sorry attempt, for his
nerves were giving way, and there
was that in his blood which saps all
joviality and makes the liver in very
truth a seat of melancholy. There
had been little loss in men, for the
stockade was strong and high, and
lead-coated stones and pot-legs,
though ugly missiles, are none too
efficient as regards the searching of
loopholes at 80 and 100 yards; but to
the lieutenant the scorching suns
rays, the empty stomach, tie dry and
burning throat, the want of sleep,
and the utter loneliness were as bad
may, worse-than the loss of half a
dozen black fellows, faithful to the
death though these might be.
1t was his first experience of war,
and there was no glory in the bust
ness. If he failed, few would ever
learn that Fort Mutt had held out to
the bitter end against terrible odds,
and fewer still would care. Mems
minds were busy elsewhere, for the
west coast was not all Africa, and
trouble was brewing with men of an
other color and another cline. For
all that, the lieutenant had done his
duty, and much more than he imag-
ined, for many things unknown to
him depended on the safety of his
outpost.
"Here they comei" he cried sud-
denly, and from every quarter of the
encircling forest darted white puffs of
smoke, and noises innumerable filed
the air-the sharp rine crack, the
heavy boom of the elephant gun, the
bang. bang, of fiintlock musgets, and
then the battle yell of savage foe.
There was no answer from Fort Mutt.
Its defenders could not afford to
waste powder on the scrub; but now
came the rush. A horde of savages,
their hair frizzed out into fantastic
patterns. their bodies naked save for
the loin cloth, bounded into the open
and raced towards the palisades.
"Give it them, menl" yelled the
lieutenant, and they got it. 1t was
the old Martini which served the
black police, and the Martini bullet
has driving power. At such a range,
in such a mass of humanity, each
leaden messenger found plethora
of billets both temporary and perma-
nent. and the assailants found things
too hot for them. A few, fanatics all,
escaped the deadly hail ana sprang at
the defenses, only to be dashed to
earth with the butt or run through
with the bayonet.
'sThe children of the white devil''
had conquered once again. 1t could