Waterbury Democrat., 1901-04-12

expedition commanded by Gen. Vim ton were paraded for inspection in full marching order, while dozen other commands less fortunate looked enviously on.
 In front of the guard-house at the Presidio dozen cavalrymen armed with the new carbine and dressed throughout for winter service, this being San Francisco June, had formed ranks under command of a sergeant and stood silently at ease awaiting the coming of the officer of the day. The accurate fit of their warm overcoats, the cut of their trooper trousers, the polish of their brasses and buttons, the snug, trim "set" of their belts, all combined to tell the skilled observer that these were regulars.
 At brief. curt Sergeant, get out your prisoners" from the beardless lips of a young lieutenant, there was instant fumbling of big keys and clanking of iron from the hidden re- cesses of the guard-house.
 The dismounted troopers sprang suddenly to attention. The guard split in two at it's middle, each half facing outward, marched half dozen paces away like the duelists of old days from the back to back position, halted, faced front once more, and stood again at ease, with broad gap of dozen paces between their inner Hanks.
 Into this space, shuffling dejectedly in some cases, stalking defiantly in others, sinking, shivering and de- crepit in the case of two or three poor wrecks of the rum fiend, a stream of humanity in soiled soldier garb came pouring from the prison door and lined up under the eyes of vigilant non-commissioned officers in front of the young lieutenant in com mand.
 There they stood, their eyes shift ing nervously from group to group of huddling spectators, their shoul- ders hunched up to their ears-the riff-raf of the garrison-the few des- perate, dangerous characters from the surrounding camps, an uncouth, uncanny lot at any time, but looking it's worst in the drip of the floating fog-wreaths and the gloom and de- spond of dying day. The boom of the sunset gun from Alcatraz fell sullen- ly on the ear even as the soft trumpet of the cavalry, close at hand, began sounding the retreat" At its last prolonged note the sharp crack of an old three-inch rife echoed the report from Alcatraz, and from the invisible, mist-shrouded top of the staff the dripping folds of the storm-hag came Tapping down in view, limp and bedraggled, and the guard sprang again to attention as burly, red faced, hearty-looking soldier, with a captains insignia in loop and braid on.the sleeves of his oyercoat, broke way through the group of lockers on and, barely waiting for the salute and report of the young lieutenant, commanding, began sharp scrutiny of the prisoners before him.
 Down along the line he went, until at the fourth man from the left in the front rank he stopped short. A bulky, thick-set soldier stood there, a sullen, semi-defiant look about his eyes, grim set to the jaws bristling with week-old beard of dirty black. Then came the snapping colloquy:
 "YouF name Murray?" "That's what they call me-"
 "What was your name before that?"
 "Jim."
 Whereat there was a litter in the ranks of prisoners. Some of the guard even allowed their mouths to expand. and the groups of yolun- terrs, chuckling in keen enjoyment, came edging in closer. Instantly the voice of the officer of the guard was heard ordering si- lence, and faces strengthened out in the twinkling of an eye. The elder officer, the captain, grew trife redder, but he was master of himself and the situation. It is with schoolboys as with soldiers, their impudence cannot annoy. The off cer of the day let no tone of temper into his next question. Looking straight into the shifting eyes, he waited for perfect silence, and then spoke:
 Jim what? wish the name un- der which you served in your previous enlistment"
 Never said I'd served before"
 "No. You declared you had not. But know better. You're deserter from the Seventh cavalry"
 The face under the shrouding cam paign hat went gray white with sud- den twitch of the muscles, then set again, rigid and defiant. The eyes snapped angrily. The answer was sharp, yet seemed, as soldiers say, to hang fire" second.
 "Never seen the Seventh cavalry in my life"
 The officer of the day turned and beckoned to a figure hitherto kept well in the background, screened by the groups of surrounding yolun- teers. A man of middle age, smooth shaven and stout, dressed in business sack-suit, came sturdily forward and took position by the captains side.
 At sight of the newcomer Murray's face, that had regained bit of it's ruddy hue, again turned dirty white,