It was, says the writer, before
the attack at Carency, and he vouches for the accuracy of his report,
for he was himself present. In the little village of Camblain-l'Abbe a
regiment was assembled, and to them spoke their Captain. The scene was
the yard of a farm. I know so well what it was like. The great manure
heap in the middle; the carts under cover, with perhaps one or two
American reapers and binders among them; fowls pecking here and there; a
thin predatory dog nosing about; a cart-horse peering from his stable
and now and then scraping his hoofs; a very wide woman at the
dwelling-house door; the old farmer in blue linen looking on; and there,
drawn up, listening to their Captain, row on row of blue-coated men, all
hard-bitten, weary, all rather cynical, all weather-stained and frayed,
and all ready to go on for ever.
This is what the Captain said--a tall thin man of about thirty, speaking
calmly and naturally as though he was reading a book. "I have just seen
the Colonel," he said; "he has been in conference with the Commandant,
and this is what has been settled. In a day or two it is up to us to
attack.
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