My instructions were to
keep away from the guns, and get killed as soon as possible. As these
instructions were not difficult to follow, I carried them out to the
letter. I stayed away from the guns and I permitted myself to be
killed several times in order to make sure it would take. After that I
became a sort of composite camp follower, deserter and straggler.
In my wandering I chanced upon an ancient enemy of many past
encounters.
"Are you Red or Blue?" I asked, preparing to die for the fifth time.
"No," he answered, sarcastically, "I'm what you might call elephant
ear gray."
"Are you the guy the reporter for the camp paper was referring to in
his last story?" I asked him.
"Yes," he replied, "the slandering blackguard."
"You hit me on the nose with a push-ball," said I.
"I'll do it again," said he.
"That reporter, evidently a man of some observation, said you didn't
wash your neck and that you had the habits of a camel."
"But I do wash my neck," he said, stubbornly, "and I don't know
anything about the habits of a camel, but whatever they might happen
to be, I haven't got 'em."
"Yes," I replied, as if to myself, "you certainly should wash your
neck.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71