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"Bring ... your ... men ... over ... carefully ... in ... extended ... order!" The words floated across on the wind. Feeling that he would like to see his men all safely across before he left any of them, the Subaltern motioned to the Sergeant to lead them, and they set off in a long, dotted and irregular line towards the thicket. "Hurry ... them ... up. Hurry!" shouted the Adjutant.
A penniless subaltern was a gentleman, while he could never think of a man hi business as one. All the faces in the street belonged to a strange, busy world outside his interest and thoughts. They formed what was known as the public, often making a clatter About things which they did not understand, when they Should obey the orders of their superiors.
"Come in and have a smoke, Parker," said the Major cheerily. The subaltern entered and helped himself to a cigarette from an open box on the table before looking for a chair in the scantily-furnished room. As he struck a match he said, "Ismail Khan tells me you've just had trouble with that surly beast, Chand Khan". Dermot told him what had occurred. "What a soor!
After that, he sat in a corner, smoking and languidly looking about, for he had been hard at work since early morning. Two or three subaltern officers from a neighboring camp stood by the table, besides several other men whose sunburned faces indicated a country life. The carpets and furniture were getting shabby, but the room was large and handsome, with well-molded cornices and paneled ceiling.
"I'm only a subaltern a bit of machinery that is wound up sometimes by my superior officers, and then I turn round till I'm stopped. Subalterns are not expected to have any brains, or to think for themselves." "Now you are exaggerating," I said. "Not a bit of it, my little man. But I know what I should have done if I had been chief." "What's that?"
The subaltern in command sits on the highest rock inside; the men sit and lie about him, sleeping, smoking, reading, sewing, knitting. It might almost be a Dorcas meeting. I won the bet. Nov. 14. The liveliest day's bombardment yet. A party of officers who live in the main street were waiting for breakfast.
Of an active and intriguing spirit, he had been long employed as a subaltern agent and spy by those in the confidence of the Chevalier, to an extent beyond what was suspected even by Fergus Mac-Ivor, whom, though obliged to him for protection, he regarded with fear and dislike.
A diligent subaltern could explain to Herr Duehring how at the present day the making of war is dependent upon the productivity and means of communication of the back country as well as of the theatre of war. In short, economic conditions and means of power are always the things which help "force" to victory, and without them "force" comes to an end.
There were the usual signs of German occupation broken windows, ravaged shops, and, of course, the inevitable bottles. Here it was that the Subaltern noticed for the first time that the Huns had a distinctive smell of their own. It was a curious smell, completely baffling description.
Well, you're like a young officer a subaltern they call it, don't they? in a Kipling story, a fellow that's under orders, and it's part of his game to play hard and keep his mouth shut and to not criticize his superior officers, ain't it?" "Oh, I suppose so, but " "Well, it's just the same with you. Can't you see that? Think it over.
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