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Updated: June 23, 2025
Charging down the narrow track was a huge animal of the buffalo tribe, commonly known in Central Africa as a "bush-cow." The ground trembled under the thud of the brute's ponderous weight as it rushed at terrific speed to attack the khaki-clad blacks. One man alone stood his ground.
It was noon when we arrived here, and we found that quite a few had adopted the idea, for a long line of hungry khaki-clad men were awaiting their turn at the mess hall. The first battle of Lake Champlain occurred near here as early as 1609, when Samuel de Champlain, with two other white men, led the Algonquins and Hurons in an attack upon their enemies, the Mohawks.
Through its streets its narrow, winding streets, old and low and dark, carven and quaint, poured thousands upon thousands of strange feet of khaki-clad foreigners, and the echoes threw back awkward syllables that were never French.
"But as we take up our course in surveying, with the additional interest of its geological significance, we may like to remember that we are following in the footsteps of no less a man than George Washington!" Promptly at nine o'clock on the following Monday morning, a clean-cut, well-knit, strong-featured young man stood before an eager-faced group of khaki-clad scouts in Pioneer Camp.
Wrapped in sheepskins and muffled to the ears in knitted scarves that might have come from New England, the territorials who had charge of the road were filling the ruts with crushed rock. Exhaustion had begun to tell on the horses; many lay dead and snowy in the frozen fields. A detachment of khaki-clad, red-fezzed colonial troops passed by, bent to the storm.
Slowly we crept across the open veldt, our men stretching from east to west for fully six miles. There was no moving of solid masses of men, no solid grouping of troops; no two men marched shoulder to shoulder, a gap showed plainly between each of the khaki-clad figures as we moved on to the rugged, broken line of kopjes.
It was a grim looking procession the head of it, at least. There were four khaki-clad trumpeters from the Royal Horse Guards, the gay and resplendent uniforms which they should have donned today conspicuous for their absence. From their brazen bugles sounded another loud fanfare, and then they separated, two upon each side of the aisle, and between them marched three men.
Mrs. Adams stepped toward him. The man turned and smiled. She gazed with awakening astonishment at the dusty, khaki-clad figure, the cool gray eyes beneath the high-crowned sombrero, and last at the extended hand. Without meeting the man's eyes, she shook hands. "Jim! How did you know?" she queried, her voice trembling. "I heard of you at Nogales. I wasn't looking for you then.
By twos and threes and dozens, they sprang up out of their hiding-places, and bolted like rabbits. With exulting shouts the Colonials charged after them, ran them down and bayoneted them. The slaughter was fearful. As the khaki-clad line swept onwards they left the ground behind them thick with dead bodies. They themselves lost, of course, but only slightly.
There is no illusion, and no dreaming, in modern life. Look at this street. La, la!" In the darkened Strand, hundreds of khaki-clad figures and girls were streaming by, and all their voices had a hard, half-jovial vulgarity. The motor-cabs and buses pushed along remorselessly; newspaper-sellers muttered their ceaseless invitations.
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