scholastic back stiffens, his elbows go out, his etiolated complexion
corrugates and darkens, his moustaches increase and grow and spread, and
curl up horribly; a large, red scar, a sabre cut, grows lurid over one
eye. He expands--all over he expands. He clears his throat startlingly,
lugs at the still growing ends of his moustache, and says, with just a
faint and fading doubt in his voice as to whether he can do it, "Yas,
Sir!"

Now for a while you listen to General H. G. W., of the Blue Army. You
hear tales of victory. The photographs of the battlefields are by a
woman war-correspondent, A. C. W., a daring ornament of her sex. I
vanish. I vanish, but I will return. Here, then, is the story of the
battle of Hook's Farm.

"The affair of Hook's Farm was one of those brisk little things that
did so much to build up my early reputation. I did remarkably well,
though perhaps it is not my function to say so. The enemy was slightly
stronger, both in cavalry and infantry, than myself [Footnote: A slight
but pardonable error on the part of the gallant gentleman. The forces
were exactly equal.]; he had the choice of position, and opened the
ball. Nevertheless I routed him. I had with me a compact little force of
3 guns, 48 infantry, and 25 horse. My instructions were to clear up the
country to the east of Firely Church.

"We came very speedily into touch. I discovered the enemy advancing upon
Hook's Farm and Firely Church, evidently with the intention of holding
those two positions and giving me a warm welcome. I have by me a
photograph or so of the battlefield and also a little sketch I used upon
the field. They will give the intelligent reader a far better idea of
the encounter than any so-called 'fine writing' can do.