Military life in Italy : sketches - Societa italiana di storia militare

THE CAMP. 223
the boxes, in front of their tents, a book in their hands,
or wander around the solitary corners of the camp among
the soldiers. "To whom are you writing?" asks an officer,
stopping behind a soldier who " is writing. Are you
writing home " " ? Yes, sir," replies the latter, getting on to
"
his knees in order to rise to his feet. No, no, stay where you
"
are ;
and go on." How long since you have been "
learning ?
" " Four months." Let me
"
see. That 's not bad. Bravo !
And on he goes. He stops behind another :
" To whom are
you writing, your father?" The soldier nods in the negative,
smiling as he does so. " To whom then, your mother ? " " No."
" To whom then ? " The soldier continues laughing, twists his
head around into his
shoulder, and with one hand pretends to
play with the sheet in order to hide the first word. " Ah ! I
understand, you rascal." Both those soldiers are contented ;
a
word sufficed to put them in good-humor ; perhaps, later, they
will join the others and dance too. A pleasant word costs so
little !
Let us look on to the road and see who is
coming. Well,
will you tell me what it is that the quartermaster- sergeant is
carrying A ? leather bag swung over his shoulder ? Wait until
that man has got into the camp, until some one has caught sight
of him, until the rumor of his arrival has spread, and then you
will see what a tumult, crowd, and confusion there is. Here
he comes, and makes with quick, stealthy steps for his tent,
looking suspiciously around ;
he tries to pass
unobserved in
order to dash into it, and arrange that mass of papers a little,
for if he does not do so, it will be almost impossible to distribute
them. But it is in vain. A soldier discovers him, turns
to his comrades, and gives a shout of "
joy Letters : ! Let-