They Died with Their Boots On Page #4

with your grades in tactics.

- Hello, Sharp.

- You know each other?

General Blowhard and I

were at academy together.

Sure, that's right, sir. Now, there's

a face I always like to shake hands with.

Better be circumspect

with your squadron commander.

He had. You may have buffaloed through

West Point, but you'll toe the mark here.

Attention!

All right, gentlemen, as you were.

Mr. Custer, sir, just reported.

Well, you arrived

at an opportune moment.

We're moving on Manassas Junction,

attacking at 4 a.m.

Four a.m.? Good! We'll have them

on the run by 4 p.m.

I knew as soon as I got down here,

things would start moving.

Come on, men! Forward!

Dismount! Prepare to fight on foot!

Skirmishes. Guide center.

Forward.

What are you doing, Custer?

Retreat on Centerville.

Holding that bridge until

infantry gets across.

You had your orders.

G-Troop. Prepare to retire.

As you were, G-Troop.

I'm in command, Custer,

as long as I can stand.

That suits me.

Come on, men.

Let's take that bridge.

Ready. Aim. Fire.

Charge.

Fire.

Forward.

Forward.

- Oh, Custer, it's you. Good work.

- General Sheridan. General Sheridan.

- But you're hit, my boy.

- Yeah, I guess I am.

We can't grudge you a couple weeks

in the hospital and chance to go home.

- Now this hand.

- Ladies, please. Isn't that enough?

Florence Nightingale had 30 nurses

to take care of an army.

Takes four of you to give me a bath.

Lieutenant, we want you to

look your best when you get your medal.

I don't want a medal. I want a

beefsteak and a bottle of bourbon.

Attention.

At ease.

- Hello, Custer. How are you, my boy?

- Oh, terrible, sir, terrible.

I get groomed and curried by

these nice ladies eight hours a day, sir.

One of the horrors of war, my boy.

Never mind. You'll be out of here soon.

Mr. Custer, when an officer

disobeys orders in action...

...there can be

one of two consequences:

A firing squad or a medal.

You seem to have drawn

the medal. This time.

Thank you, sir.

That kind of balances me up.

Ounce of lead in my right shoulder,

an ounce of silver on my left.

- Is there anything else you need?

- Yes, there is one thing, sir.

- What's that?

- A letter of introduction.

- To whom?

- To a Mr. Bacon, sir. Of Monroe.

- He's an acquaintance of yours.

- Yes, he is. He...

But you're from Monroe.

- You ought to know Mr. Bacon.

- I'm not from his side of town.

I see. All right, my boy.

- I'll write that letter.

- Thank you, sir.

I don't suppose you

happen to know that...

...Mr. Bacon is the father

of a pretty young woman?

Oh, is that so?

Well, take care of that shoulder.

Good luck, my boy.

Thank you, sir.

Squad, at ease.

Ladies, I owe you a debt of gratitude

that no words of mine can ever repay.

Your ministrations performed

a miracle and hastened my recovery.

Thank you, Lieutenant Custer.

And now, I'm getting up.

- Oh, no. What?

- Lieutenant, you can't. You mustn't.

- Oh, but I can and I must.

- Oh, no.

- You're not well enough.

- Squad, attention.

Ladies, I bid you a fond farewell.

Squad, at ease.

- What are we going to do?

- Lieutenant Custer, come back here.

That's a fine song, sir. What is it?

A brother cavalier, what? Butler, sir.

"Queen's Own" Butler they call me.

Late of the 5th Royal Lancers,

presently of the 1 st Michigan Cavalry.

- Very happy. Custer, 2nd U.S. Cavalry.

- Custer?

- I say, not the bloke at Bull Run?

- Yeah.

- Won't you sit down, sir?

- Thanks.

Hi, tapster. Unlimber that old spigot arm

of yours. There are pots to be tossed.

- Won't you join us in a drink?

- No, thanks.

Mustn't have liquor

on my breath today...

...but I'd be glad to buy

you gentlemen a round.

Tell me, how did you join

the 1 st Michigan?

Well, I couldn't spell Connecticut.

It speaks for itself, eh?

But, sir, you asked about the song.

The name is "Garryowen."

The 5th Royal Lancers rather fancied it

because it goes jolly well on a horse.

- I'd like to learn that song.

- I'm the lad to teach you.

All right, boys, together now.

Oh, good day, Mr. Bacon.

Oh, good day, Mr. Cartwright.

I hardly expected to meet you in this part

of town. I'm here collecting the rent.

Whenever it falls due, I wish my family

had never acquired the property.

When the lease is up, I intend to see

the new tenant puts it to better use.

That is a consummation

devoutly to be wished.

- It's a blot on the face of our community.

- Yes, yes.

- Well, good day, Mr. Bacon.

- Good day.

You.

Tell Mr. Sullivan

I wish to see him on business.

Find him yourself. I'm busy.

How dare you address me with such

insolence? I'm here to collect the rent.

- Be quiet, you drunken riffraff.

- Riffraff?

I advise you to be

careful of your words.

I'd advise you to be

more careful of your uniform.

Bringing disgrace on it

with drunken behavior.

What? Drunken?

Why, you fat little pipsqueak.

This gentleman's a soldier.

He stands in battle and gets shot at so

sanctimonious little skinflints like you...

...can run around in safety

doing business as usual.

And if he wants to get drunk while he's

on leave, what business is it of yours?

Hear, hear. That's telling the old blighter

where he gets off, eh, what?

If you don't like our society,

why barge in on it?

I'm here because I prefer to collect the

rent of this establishment personally...

...rather than expose my clerks to such

an atmosphere of degrading debauchery.

Degrading debauchery?

The chap's quite an orator, what?

Your conduct is only what

I would expect from a foreigner.

But as for you, sir, you're a disgrace

to the Union Army.

Drum him out, Queen's Own.

- Do I have to drink the tea every time?

- Lf you want the fortune to come true.

That's the fourth time today

I done read the tea leaves.

Keep drinking tea like that, and you's

going to turn as yellow as a canary.

Onions.

One. Two. Three.

There. I made my wish.

You going to get that wish all

wore out before it comes true.

Here we is, you and me,

asking our fortune from the tea.

Look in the cup and I'll see...

...what I see.

Now, now, what's this I see?

What's this?

Appears to be like a bird. Yes.

Here's his wings spreading out.

He's flying this way.

Oh, yes, Callie, I can see it's a bird,

but what does it mean?

- It's a message coming straight to you.

- From him?

Give me time, Miss Libby,

give me time.

What's that tall and straight

walking beside the bird?

- Oh, let me see.

- Don't touch it, Miss Libby.

You'll spoil the spell.

Why, I declare, it's a man.

Now, what's he doing? He's pulling on

something with his left hand.

- Now, what can that be?

- A horse. He's in the Cavalry.

No, it ain't a horse.

Ain't a gun. It's, it's...

- No, it ain't a sword, neither.

- Oh, Callie.

- I's got it, I's got it!

- What?

It's a doorbell.

- Somebody's got to answer the door.

- And that somebody ain't me.

- That's magic, that bell.

- Oh, nonsense, Callie. It's all right.

Go on, Callie, answer it.

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