Christine Blashford
speaker
728 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Jul 2026
last heard 21 Jul
Christine Blashford’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Jul 2026 with 1.
Appearances
Strange figure indeed, yet soldierly to the last degree, despite the oddity of the entire makeup.
The fur trimmed cap of embroidered buckskin sat jauntily on black and glossy curls that hung about the brawny neck and shoulders.
The buckskin coat, heavily fringed as to the short cape and the shorter skirt, was thickly covered with Indian embroidery of bead and porcupine quill.
So too were the fringed trousers and leggings, so too the moccasins sold with thick yet pliant hide.
He and black eyes shone from beneath heavy black brows just sprinkled as were the thick moustache and imperial with grey.
The lean jowls were closely shaved, the nose was straight and fine, the chin square and resolute.
The face and hands were tanned by sun and wind, well nigh as dark as many a Sioux, but in that strange garb there stood revealed one of the famous sergeants of a famous regiment, the veteran of a quarter century of service, with the standard wounded time and again, bearing the scars of Stuart's sabre and of southern lead, of Indian arrow and bullet both.
Proud possessor of the Medal of Honor that many a senior sought in vain, proud as the Lucifer from whom he took his Christian name, brave, cool, resolute, and ever reliable, Schreiber.
First sergeant of old K troop for many a year, faced his post commander with brief and characteristic report.
Sir, Chief Stabber, with over thirty warriors, left camp about three o'clock, heading for Eagle Butt.
Well done, sergeant, I knew I could count on you, answered Webb in hearty commendation.
Now one thing more go to F troop's quarters and see how Kennedy is faring.
He came in with dispatches from Fort Beecher, and later drank more, I fancy, than was good for him, for which I assume all responsibility.
Keep him out of mischief this morning.
I will, sir, said the sergeant, and saluting, turned away, while Webb went back to set a dismantled pantry in partial order, against the appearance of his long suffering housekeeper, whose comments he dreaded as he did those of no inspector general in the army.
For fifteen years, and whithersoever Webb was ordered, his bachelor menage had been presided over by Mistress Margaret McGann, wife of a former trooper, who had served as Webb's striker for so many a year in the earlier days that, when discharged for disability due to wounds, rheumatism, and advancing years, and pensioned, as only Uncle Sam rewards his veterans, McGann had begged the major to retain him and his buxom better half at their respective duties, and
and Webb had meekly, weakly yielded, to the end that in the fullness of time Dame Margaret had achieved an ascendancy over the distinguished cavalry officer, little short of that she had exercised over honest Michael, since the very day she consented to become Mistress McGann.
A sound sleeper was she, however, and not until morning police call was she wont to leave her bed.
Then her brief toilet completed, she would descend to the kitchen and set the major's coffee on the fire, started by her dutiful spouse an hour earlier.
Then she proceeded to lay the table and put the rooms in order against the major's coming, and woe betide him if cigar stubs littered the bachelor's sitting room, or unrinsed glasses and half empty decanters told of even moderate symposium overnight.
Showing 61–80 of 728 · page 4 of 37
← Previous
Next →