The scene is an immense plain. Deep twilight, purple haze, or dusk. At first I see nothing but the plain, the sandy soil and the scattered brush. It is as level as a floor. I catch sight of indistinct figures approaching from the left background. I watch them, and as they come nearer, I see that they are soldiers. There is, perhaps, a dozen of them. Now I see that they are of the cavalry; they are evidently officers--American cavalry officers. I am thinking so because it is an American scene. But, no--they have advanced near enough to be recognized. They are English. There is no doubt about it. They are marching in extended order, with drawn swords resting on their right shoulders.

Now they are close enough to be seen very distinctly. I observe that they are very handsome young men, who wear unclipped moustaches, slightly curled at the ends. They are tall, loosely knit, and march with an easy stride. Their features glow with the light of supreme self-confidence. They seem to take everything for granted. It appears that they are all of a certain type. My attention is concentrated on one of them, possibly the nearest to me. I feel an irresistible attraction toward him.

They have halted a few paces away, and immediately proceed to go through a sword exercise. There is nothing outstanding in this display of sword drilling, it is what follows after that is important--a few cuts to the right and left, ending with a downward stroke that strikes the ground smartly. When the sword points strike the ground, the swords are thereby detached from the hand and begin to revolve rapidly in the air. As the revolutions increase, they ascend. Mounting higher and higher with incredible speed they finally become as stars in the heavens--stars of a most brilliant magnitude. Upon reaching their zenith, they remain there for a few moments, then descend.

The descent is as rapid as the ascent. The swords are caught deftly by the smiling guardsmen, who incline their heads graciously (they are bareheaded--in dark, inconspicuous uniforms, possibly blue), and the dream is over.

--T.A. Williams

This account is from The Dream World (ed. Rodolphe L. Megroz) 1939, pp. 136-7

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