And Magnus Kindred felt as desperately lonesome as he thought it was in the power of man to be.
There were no loiterers now under the "Kissing Rock"; no echoing steps within "First-class Cave"; all the old seats and trysting places were snow capped and silent. Even the broad folds of the Post flag would have been some company, a little cheer to his sad eyes as he once more came out upon the plain. But the Post flag was safely folded away; and only a wee, wintry looking storm flag, whipped out in many a past gale, was abroad to brave the keen-edged airs that stirred round Trophy Point. Could anything exceed the dreariness and length of that wretched Christmas Day?
Then such cake for tea—though I doubt if Purcell's best would have suited Magnus that night. He was glad when the drummers began their noisy tattoo, that he might unroll his mattress, go to bed, and forget his misery.
New Year's Day was not quite so bad, perhaps because the coming examination lent at least a dash of red pepper to the monotony, and the first evening of the new year was full of study and talk, questions, fears, and surmisings. Blue letters home went off in troops, and many a man arranged definitely just what he would do after he was "found," of which last fact he felt sure. With the great hop that graced this week, or the gay damsels who graced the hop, the fourth class had nothing to do.
It was natural enough that the strain and fatigue of the examination should be followed by a certain dislike for work at all. The men who were "found" had vanished; the men who had gone up a section were quietly in place, while others had as quietly joined "the Immortals," a better name than its popular substitute. And from now on until June, things would remain pretty much as they were.
No wonder, then, if the reaction set in strong. Snow blocked the favourite cadet walks; permits for skating were cut. No parades, no stirring drills, except in the riding-hall, and the plebs had no good of them.
Then there were stormy days when even the officers' row was gloomy, and things grew very tame indeed. The bent bows ached to spring back, and the pent-up steam was ready to blow off in any direction; for mischief at least makes a change, and to break regulations and not be found out, gave life a certain flavour. It was a pity, but not at all strange.
And so, in some parts of the barracks, license, not liberty, was the popular word. The great point of interest by day and by night being how to defy the blue book, and not get caught.
The leaders were bright men, some of them; personable, pleasant to talk to, fair mathematicians, and capital cooks over the gas-light. Several had friends who sent them money, sweets, mince pies, and tobacco: all smuggled in by unscrupulous outside hands. And these dainties were freely dispensed by the happy owners.
As to the rest, they were light fingered enough for pick- pockets, and could abstract and convey to barracks anything—except "Sammy"—from the mess-hall table; and I have even been told that this one exception lost its place that year.