“I know it's only a few.”
“They're all fools, doctors!” exclaimed Vanrevel, fiercely.
“No, no. And I know that nothing can be done. You all see it, and you want me to go easily—or you wouldn't let me have my own way so much! It frightens me, I own up, to think that so soon I'll be wiser than the wisest in the world. Yet I always wanted to know. I've sought and I've sought—but now to go out alone on the search—it must be the search, for the Holy Grail—I——”
“Please don't talk,” begged Tom, in a broken whisper. “For mercy's sake, lad. It wears on you so.”
Crailey laughed weakly. “Do you think I could die peacefully without talking a great deal? There's one thing I want, Tom. I want to see all of them once more, all the old friends that are going down the river at noon. What harm could it do? I want them to come by here on their way to the boat, with the band and the new flag. But I want the band to play cheerfully! Ask 'em to play 'Rosin the Bow,' will you? I've never believed in mournfulness, and I don't want to see any of it now. It's the rankest impiety of all! And besides, I want to see them as they'll be when they come marching home—they must look gay!”
“Ah, don't, lad, don't!” Tom flung one arm about the other's shoulder and Crailey was silent, but rested his hand gently on his friend's head. In that attitude Fanchon found them when she came.
The volunteers gathered at the court-house two hours before noon. They met each other dismally, speaking in undertones as they formed in lines of four, while their dispirited faces showed that the heart was out of them. Not so with the crowds of country folk and townspeople who lined the streets to see the last of them. For these, when the band came marching down the street and took its place, set up a royal cheering that grew louder as Jefferson Bareaud, the color-bearer, carried the flag to the head of the procession. With the recruits marched the veterans of 1812 and the Indian wars, the one-legged cobbler stumping along beside General Trumble, who looked very dejected and old. The lines stood in silence, and responded to the cheering by quietly removing their hats; so that the people whispered that it was more like an Odd Fellows' Sunday funeral than the departure of enthusiastic patriots for the seat of war. General Trumble's was not the only sad face in the ranks; all were downcast and nervous, even those of the lads from the country, who had not known the comrade they were to leave behind.
Jefferson unfurled the flag; Marsh gave the word of command, the band began to play a quick-step, and the procession moved forward down the cheering lane of people, who waved little flags and handkerchiefs and threw their hats in the air as they shouted. But, contrary to expectation, the parade was not directly along Main Street to the river. “Right wheel! March!” commanded Tappingham, hoarsely, waving his sword, and Jefferson led the way into Carewe Street.
“For God's sake, don't cry now!” and Tappingham, with a large drop streaking down his own cheek, turned savagely upon Lieutenant Cummings. “That isn't what he wants. He wants to see us looking cheery and smiling. We can do it for him this once, I guess! I never saw him any other way.”
“You look damn smiling yourself!” snuffled Will.