“Along the road that leads to the camp of instruction. Where else should a recruit march to, I’d like to know. You’re conscripted.”
“But, major,” protested Tom, drawing forth an official envelope with hands that trembled so violently that he could scarcely control them, “I really don’t see how you can conscript me. I am a captain in the State troops, and there’s my commission from the governor.”
“It isn’t worth straws,” answered the major, snapping his fingers in the air. “Don’t want to see it. Besides, you have resigned.”
“But my resignation has not been accepted.”
“That doesn’t matter. It will be, for there are no such things as State troops now, I am happy to say. You’re liable to military duty easy enough, and—that’s all.”
“I retain my rank, don’t I, sir?” said Tom.
It was astonishing what an effect this simple question had upon the occupants of the room. Some quickly turned their faces to the wall, others tiptoed through the nearest doors, and all shook with suppressed merriment. The major jerked his spectacles off his nose, looked hard at Tom to see if he were really in earnest, and cleared his throat before he replied:
“No, sir; you will begin as Private Randolph, but will be given every opportunity to show what you are made of, and to win a commission that is worth something more than the paper it happens to be written on. Don’t worry about that. Well, sergeant, where are the men I ordered you to bring before me?”
Hardly able to tell whether he was awake or dreaming, Tom Randolph yielded to the friendly hand that was laid upon his arm, and suffered himself to be led away from the desk, his place being immediately filled by four brawny soldiers, who raised their hands with a military salute. The first words one of them spoke aroused Tom from his stupor and interested him.
“We didn’t find Lambert and Moseley to home, sir. They must have had warnin’, I reckon, for they’ve took to the bresh.”