The cheers were given with a will, and the citizens replied with “three times three.” When the band struck up, the line was formed under direction of the marshal and moved toward the park. The church bells were rung, the solitary field-piece of which the village could boast, and which was brought out only on state occasions, thundered out a greeting every minute, and the crowds that met them at every turn cheered themselves hoarse. Mottoes and bunting were lavishly displayed, and Main-street was spanned by two large flags, to which was attached a white banner having an inscription that sent a thrill of pride to the breasts of the boys, who now read it for the first time—
“Welcome!
We honor those who do their duty.”
On arriving at the park the arms were stacked, the ranks broken, and fifteen minutes were taken for hand-shaking; and cordial as the formal reception was, it bore no comparison to the hearty personal welcome that was extended to each and every one of the third company boys, who never knew until that moment how many warm friends they had in Bridgeport. Among those who came up to shake hands with Don Gordon and Curtis was a fellow who was dressed in the academy uniform, who walked with a cane and wore a slipper on his left foot. It was Courtland Hopkins.
CHAPTER XI.
HOPKINS’S EXPERIENCE.
“Boys, I am delighted to see you home again, safe and sound,” said Hopkins, putting his cane under his arm and shaking hands with both his friends at once. “I tell you we have been troubled about you, for some of us who returned the second day after the fight, heard the rioters say that you would never leave the city alive.”
“We heard them say so, too,” replied Curtis. “But we’re here all the same. Hallo, Bert. And there’s Egan. How’s your hand, old fellow? Lost that little finger yet?”
“No; and I don’t think I’ll have to. Why didn’t you let us know that you were coming?”