“Stop!” exclaimed the officer. “Not a word! There’s no possible excuse for you. You have eyes; you can see. You have arms; you can keep touch. Now pay attention to your duties.”
Again the platoon was wheeled, and again Belcher pushed out ahead of the line, and broke it hopelessly in the centre. Brightly, who was at the pivot, watching the alignment, was exasperated beyond endurance. He passed swiftly down the front, and struck the flat of his sword against Belcher’s breastplate with force enough to make it clatter.
“Keep back!” he shouted; “keep back! An idiot would know enough to keep the line!”
The platoon was no sooner halted than Belcher stepped one pace to the front, and brought his hand up against his musket at the shoulder with a force that made it rattle, thus signifying his desire to speak.
“Step back into the ranks, sir!” ordered Brightly. “Take your place, I say!” as the lad hesitated. “I’ll do what talking’s to be done, and you’ll obey orders!”
Belcher stepped back, muttering angrily, his face pale with passion and his eyes flashing fiercely.
Up by the color-staff the bugle sounded the recall. The officers marched their platoons to common ground, wheeled them into line, and reported to the major. The battalion was then broken into companies, and these were marched to company grounds and dismissed by the first sergeants.
Lieutenant Brightly crossed the parade-ground leisurely, entered the academy building, mounted three flights of stairs, and passed to his room in the southwest angle. He threw his cap, gloves, and sword on the bed, drew a chair to the window, seated himself, and looked listlessly out.
The beautiful landscape, with the Hudson River in the distance, had little attraction for him. Indeed, nothing interested him that he could see either on land or water. It was evident that his mind was preoccupied, and the look of discontent and discouragement on his face showed that his thoughts were not pleasant ones.