At the usual hour the school-call was beaten on the drum; the remnant of the battalion formed and passed into the schoolroom, and Colonel Silsbee came in, book in hand, as was his custom, to conduct the morning service. He took his seat at the desk, laid his book down in front of him, and looked around over the half-empty benches. He was taking note of the absentees, trying to learn who of his soldiers had so betrayed his trust in them as to rise in open revolt against his rule.
He cast his eyes toward Brede’s chair; it was empty. Those who were watching him saw a deeper compression of his lips. Harple was in his accustomed place; he was glad of that,—he had placed much confidence in Harple. And Brightly—Brightly was missing. This seemed to give him much pain; his pale face grew perceptibly paler.
So his gaze went from one seat to another. The boys thought he would never have done looking them over. They saw that he was suffering; they feared that he was trying to suppress intense anger; and they scarcely breathed until his eyes fell back upon his book, and he took it up and opened it as usual.
He looked up again before he began to read, and his lips parted as if he was about to speak; but apparently he thought better of it, and, after a moment’s silence, went on with the morning Scripture lesson and prayer. After this he went back to his office, and the classes were called. None of the teachers made reference to the revolt, and the morning dragged by with exasperating slowness.
At lunch-time the boys almost darted from the ranks to form into excited and whispering groups. Where had the fugitives gone, and what punishment would they suffer on their return? These were the topics of discussion.
At dinner-time the excitement was intense, but not boisterous. The rebellion and flight were spoken of in hushed tones. The whole thing was so desperate and revolutionary.
There were many who looked out occasionally across the fields by which the runaways went, half-expecting to see them come straying back in time for dinner; but the dinner-hour passed, and they did not come. The afternoon drill went on awkwardly. It was difficult to arrange the squads in the absence of so many men and officers.
At retreat thirty-seven answered the roll-call. Supper was eaten in haste, and then every one went out to the best points on the grounds, or gathered in the south windows, to watch for the return of the holiday-seekers. No one dreamed that they would not come back before nightfall. There were several false alarms, especially as twilight came on, and objects at a distance grew indistinct; but the fugitives were watched for in vain.
Colonel Silsbee began to be anxious. He had thought it best not to follow the erring lads, but to let them return at will. Consequently he had sent no messengers for them, and no messages to them. He preferred to deal with them after they had voluntarily returned to his authority.
But now night was coming on, and they were still absent, and there were small boys among them who might be harmed by the unusual exposure. He had heard of them in the afternoon,—that they were on the high-road going toward New Hornbury. He thought they would probably return in the same way, and he sent a team with a double wagon down to meet them, with instructions that certain of the smaller boys should be brought back in it.