ONE FROM THE VETERAN.
“Everything’s calm,” said the lieutenant-colonel, “and apparently liable to stay so. I’ve been through the whole brigade—’way down to the cavalry quarters, and back through the gunners’ and infantry camps—and the peacefulness of things reminds me of the old nursery jingle,
‘And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse.’
Well, this tour of mine’s been an easy one. I’ve been under canvas with the old brigade for just nineteen rolling years, and so when I say that this camp walks right away with the trophy for quietness, I’m speaking by the card.”
“Wouldn’t it be a pious idea if we were to turn in, then?” inquired the adjutant, adding to his remark a suggestive and very audible yawn. “Field officers of the day aren’t supposed to sit up all night—at least, not in time of peace. I’m feeling just a wee bit sleepy myself.”
Midnight had come and gone. The camp lay silent, its snowy tents looming out dimly in the faint, midsummer starlight. Not a murmur hinted at the presence of the three thousand sleeping men hidden away beneath the shimmering whiteness of the canvas. The sleepy sentry pacing slowly to and fro before regimental headquarters seemed only a deeper shade in the shadowy picture. His measured tread upon the dew-dampened turf roused no echo.
There came into view a spectral shape, striding rapidly towards the quarters of the non-commissioned staff. “Hi!” called the lieutenant-colonel softly. “Hi! that you, Sam?”
At this challenge the spectre changed its course and approached the adjutant’s tent, in front of which, and under the protecting fly, the two officers were sitting. “Yes, it’s me,” answered the voice of the veteran orderly of The Third. “That you, Col’n’l Wentworth? Anything I can do for ye?”
“I’d be glad to know why you’re prowling ’round at this time of night,” said the lieutenant-colonel mildly. “You’re old enough to be setting the boys a better example.”
“I judge ye’re correct, Col’n’l,” assented Sam, still standing attention in front of the tent. “I’d oughter be in quarters. But down in B Comp’ny’s street I run’d onto a feller that was in the war. Now, them fellers is gittin’ scarcer’n honest men in the city gov’nment, an’ so it follered that we got to yarnin’, give an’ take, turn an’ turn about, ’til we clean lost track o’ the time.”