A CAMP IN THE WOODS.
Rat-tat-a-tat! Rat-tat-a-tat!
It was the sound of a drum, echoing through Camp McPherson and proceeding from a small-sized drum orderly at the head of the company street; a stern and handsome lieutenant was standing nearby, and the cadets were pouring out of their tents and forming outside.
It was the forenoon of a bright August day and the white tents were shining in the sunlight, except for where they were darkened by the shadows of the waving trees.
The sound of the drum ceased abruptly; a moment later the officer strode down the line and faced it. Then came the order:
“Attention, company!”
A silent, motionless line of statues the cadets became on the instant. And then, in obedience to further orders, they wheeled and marched by fours down the company street.
Those who are familiar with the appearance of the battalion under ordinary circumstances would have gazed in some perplexity at the lines that morning. They were very differently arrayed, for some reason.
In the first place as to the camp they left. Usually when the corps marched out to the parade ground they left their tents in spic-and-span order, nothing short of perfection itself. Now the tents were empty; there was nothing but the bare “wall tent” standing, and not a thing of any sort whatever inside of it. In fact, the camp was a “deserted village.”
More strikingly true was this of the “guard tent.” The guard tent had never before been left alone all summer. No matter where the battalion marched or what they did, the members of the guard always had stayed by that tent, and those who were on duty, the sentries, never ceased to pace their beats. But now the sentries had joined the rest of the guard and fallen in behind the cadets, marching swiftly out of camp.