As if we were marching out for parade, the Captain's orders sound as crisp as that. We shoulder arms as smartly as if we were moving out on parade.
"Form sections! Right about turn! Quick march!"
And we swing round smartly in four at the command.
"Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth company!" shouts the Major, who has pulled up in the middle of the yard.
We are the eighth company, and are following on the heels of the seventh. The gates of the barrack-yard are open. We are marching out. Our legs mark time on the pavement of the street in the goose-step of grand parade.
"March at ease!"
And the muscles of our legs relax and advance at more natural gait.
The streets are full of people. They are lining the pavement on both sides and watching us march past. Though it is still quite an early hour of the morning, yet the whole town is up and about. They weren't able to stay abed. They wanted to see the soldiers march out.
And they welcome us with their eyes and wave their hands to us.
A fifteen-year-old lad is running along beside us. His brother is marching in our file.