Early on the Monday morning following the Easter holidays we left Cedar Hill and returned to college. We reached Belmont shortly after ten o’clock, and were hurrying to our rooms to unpack our valises, when we were attracted by the sound of voices on the front campus. Rounding the corner of Colver Hall, we saw a great mass of students assembled near the front gateway, many of them talking loudly and gesticulating in an excited manner.
“Hallo, what’s all this?” I asked.
“Something unusual, that’s certain,” said Dick Palmer. “Come, let’s hurry and see what is the matter.”
Hastily tossing our valises into a corner of the entry to Colver Hall, we ran down toward the crowd, and pushed our way through to the open space in the center.
“What is the trouble?” I asked the nearest man.
“Trouble! Trouble enough. It’s a burning shame!” he exclaimed angrily.
“What is a burning shame?”
“Why look! Look there,” and he pointed to the ground.
We looked in the direction indicated.
The old cannons—the pets of which Belmont had been so proud for forty years past—were gone.