But what must be his feelings when some
old cadet paints for his pleasure camp scenes and
experiences? Whatever he may have known of camp
life before seems as naught to him now. It is a new
sort of life he is to lead there, and he feels
himself, although curious and anxious to test it,
somewhat shy of entering such a place. There is no
alternative. He accepts it resignedly and goes ahead.
It is not always with smiling countenance that he
marches out and surveys the site after reveille.
Indeed, those who do have almost certainly received
A highly colored sketch of camp life, and are
hastening to sad disappointment, and not at all to
the joys they've been led to expect. He marches
into the company streets. He surveys them carefully
and recognizes what is meant by "the plebes have to
do all the policing," servants being an unknown
luxury. He also sees the sentry-boxes and the paths
the sentinels tread, and shudders as he recollects
the tales of midnight adventure which some wily
cadet has narrated to him. Imagination begins her
cruel work. Already he sees himself lying at the
bottom of Fort Clinton Ditch tied in a blanket, or
perhaps fetterless and free, but helpless. Or he
may imagine his hands are tied to one, and his feet
to the other tent-pole, and himself struggling for
freedom as he recognizes that the reveille gun has
been fired and those merciless fifers and drummers
are rapidly finishing the reveille.
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