terraces to the fringe of low pines behind him, and on these terraces
officers and men sitting, according to rank; the white tepees of the
privates and their tethered horses--camped in column of
troops--stretching up the hill toward him; on the first terrace above
and flanking the columns, the old-fashioned army tents of company
officer and subaltern and the guidons in line--each captain with his
lieutenants at the head of each company street; behind them and on the
next terrace, the majors three--each facing the centre of his squadron.
And highest on top of the hill, and facing the centre of the regiment,
the slate-coloured tent of the Colonel, commanding every foot of the
camp.

"Yes," said a voice behind him, "and you'll find it just that way
throughout the army."

Crittenden turned in surprise, and the ubiquitous Grafton went on as
though the little trick of thought-reading were too unimportant for
notice.

"Let's go down and take a look at things. This is my last day," Grafton
went on, "and I'm out early. I go to Tampa to-morrow."

All the day before, as he travelled, Crittenden had seen the station
thronged with eager countrymen--that must have been the way it was in
the old war, he thought--and swarmed the thicker the farther he went
south. And now, as the two started down the hill, he could see in the
dusty road that ran through the old battlefield Southern interest and
sympathy taking visible shape. For a hundred miles around, the human
swarm had risen from the earth and was moving toward him on wagon,
bicycle, horseback, foot; in omnibus, carriage, cart; in barges on