"Thank you, sir," she said. "Is there any story about that one?" pointing to another cannon quite near at hand.
"Yes," he said; "by its premature discharge, in 1817, a cadet named Lowe was killed. In the cemetery is a beautiful monument to his memory."
"Here are two brass field-pieces, each marked 'G. R.,'" said Max. "Do those letters stand for George Rex,--King George,--Papa?"
"Yes; that was the monogram of the king."
"And the cannon is fourteen years younger than those others," remarked Lulu; "for, see there, it says, 'W. Bowen fecit, 1755.'"
"Oh, here's an inscription!" exclaimed Max, and read aloud, "'Taken from the British army, and presented, by order of the United States, in Congress assembled, to Major-General Green, as a monument of their high sense of the wisdom, fortitude, and military talents which distinguished his command in the Southern department, and of the eminent services which, amid complicated dangers and difficulties, he performed for his country. October 18th, 1783.' Oh, that was right!" supplemented the lad, "for I do think Green was a splendid fellow."
"He was, indeed!" said the Captain; "and he has at last been given such a monument as he should have had very many years sooner."
"In Washington. It is an equestrian statue, by Henry Kirke Brown."
"Yes; and very glad I am that even that tardy act of justice has been done him,--one of the bravest and most skilful commanders of our Revolutionary War," remarked Mr. Keith. Then he added, "I think we have seen about all you will care for here, Raymond, and that you might enjoy going out upon the parade-ground now. The sun is near setting, and the battalion will form presently, and go through some interesting exercises."
"Thank you!" the Captain said. "Let us, then, go at once, for I see Max and his sister are eager for the treat," he added, with a smiling glance from one brightly expectant young face to the other.
They reached the parade-ground just in time to see the battalion forming under arms, and Max and Lulu watched every movement with intense interest and delight,--the long skirmish lines firing in advance or retreat, picking off distant imaginary leaders of a pretended enemy in reply to the ringing skirmish calls of the key-bugles, deploying at the run, rallying at the reserves and around the colours.