No one moved at the house. Everybody seemed to be asleep there. Some birds chattered undisturbed in the trees. The air had the crisp touch of early autumn, and faint tokens of changing hues were appearing already in the foliage. I felt a sleepy languor like that which early spring puts into the blood. In order to shake it off I began a thorough search of the country thereabouts. I pushed my way through the bushes, and tramped both to the north and to the south as far as I dared go from my post. Then I visited the guards who adjoined my little detachment on either side. They had to report only the same calm that prevailed at our part of the line. I went back to Sergeant Whitestone. “Better take it easy,” advised he. “When there’s nothing to do, do it, and then be fresh to do it when there’s something to do.” I took his advice, which seemed good, and again made myself comfortable on the ground, waiting for the coming of the night. It was still an hour to set of sun when we saw a mounted officer coming from the north where our army lay. We seemed to be his destination, as he rode straight toward us. I recognized Captain Martyn at once. I did not like this man. I had no particular reason for it, though I have found often that the lack of reason for doing a thing is the very strongest reason why we do it. I knew little about Captain Martyn. He had joined the Northern army before I arrived, and they said he had done good service, especially in the way of procuring information about the enemy. Whitestone and I sat together on the grass. The other men were on guard at various points. Captain Martyn came on at a good pace until he reached us, when he pulled up his horse with a smart jerk. “Your watch is over,” he said to me without preliminary. “You are to withdraw with your men at once.” I was taken much aback, as any one else in my place would have been also. I had received instructions to keep faithful guard over that portion of the line for the long period of twenty-four hours--that is, until the next morning. “But this must be a mistake,” I protested. “There is nobody to relieve us. Surely the general can not mean to leave the line broken at this point.” “If you have taken the direction of the campaign, perhaps you had best notify our generals that they are superseded,” he said in a tone most ironical. He aroused my stubbornness, of which some people say I have too much, and I refused to retire until he showed me a written order to that effect from the proper officer. Not abating his ironical manner one whit, he held it toward me in an indifferent way, as much as to say, “You can read it or not, just as you choose; it does not matter to me.” It was addressed to me, and notified me briefly to withdraw at once with my men and rejoin my company, stationed not less than ten miles away. Everything, signature included, was most proper, and naught was left for me to do but to obey. The change was no affair of mine.