There are many soldiers like this; but when they get into action they are the bravest of the brave.
Dick and Anstey were also getting themselves swiftly in readiness.
To Dick, veteran of three West Point fights, the greatest cause for regret seemed to lie in being robbed of some of their much-needed sleep.
In almost no time, so it seemed, three cadets fully attired in uniform, stole cautiously from the tent, slipping down the company street.
Dick carried Greg's fighting clothes.

Cadet Anstey carried a bucket in which lay a sponge.
Whether cadet sentries on guard deliberately aid in letting fight parties slip across a post it would be impossible to say.

Certain it is that Mr.Prescott, in the lead, reconnoitred carefully, then crossed the post at the point furthest from the sentry's half-audible footsteps.

His two friends slipped over with him.
The faint gray of earliest dawn was just showing through the trees when the plebe trio came in sight of the famous hollow below old Fort Clinton.
Here already paced Mr.Plympton and Mr.Connors of the first class.

They were to take charge of the affair.
"Good morning, mister," nodded Mr.Plympton to Dick, as Prescott came in sight at the head of his party.