May, owing in great measure to the energy of Amos A. Lawrence, ’35, then Treasurer of the University, the Faculty provided arms and instructors, the playing-field was once more turned into a Campus Martius—how appropriately is our greatest military memorial placed there!—the little octagonal gymnasium close by (now the carpenter’s shop) was utilized as an armory, and the undergraduates began drilling assiduously. “Hardee’s Tactics” bulged from every pocket. In the course of a few weeks came the rumor that the State Arsenal on Garden Street was to be attacked by a mob, and the student corps undertook its defence. The semi-hysterical state of collegiate feeling turned the episode into a broad and rather discreditable farce. A raid by the mythical mob itself could hardly have been more disastrous to the premises to be guarded. Quis custodiet custodes? A writer in the “Harvard Magazine” three years later inquired reminiscently:
Are there not some still with us who can recall the Gymnasium turned into an armory, the Delta glittering with bayonets, and the gallant squad of Harvard Cadets marching up to the defence of the Arsenal? The relief of the guard there on duty, and the three days of danger, picket-duty, fun, and frolic? Are there not, even at this very moment, student-soldiers whose consciences smite them as they look above the mantel, and see there booty ill-gotten, property which somehow or other followed them home from the Arsenal, of course unknown to them and much to their displeasure?
Perhaps on account of the levity exhibited on that occasion, the college authorities made no attempt to re-
