Lost Boys of the River Camp

Freckle-faced fifteen and sixteen year-old uniformed sentries no longer stand guard at the summer camp's main entrance, .30 caliber rifles slung over their shoulders. The roar of artillery drills, once rattling the window panes of nearby cottages and the frayed nerves of summer vacationers, is silent. The bugle calls piercing the stillness of dawn and dusk on the river are no more.