re electrified by the
hoarse croak of Sergeant Files--he too is used up. 'Volunteers to go
beyond the District,' step two paces t'the front--H'rch!' Four men
remain in the ranks. All eyes turn to this shabby remnant, but they
remain immovable, with the leaden expression belonging to the victims of
the Confederate lexicon, that seems to say, unaccused, '_I am not
ashamed._' These men are instantly detailed for guard duty at the armory
for the next twenty-four hours.

The rest of us reach the railway station shortly after daylight, are
told off into platoons, and embarked on the train which the hissing
engine announces to be waiting for us. Our comrades in this adventure
are Captain Hoblitzel's company, the 'Swartz-Jaegers,' brawny mechanics,
sturdy Teutons, and all of a size. These are Germans, remember, not what
we call Hessians; not the kind that are destined to make Pennsylvania a
byword; not the kind that advance in clogs but retreat in seven-league
boots. We part from our German friends with a rousing cheer, as heartily
returned, at a bridge which they are to guard. Then we have the cars to
ourselves. Surely this is the _ne plus ultra_ of railway travelling;
free tickets and a whole seat to yourself. We are to keep our rifles out
of sight, unless an emergency arises. The funny men play conductor,
announcing familiar stations in unintelligible roars, and singing out
'Tickets!' importunately. This is our first real danger. There is real
excitement in this. We all hope there will be a fight; all except
Smallweed, who remains melancholy, according to his wont, save when a
sad pun breaks the surface into a temporary ripple of quiet smiles. And
so, with wild jokes, mad capers, and loudly shouted songs, we whirl
along, twenty miles an hour, over bridges, through cuts, above
embankments, always through danger and into danger. Hoot, toot! shrieks
the engine; the breaks are rasped down; the train slowly consumes its
momentum in vainly trying to stop suddenly. Silence reigns. Every man
nervously, as by instinct, grasps his rifle, half cocks it, looks to the
cap, and thrusts his head out of the window. A shout: 'There they are!'
'Where?' Several of the more nervous rifle barrels protrude uncertainly
from the windows. 'Steady men, _steady!_' from the clear voice of
Captain Pipes. 'I see them.' 'There they are.' 'Three of them.' 'One of
them has on gray clothes, and--'

'THE SEVENTH, by----!' rings in every ear. No matter who sa