d fire, and there was a battle in no time. A
bugler got out and blowed some call that I did not know, a drum sounded
a continuous roll, men rushed out and formed in line, and before we
had fired the six charges from our revolvers, the Invalid Corps came
hobbling across the parade ground, the colonel behind them with his
shirt on, his pants in his hand, and swearing in French, and ordering
the troops to arrest the whole crowd of recruits. We went right in the
barrack, and retired, as soon as the troops showed up, and were snoring,
with smoking revolvers under our pillows, when the guard entered.

The colonel came in with the guard, and then put on his pants, after
which he woke up some of us, and asked what was the cause of the firing.
Every recruit swore that he had not fired a shot, but that he had heard
some firing over the fence, on the outside, at a road-house and saloon,
where bad men from St. Louis congregated and drank to excess. It seemed
very hard to thus lie to so estimable a gentleman as the colonel, but
as he was only half-dressed, and sleepy, and excited, it didn't seem as
though the lies ought to count. But they did. The colonel apologized for
waking us up, when we were enjoying our much-needed rest, and he went
away with the guard. Then we all got up and danced a can-can, in our
army underclothes, passed a series of resolutions endorsing the colonel
as one of the ablest officers in the army, recommended that he be
promoted to brigadier-general at the first opportunity, gave three
cheers and a tiger for the Union, and went to bed. That is one thing
that we recruits always come out strong in, i. e., three cheers for the
Union. We had enlisted to save the Union, and as there was no fighting
that we could do, during our stay at St. Louis, whenever we got a chance
we gave three cheers for the Union. Sometimes it was not appreciated,
however. I remember one evening our crowd went into a saloon and ordered
beer all around, and after we had drank it, I proposed three cheers for
the Union, which we gave in a hearty manner, and went out without paying
for the beer. You would hardly credit it, but the saloonkeeper, an
Irishman named Oppenheimer, became offended, and wanted us to pay cash
for the beer. The boys wanted me to reason with him, and I began by
asking him if he was a loyal man, and he said he was. Then I asked him
if he didn't believe in supporting the Union. He said he did, but he
couldn't pay the brewer f