cleaning my carbine and saber that I did cleaning my
boots, I would have been a model soldier.

I think that for the first year of my service I had as elegant a pair of
boots as could be found in the army. But it was the hardest work to keep
track of them. The first three months it was all I could do to keep
the chaplain from trading me a pair of old army shoes for my boots. The
arguments he used to convince me that mo-. rocco boots were far above my
station, and that they were intended for a chaplain, were labored. If he
had used the same number of words in the right direction, he could have
converted the whole army. I had to sleep with my boots under my head
every night, to prevent them from being stolen and twice they were
stolen from my tent, but in each case recovered at the sutler's, where
they had been pawned for a bottle of brandy peaches, which I had to pay
for to redeem the boots. The boots had become almost a burden to me,
in keeping them, but I enjoyed them so much that money could not have
bought them. When we were in a town for a few days, and I rode around,
it did not make any difference whether I had any other clothes on, of
any account, the morocco boots captured the town. The natives could
not see how a man who wore such boots could be anything but a high-up
thoroughbred. The last time I lost my boots will always be remembered by
those who were in the same command. We were on the march with a Michigan
and a New Jersey regiment, through the dustiest country that ever was.
The dust was eight inches deep in the road, and just like fine ashes.
Every time a horse put his foot down the dust would raise above the
trees, and as there were two thousand horses, with four feet apiece, and
each foot in constant motion, it can be imagined that the troops were
dusty. And it was so hot that the perspiration oozed out of us, but the
dust covered it.

The three regiments took turns in acting as rear guard, to pick up
stragglers, and on this hot and dusty day the New Jersey regiment was in
the rear. It was composed of Germans entirely, with a German colonel,
a man who had seen service in Europe, and he looked upon a soldier as a
machine, with no soul, fit only to obey orders. That was not the kind of
a soldier I was. During the day's march the boys stripped off
everything they could. I know all I had on was a shirt and pants, and
a handkerchief around my head. I took off my boots and coat and let the
colored cook of th