the President every village sends its soldiers, every
town its company. When you listened to the soul-thrilling music of the
band, and watched the long, winding train as it vanished with the troops
in the distance, you had one little glimpse of the machinery of war, as
when riding past a great manufactory you see a single pulley, or a row
of spindles through a window. You do not see the thousands of wheels,
belts, shafts,--the hundred thousand spindles, the arms of iron, fingers
of brass, and springs of steel, and the mighty wheel which gives motion
to all,--and so you have not seen the great, complicated, far-reaching,
and powerful machinery of war.

But there is activity everywhere. Drums are beating, men assembling,
soldiers marching, and hastening on in regiments. They go into camp and
sleep on the ground, wrapped in their blankets. It is a new life. They
have no napkins, no table-cloths at breakfast, dinner, or supper, no
china plates or silver forks. Each soldier has his tin plate and cup,
and makes a hearty meal of beef and bread. It is hard-baked bread. They
call it _hard-tack_, because it might be tacked upon the roof of a house
instead of shingles. They also have Cincinnati _chicken_. At home they
called it pork; fowls are scarce and pork is plenty in camp, so they
make believe it is chicken!

There is drilling by squads, companies, battalions, and by regiments.
Some stand guard around the camp by day, and others go out on picket at
night, to watch for the enemy. It is military life. Everything is done
by orders. When you become a soldier, you cannot go and come as you
please. Privates, lieutenants, captains, colonels, generals, all are
subject to the orders of their superior officers. All must obey the
general in command. You march, drill, eat, sleep, go to bed, and get up
by order. At sunrise you hear the reveille, and at nine o'clock in the
evening the tattoo. Then the candle, which has been burning in your tent
with a bayonet for a candlestick, must be put out. In the dead of night,
while sleeping soundly and dreaming of home, you hear the drum-beat. It
is the long roll. There is a rattle of musketry. The pickets are at it.
Every man springs to his feet.

"Turn out! turn out!" shouts the colonel.

"Fall in! fall in!" cries the captain.

There is confusion throughout the camp,--a trampling of feet and loud,
hurried talking. In your haste you get your boots on wrong, and buckle
your cartridge-box on bot