Major-Colonel-General McDowell, in a soldierly voice, now called the roll, and we all answered, “Here!” in voices more or less soldierly.  He entertained himself with this ceremony for an hour.  The roll over, we were marched and formed in three sides of a square along the turf.  Again the handsome officer stepped forward, and recited to us the conditions of our service.  “In accordance with a special arrangement, made with the Governor of New York,” says the Major, “you are now mustered into the service of the United States, to serve for thirty days, unless sooner discharged”; and continues he, “The oath will now be read to you by the magistrate.”

Hereupon a gentleman en mufti, but wearing a military cap with an oil-skin cover, was revealed.  Until now he had seemed an impassive supernumerary.  But he was biding his time, and—­with due respect be it said—­saving his wind, and now in a Stentorian voice he ejaculated,—­

“The following is the oath!”

Per se this remark was not comic.  But there was something in the dignitary’s manner which tickled the regiment.  As one man the thousand smiled, and immediately adopted this new epigram among its private countersigns.

But the good-natured smile passed away as we listened to the impressive oath, following its title.

We raised our right hands, and, clause by clause, repeated the solemn obligation, in the name of God, to be faithful soldiers of our country.  It was not quite so comprehensive as the beautiful knightly pledge administered by King Arthur to his comrades, and transmitted to our time by Major-General Tennyson of the Parnassus Division.  We did not swear, as they did of yore, to be true lovers as well as loyal soldiers. Ca va sans dire in 1861,—­particularly when you were engaged to your Amanda the evening before you started, as was the case with many a stalwart brave and many a mighty man of a corporal or sergeant in our ranks.

We were thrilled and solemnized by the stately ceremony of the oath.  This again was most dramatic.  A grand public recognition of a duty.  A reavowal of the fundamental belief that our system was worthy of the support, and our Government of the confidence, of all loyal men.  And there was danger in the middle distance of our view into the future, —­danger of attack, or dangerous duty of advance, just enough to keep any trifler from feeling that his pledge was mere holiday business.

So, under the cloudless blue sky, we echoed in unison the sentences of the oath.  A little low murmur of rattling arms, shaken with the hearty utterance, made itself heard in the pauses.  Then the band crashed in magnificently.