XXIV

BEFORE THE GREAT BATTLE

“And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come; to fight—­
And fight and die, is death destroying death;
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.” 

          
                                                              —­SHAKESPEARE.

On June 7,1862, I reported for duty to Captain Haskell.  Dr. Frost had offered to send me over, but I preferred to go alone, and, as my strength seemed good, I made my way afoot, and with all my possessions in my pockets.

The Captain was ready for me.  My name was recorded on the roll of Company H, Orderly-sergeant George Mackay writing Jones, B., in its alphabetical position.

A soldier’s outfit was given to me at once, a requisition having been made before my coming.  I joined the mess of the Bellots.  Besides the brothers Bellot, the mess had other men with whom I formed gradually some of the ties of friendship; they were Sergeant Josey, Corporal Veitch, Privates Bail, Bee, Bell, Benton, and Box, in this alphabetical succession of names my own name being no real exception, although Captain Haskell had insisted upon the name written in the diary.

And now my duties at once began.  I must relearn a soldier’s drill in the manual and in everything.  The company drilled four hours a day, and the regiment had one hour’s battalion drill, besides dress-parade; there was roll-call in the company morning and night.

Nominally a raw recruit, I was handed over to Sergeant John Wilson, who put me singly through the exercises without arms for about four hours on my first day’s duty, which was the third day of my enlistment, or perhaps I should say re-enlistment.  The sergeant seemed greatly pleased with my progress, and told me that he should at once promote me to be the right guide of his awkward squad.

On the next day, therefore, I found myself drilling with three other recruits who had been members of the company for a week or more.  That night Orderly-sergeant Mackay, who seemed to have received me into his good graces, told me that Wilson had said that that new man Jones beat everything that he had seen before; that learning to drill was to Jones “as easy as fallin’ off a log.”  I remembered Dr. Frost’s prediction.

The third day I drilled with the awkward squad again; but in the afternoon my gun was put into my hands, and for an extra half-hour I was exercised in the manual of arms.  But my first attempts proved very unfortunate.  Sergeant Wilson scolded, stormed, and almost swore at me.  He placed my gun at the carry, and called repeated attention to the exact description of the position, contained in the language of Hardee:  “The piece in the right hand, the barrel nearly vertical, and resting in the hollow of the shoulder; the guard to the front, the