* * * * *

The military enthusiasm of the North, aroused by the firing on Sumter, was contagious; but for a time my father opposed my desire to enter the army.  Beyond the fears which every parent has, he doubted the effect of military life upon my mental nature.  Our family physician, however, was upon my side, and contended, with what good reason I did not know, that the active life of war would be a benefit rather than a harm to me; so my father ceased to oppose, and I enlisted.

WHO GOES THERE?

I

THE ADVANCE

     “Point against point rebellious, arm ’gainst arm.”—­Shakespeare.

In the afternoon we broke camp and marched toward the west.  It was July 16, 1861.

The bands were playing “Carry me back to old Virginia.”

I was in the Eleventh.  Orders had been read, but little could be understood by men in the ranks.  Nothing was clear to me, in these orders, except two things:—­

First, to be surprised would be unpardonable.

Second, to fall back would be unpardonable.

* * * * *

It was four o’clock.  The road was ankle-deep in dust; the sun burnt our faces as we marched toward the west.  Up hill and down hill, up hill and down hill, we marched for an hour, west and southwest.

We halted; from each company men were detailed to fill canteens.  The city could no longer he seen.

Willis pointed to the north.  Willis was a big, red-haired sergeant—­a favourite with the men.

I looked, and saw clouds of dust rising a mile or two away.

“Miles’s division,” says Willis.

“What is on our left?”

“Nothing,” says Willis.

“How do you know?”

“We are the left,” says Willis.

The sergeant had studied war a little; he had some infallible views.

The sergeant-major, with his diamond stripes, and his short sword saluting, spoke to a captain, who at once reported to the colonel at the head of the regiment.  The captain returned to his post:—­

“Comp-a-ny—­B ...  Attention!” ...

“Shudda ...  Hop!” ...

“Load!” ...

“Shudda ...  Hop!” ...

“R-i-i-i-i-ght ...  Face!” ...

“Fah—­w-u-u-u-d ...  MOTCH!” ...

“Fi—­lef ...  MOTCH!”

Company B disappeared in the bushes on our left.

The water-detail returned; the regiment moved forward.

Passing over a rising ground, Willis pointed to the left.  I could see some black spots in a stubble-field.

“Company B; skirmishers,” says Willis.

“Any rebels out that way?”

“Don’t know.  Right to be ready for ’em,” says Willis.