But the regiment was not yet veteranlike in appearance.  Veteran
regiments in the army were likely to be very small aggregations
of men.  Once, when the command had first come to the field,
some perambulating veterans, noting the length of their column,
had accosted them thus:  "Hey, fellers, what brigade is that?"
And when the men had replied that they formed a regiment and not
a brigade, the older soldiers had laughed, and said, "O Gawd!"

Also, there was too great a similarity in the hats.  The hats of
a regiment should properly represent the history of headgear for
a period of years.  And, moreover, there were no letters of faded
gold speaking from the colors.  They were new and beautiful, and
the color bearer habitually oiled the pole.

Presently the army again sat down to think.  The odor of the
peaceful pines was in the men's nostrils.  The sound of
monotonous axe blows rang through the forest, and the insects,
nodding upon their perches, crooned like old women.  The youth
returned to his theory of a blue demonstration.

One gray dawn, however, he was kicked in the leg by the
tall soldier, and then, before he was entirely awake, he found
himself running down a wood road in the midst of men who were
panting from the first effects of speed.  His canteen banged
rythmically upon his thigh, and his haversack bobbed softly.
His musket bounced a trifle from his shoulder at each stride
and made his cap feel uncertain upon his head.

He could hear the men whisper jerky sentences:  "Say--what's all
this--about?"  "What th' thunder--we--skedaddlin' this way fer?"
"Billie--keep off m' feet.  Yeh run--like a cow."  And the loud
soldier's shrill voice could be heard:  "What th'devil they in
sich a hurry for?"

The youth thought the damp fog of early morning moved from
the rush of a great body of troops.  From the distance came
a sudden spatter of firing.

He was bewildered.  As he ran with his comrades he strenuously
tried to think, but all he knew was that if he fell down those
coming behind would tread upon him.  All his faculties seemed
to be needed to guide him over and past obstructions.  He felt
carried along by a mob.

The sun spread disclosing rays, and, one by one, regiments burst
into view like armed men just born of the earth.  The youth
perceived that the time had come.  He was about to be measured.
For a moment he felt in the face of his great trial like a babe,
and the flesh over his heart seemed very thin.  He seized time to
look about him calculatingly.

But he instantly saw that it would be impossible for him to
escape from the regiment.  It inclosed him.  And there were iron
laws of tradition and law on four sides.  He was in a moving box.

As he perceived this fact it occurred to him that he had never
wished to come to the war.  He had not enlisted of his free will.
He had been dragged by the merciless government.  And now they
were taking him out to be slaughtered.

The regiment slid down a bank and wallowed across a little stream.
The mournful current moved slowly on, and from the water,
shaded black, some white bubble eyes looked at the men.

As they climbed the hill on the farther side artillery began to boom.
Here the youth forgot many things as he felt a sudden impulse of curiosity.
He scrambled up the bank with a speed that could not be exceeded by a
bloodthirsty man.

He expected a battle scene.

There were some little fields girted and squeezed by a forest.
Spread over the grass and in among the tree trunks, he could see
knots and waving lines of skirmishers who were running hither and
thither and firing at the landscape.  A dark battle line lay upon
a sunstruck clearing that gleamed orange color.  A flag fluttered.

Other regiments floundered up the bank.  The brigade was formed
in line of battle, and after a pause started slowly through
the woods in the rear of the receding skirmishers, who were
continually melting into the scene to appear again farther on.
They were always busy as bees, deeply absorbed in their little combats.

The youth tried to observe everything.  He did not use care to
avoid trees and branches, and his forgotten feet were constantly
knocking against stones or getting entangled in briers.  He was
aware that these battalions with their commotions were woven red
and startling into the gentle fabric of softened greens and browns.
It looked to be a wrong place for a battle field.

The skirmishers in advance fascinated him.  Their shots into
thickets and at distant and prominent trees spoke to him of
tragedies--hidden, mysterious, solemn.

Once the line encountered the body of a dead soldier.  He lay
upon his back staring at the sky.  He was dressed in an awkward
suit of yellowish brown.  The youth could see that the soles of
his shoes had been worn to the thinness of writing paper, and
from a great rent in one the dead foot projected piteously.  And