of the most northerly barrack and in the west section of the building, with Co. B, their neighbors, in the eastern portion. Two tiers of bunks ranged along each side of the structure and each bunk was occupied by two men; at the entrance was a room for commissioned officers, most of whom preferred the softer beds in the hotels of the village to the hard straw ticks of the camp.

As the recruits arrived in town they were taken to one of the public halls, where surgeons Hendrick, Beebe and Crawe hammered their chests, listened to their heartbeats and respiration, looked into the eyes of the recruits, finally ordering them to jump over the floor on each leg consecutively. During this ordeal the boys appeared in the uniform of Nature only. Few failed to pass the Board, however, and the successful ones then appeared before the adjutant. If a minor, a written consent was required from the parent or guardian.

Accepted recruits were given orders upon the quartermaster and were taken over to a warehouse near the canal and there received an outfit. The dress coat of dark blue, also dark blue flannel blouse and pants, overcoat, coarse gray shirts, canton flannel drawers, woolen socks, shoes and blanket, not to forget the dark blue fatigue cap so heartily disliked by the wearers. The civilian garb was shed at once and the green soldier was revealed in the cut and fit of his new clothing of war, while his back itched under those shirts as though numerous flies and ants were perambulating there, with an occasioned nipping from a stray spider. But how very, very verdant the boys appeared—so harmless-like in their uniforms, and to add to the ludicrous feature of the occasion very many of them hastened to a gallery to have their appearance preserved for all time.

Knapsacks, haversacks and canteens, tin cups and plates, knives and spoons, came to each in time. No guns were issued in Camp Mitchell; guards about the camp carried guns borrowed from a local armory—no cartridges were issued. A high board fence presented the most discouraging barricade to such of the boys as desired a night outside.

It was amusing to observe the schemes for gaining liberty and to see the boys return to duty after a day or two in the narrow quarters of the guard house. They were not accustomed to such discipline; but they were soon to learn that they had entered upon a new career.

Life in barracks was not tedious. During the day there were several marching drills by squad, platoon and company, and in the evening dress parade, and perhaps, a few attempts at battalion evolutions. Officers in nearly every company were as green as the men. A few short-enlistment men who had seen service and returned, and some who had served in home companies, usually were the drill-masters. Col. Brown had been captain of the Hamilton Grays; Major Carmichael for a time served as captain in the 76th N.Y.; a few other officers had been in the service.

Co. G were drilled by Sergeants Hemstreet and Gates, six months' recruits to the 12th N.Y.V.; also by Frank Cooper afterwards a member of the 78th N.Y. During drill hours "hay-foot, straw-foot!"—"heels together, toes on a line, body erect resting on the toes,"—"forward, march!" and "halt,"—the orders from drill-masters, were heard on all sides; and over in one corner of the pen were the ten or more fifers and drummers taking first lessons in martial music. The scene was enough to make an old soldier weep from laughter, and yet it was not an unusual one wherever raw troops were mustered.

The eating house at Camp Mitchell (so named in honor of David J. Mitchell, a lawyer, at one time a resident of Hamilton) stood at the east end of the enclosure, into which the men were marched by their officers, three times daily to their meals. Good, wholesome fare was provided and in abundance and would have been pronounced grand one year later, could those boys have obtained it on Folly Island, in place of wormy hardtack and tough salt-horse.

The sick at Hamilton were quartered in a small church near the grounds, but Co. G were fortunate as to health while at the rendezvous. Many of the boys enjoyed furloughs during those five or six weeks and their friends visited them and were often permitted to pass the night at the barracks. Amusements of various kinds broke the monotony of barrack life—card playing, wrestling, quoits, various games and much rough horse-play, continually in sight.

While there was so much life astir in Camp Mitchell, it must be acknowledged that a few of the men were down-hearted, particularly those about to leave wives and children; and who could blame them? There were heavy hearts in the homes of those boys. One man when called upon to give a written consent for his sons to enlist, remarked that he felt as if he were signing their death-warrants. For there was a terrible uncertainty for soldiers in those days and the much-quoted silver lining of the heavy clouds overhanging our country, was yet to be discovered in the future efforts of her loyal sons. Cripples and sick men were returning from the front and occasionally somebody's child was brought home for burial. The failure of the Peninsula Campaign, followed by the disaster at Bull Run, were bad records, scarcely effaced by the hard-earned victory at Antietam. And yet, amid such desolation the American people of the North never ceased to give of blood and treasure and the boys kept marching on, the matrons and the maidens smiling and waving farewells with hearts and eyes overflowing, the men and boys cheering, bands playing, fifes shrieking and drums beating. The boys marched away, the hospitals filled, little mounds dotted many a Southern field, the ranks thinned and the scene was repeated again and again until victory came; and then it was time to count the cost. Those who suffered were the ones to cast the reckoning.

On the 19th of September, 1862, the regiment was mustered into the service of the United States. The preliminary of scanning-over the men was performed during a dreary rain storm, by regular army surgeons, the men in line by company. Few were rejected and those for defects of eyes or teeth, or for manifest feebleness. There was Ziba Cloyes of Co. G, a man of sixty years, who had enlisted as being only forty-four, gray hair and a general suspicion of advanced years about him. The surgeon reached him in the line.

"What is your age, sir?"

"Forty-four."

The surgeon smiled. "Open your mouth."

Ziba obeyed, disclosing a full set of teeth such as would have delighted many a dude. Then he brought them together with a sharp snap.

"Put your finger in there," he said, again opening his jaws to their widest limit.

"You will do, sir," said the surgeon as he passed, with a broad grin, to the next man.

After the examination came the formal muster-in by companies, and Co. G were then an arm of the government and on the direct road to active service. Orders thereafter emanated from officers of the general government and the State was duly accredited. Co. G had saved Canastota from a draft.

Sept. 25th, with their new rubber-cloth knapsacks, haversacks and canteens, at an early hour, Co. G were mustered for the road. Teams had been generously offered by the people far and near, gratuitously, and on that morning to the number of more than one hundred blocked the streets of the village, long before daybreak, in waiting to carry the regiment to Canastota.

The loading was quite slow and consumed considerable time, but the day was fine and the roads in excellent condition and the journey to Peterboro was made without further delay. In that pleasant little village the regiment left the wagons and marched into the park, where tables were spread on the green and laden with good fare. While the boys were eating, they were favored with a speech from Hon. Gerrit Smith. He was seated upon a white horse. His deep, eloquent tones were heard above the clatter of dishes. It was his wish that the boys be not withheld from