the spires of churches.

Men, women, and children of all ages were at cottage doors and roadway crossings, and crowded the platforms at every station, to say or wave good-bye and God-speed to the foremost of the transport trains. We were soon at Fall River, on the steamer, and weary with excitement, the men speedily turned in and slept.

For us there was next day no Broadway parade in New York city, but landing at Jersey City there was a haversack breakfast, and after some delay, another train, and we were off for Philadelphia, through a country whose people, in hamlet and in town, cheered the unknown soldiery, who all day long poured through toward the seat of war. At Philadelphia we shared the bounteous hospitality of the citizens, who provided most thoughtfully for all the troops who passed their gates. There was a long march through wide and straight streets, then another railway embarkation, and then a long, tedious, hesitating ride, reaching through the night, and it was early morning when we arrived at Baltimore and woke the drowsy people with the sound of Yankee Doodle as we marched through to the Washington railway. Here we found the 7th New York militia waiting in the street for transportation to the Capital. More successful than they, we secured a train, which, after several hours, delivered us safely in Washington, where we were glad to learn that we were the first troops to arrive on the call of the President, and that again Massachusetts was in the advance.

Then followed a prolonged struggle with red tape, which would have told us, even if there had been no other source of information, that the scare was over and Washington safe. Before we could present our requisitions for camp equipage, the office hours had passed, the officials were deaf to all our entreaties, and although we arrived as early as 2 P. M., we were compelled that night to occupy the hard floors of one of the railway buildings.

When we came to look about us we were surprised to find that ours was the only infantry regiment at Washington, and we were poor lone orphans. We wanted tents, supplies, and a wagon train, but our requisitions were denied, because our Brigadier General had not endorsed his approval. We attempted to explain that we had no Brigadier, and all Staff-dom stood aghast,—unable to take in the idea that there could be such a thing as a regiment with no brigadier.

Verily, we might have died of starvation but for the kindness of Adjutant General Townsend, who officially made a special order from the headquarters of the army, to suit our case, and personally suggested a site near the Washington Navy Yard, known as Camp Alexander, as a convenient locality for our camp. The site was inspected, approved, and speedily occupied by us, and here passed four weeks of halcyon days. Our camp was pitched on a high bluff overlooking the eastern branch of the Potomac. The air was that of balmy June. No brigadier worried us—no up-and-away orders disturbed us, and thanks to General Townsend’s special order, our supplies were ample and regular.

But it was no idle time. A battalion which had always been restricted to the limits of an island fort, had occasion for much new practice, and the drills went briskly on. Especially was there need for practising in the use of legs, before marching orders should come, and therefore, every other day the drills of the battalion comprised also a march, growing longer day by day, until an eight-mile march was easily accomplished.

Our evening parades became quite an attraction for visitors. Congressmen, senators, and even cabinet secretaries came to be frequent guests, and the sunshine of ladies’ presence, unknown to our previous experience, gave brilliancy to our lines and encouragement to our men.

Washington was at this time in a state of siege, or according to our American phrase, under martial law. The great army, which a few months earlier had given to the district the appearance of a military camp, had moved on toward Richmond. One column was wading up the Peninsular, one was watching in the Shenandoah Valley, one was guarding the Piedmont Gaps, while McDowell, on the banks of the Rappahannock, was waiting the turn of events, and hoping for orders to join the force under McClellan, and so on to Richmond.

The chain of detached forts about the Capital, were, however, fully garrisoned, and in the city a force of cavalry was doing the work of a provost guard. Mounted sentinels were stationed at the street corners, and detachments patrolled the outlying wards. The railway station was guarded, and passengers leaving town were obliged to pass the inspection of the soldiery. At the depots of the commissary’s and the quartermaster’s stores, at the entrances to hospitals, about the offices of the departments, and at the door of the Executive Mansion, sentries were posted day and night. One was rarely out of sight and hearing of officers and orderlies, as they galloped over the rough pavements or trailed their sabres on the walks, and everywhere came and went the springless supply-wagons of the army, with their six-mule teams and postilion drivers.

All this appearance of military rule and ward was no useless show. The city was full of enemies and spies. A large part of the resident population was hostile to the North. Very frequently at the approach of uniformed men, ladies gathered their skirts to prevent contaminating touch, and children shook their tiny fists and made grimaces of dislike.

If there seemed to be exceptional cases where officers were welcomed by secessionists, men or women, the attentions were apt to end in a request for aid to procure passes through our lines, or in wily cross-examination about posts or movements of the troops. There was but little tinsel; except at the barracks of the marine corps, where old traditions were preserved, there were no epaulettes, no chapeaux, no plumes, but everything spoke of real war service.

He who visits Washington now will find it hard to realize that that beautiful capital is the same as the dust and mud-covered town of 1862. He who has known it only as the beleaguered city of the war, would almost fail to recognize it in its changed condition.

It seemed at times as if we had been lost or forgotten by the war department; but an occasional order, or the call for some report, betrayed a semi-consciousness of our existence. None of the authorities could take in the idea that we had only six companies, and when a funeral escort was wanted for the body of Lieutenant-Colonel Palmer, of the engineers, the order came to detail six companies, under a Lieutenant-Colonel, for that duty, and our commanding officer thereupon detailed himself and his full command.

This escort was, in all our history, the only instance of show duty. Our newly-joined Assistant-Surgeon Faxon, with such daring as could come only from raw ignorance, volunteered to take the compliments of our commander to the General commanding the Marine Corps, and to ask for the loan of his celebrated band. Whether the General was stunned by our impudence or flattered by the Doctor’s blandishments, may never be known, but the request was complied with, and our march through the crowded city was made dazzling by the great band, with their plumed caps, scarlet coats, white trowsers, and gorgeous equipments.

Every point of military etiquette was observed in the ceremonial; the command was in the best of condition, and we heard with great satisfaction the favorable comments from the crowds that thronged our way. “It takes the regulars,” “volunteers never could do that,” etc. And no doubt as we marched back to our camp of spacious tents, with the full assurance of ample rations prepared by company cooks awaiting our arrival, our