e departing patriots; while up and down
the curving street as far as you can see, the gleaming line of bayonets
winds through the crowding masses--the men neatly uniformed and
stepping steadily as one. Bosom friends dodge through the crowd to keep
along near the dear one, now and then getting to his side to say some
last word of counsel, or to receive commission to attend to some
forgotten item of business, or say good-bye to some absent friend. As
we make our first halt on the ferry-boat the exuberant vitality of the
boys breaks out in song--every good fellow swearing tremendously, (but
piously) to himself, from time to time, that he is going to give the
rebels pandemonium, alternating the resolution with another equally
fervid and sincere that he means to "drink" himself "stone-blind" on
"hair-oil". What connection there is in this sandwich of resolutions
may be perhaps clear to the old campaigner. To passing vessels and
spectators on either shore the scene must be inspiriting--a steamboat
glittering with bayonets and packed with a grey-suited crowd plunging
out from a hidden slip into the stream, and a mighty voice of song
bursting from the mass and flowing far over the water. To us who are
_magna pars_ of the event, the moment is grand. Up Fulton street, New
York, and down Broadway amid the usual crowds of those great
thoroughfares, who waved us and cheered us generously on our patriotic
way, and we are soon at the Battery where without halting we proceed on
board the steamboat "John Potter" and stack arms. There is running to
and fro of friends in pursuit of oranges and lemons--so cool and
refreshing on the hot march--and a dozen little trifles with which
haversacks are soon stuffed. One public-spirited individual in the
crowd seizes the basket of an ancient orange-woman, making good his
title in a very satisfactory way, and tosses the glowing fruit
indiscriminately among the troops, who give him back their best "Bully
Boy!" with a "Tiger!" added. Happy little incidents on every side serve
to wile away a half hour, then the "all a-shore!" is sounded, the final
good-bye spoken, the plank hauled in, and away we sail. A pleasant
journey _via_ Amboy and Camden brings us to Philadelphia at the close
of the day. There we find a bountiful repast awaiting us at the
Soldiers' Home Saloon, after partaking of which we make our way by a
long and wearisome march to the Harrisburg Depot. At night-fall we are
put aboard a train of