elements. The volcanic
heat of the morning was followed by a furious storm of wind and a smart
shower. The regiment wrapped themselves in their blankets and took their
wetting with more or less satisfaction. They were receiving samples of
all the different little miseries of a campaign.

And here let me say a word to my fellow-volunteers, actual and
prospective, in all the armies of all the States:--

A soldier needs, besides his soldierly
drill,

I. Good FEET.

II. A good Stomach.

III. And after these, come the good
Head and the good Heart.

But Good Feet are distinctly the first thing. Without them you cannot
get to your duty. If a comrade, or a horse, or a locomotive, takes you
on its back to the field, you are useless there. And when the field is
lost, you cannot retire, run away, and save your bacon.

Good shoes and plenty of walking make good feet. A man who pretends to
belong to an infantry company ought always to keep himself in training,
so that any moment he can march twenty or thirty miles without feeling a
pang or raising a blister. Was this the case with even a decimation
of the army who rushed to defend Washington? Were you so trained, my
comrades of the Seventh?

A captain of a company, who will let his men march with such shoes as
I have seen on the feet of some poor fellows in this war, ought to be
garroted with shoestrings, or at least compelled to play Pope and wash
the feet of the whole army of the Apostles of Liberty.

If you find a foot-soldier lying beat out by the roadside, desperate as
a sea-sick man, five to one his heels are too high, or his soles too
narrow or too thin, or his shoe is not made straight on the inside, so
that the great toe can spread into its place as he treads.

I am an old walker over Alps across the water, and over Cordilleras,
Sierras, Deserts, and Prairies at home; I have done my near sixty miles
a day without discomfort,--and speaking from large experience, and with
painful recollections of the suffering and death I have known for want
of good feet on the march, I say to every volunteer:--

Trust in God; BUT KEEP YOUR SHOES EASY!

THE BRIDGE.

When the frenzy of the brief tempest was over, it began to be a
question, "What to do about the broken bridge?" The gap--was narrow; but
even Charles Homans could not promise to leap the "J.H. Nicholson" over
it. Who was to be our Julius Caesar in bridge-building? Who but Sergeant
Scott, Armorer