ght they would
pass, turn up the slope, and then one by one would again swing into line
and pass, with more or less beautifully wavering fronts, before the
major. The first two companies would evoke applause from the spectators;
the third, in which you would see a familiar face, would rouse none--and
though you might clap your best, in this case you are but a ghost, and no
one would hear you. Then the companies would for last time break into
squads and so would march off the field. And you would sigh and think,
"Isn't it fine?"

Well, you would never get the true inwardness unless I told you. It went
this way.

Down out of the street we marched into the field, I a small part of a big
machine, very much afraid that I might make some blunder. The men's feet
thudded in unison on the sod, and to each tramp came the rustling echo of
our stiff breeches, always an accompaniment to us as we march in good
order. We waited, we marched forward to the music, we heard the captain
give his first order--to the guides, I realized, not to us--but then came
"Squads left--march!"

I swung to the left, the men in front of me marched to the right. Just
grazing the last of them, as these rear-rank men filed to their places, I
stepped into my position in the front rank just as the corporal finished
counting "Six" below his breath, and at "Seven!" the whole line, which
had been waiting for us Number Ones to complete it, strode straight
forward. "Company--!" and we took this last moment, each out of the
corner of his eye searching to the right, to get in good line. "Halt!"
Low voices counted "One, two!" and the halt was completed. "One, two,
three!" and the pieces were at the order. The captain commanded
"Right--dress!" and we edged forward, our heads turned to the right, to
align the rank.

Such eager work we make of it--"Forward on the right--back in the next
squad--Frothingham, you're too far forward--tell Neary to get back!" Such
commands, all under the breath, run up and down the line. At last we are
in place, the Captain says "Front!" and takes his place before the middle
of the line, facing away from us. But he says in reminder, "The next
command for _you_ will be Parade Rest."

Alas, Lieutenant Pendleton's high tenor (he is the adjutant for the day)
calls "Guides--posts!" We knew--we ought to have known--the order; we had
been warned to ignore it. But some of the men come to parade rest. The
captain hears, though he cannot turn to