Marching orders had been welcomed by the men, and the first few miles
had been marked by jollity; the jest repeated growing from four to four;
great shouts had risen, at seeing the dust made by our columns advancing
on parallel roads. The air was stagnant, the sun directly in our faces.
This little peaked infantry cap is a damnable outrage. The straps across
my shoulders seemed to cut my flesh. Great drops rolled down my face. My
canteen was soon dry. The men were no longer erect as on dress parade.
Each one bent over--head down. The officers had no heavy muskets--no
heavy cartridge-boxes; they marched erect; the second lieutenant was
using his sword for a walking-cane. "Close up!" shouted the sergeants.
My heels were sore. The dust was stifling.

Another halt; a new detail for water.

The march continued--a stumbling, staggering march, in the darkness. A
hundred yards and a halt of a minute; a quarter of a mile and a halt of
half an hour; an exasperating march. At two o'clock in the morning we
were permitted to break ranks. I was too tired to sleep. Where we were I
knew not, and I know not--somewhere in Fairfax County, Virginia. Willis,
who was near me, lying on his blanket, his cartridge-box for a pillow,
said that we were the left of McDowell's army; that the centre and right
extended for miles; that the general headquarters ought to be at Fairfax
Court-House at this moment, and that if Beauregard didn't look sharp he
would wake up some fine morning and find old Heintz in his rear.

* * * * *

Before the light we were aroused by the reveillé.