upon it, and gazed at the young man who stood before him. "Well now!" he
said. "He'll certainly be glad to see you! We don't get many visitors down
this way. What's your name?"

"Tom Burns."

"Going to enlist?"

"Yes. How'd you guess it?"

"Oh, I dunno. I just thought so. You're pretty young, ain't you?"

"Eighteen," answered Tom. "I'm old enough to fight." He looked past the
Sentry, down at the even rows of tents which formed the company streets of
the Second Ohio. His heart beat faster at the thought that he would be part
of it after today. A soldier in the Union army!

"I'll send a messenger with you down to Company B," said the Sentry.
"You'll have to get the Captain's permission before you can see your
cousin."

It was early in April, 1862. The troops under the command of General O. M.
Mitchel were encamped between Shelbyville and Murfreesboro, Tennessee,
after a march from Nashville through a steady drizzle of rain. It had been
a dreary, tedious march, made worse by long detours to avoid burnt bridges,
detours over roads where the heavy wagons of the army sank hub-deep in the
glue-like mud. It had been a fight against the rain and mud every inch of
the way. And now, except for the details of bridge repairing, the troops
were resting, drying their water-soaked knapsacks, and gathering strength
for the march southward. Rumors of Chattanooga were in the air, and the