camp was buzzing with talk of "Mitchel's plan of campaign." Groups of
soldiers stood about exchanging views on what would happen next,
speculating upon the points where they would come into contact with the
rebs: others were playing games, or lying upon blankets spread before their
tents, sleeping, reading and writing letters. The rows of tents gave a
suggestion of military orderliness to the scene, but it was a suggestion
only, for the tents and their guy ropes were strung with blankets and
clothing put out to dry.

Although it was not quite what he had expected to see, the camp was
wonderful and thrilling to Tom Burns. He had expected more military pomp
and precision; not simply hundreds of men, half-clothed and weather-worn,
loitering and shifting between rows of tents. Even the tents were patched
and dirty. But if the scene did not compare with the picture he had in his
imagination--of officers mounted upon spirited horses, buglers sounding
calls, companies standing at attention--there was a spirit of action and
excitement in the air which made him rejoice. These men, who were
half-clothed because the only garments they had to put upon their backs
were tied to the guy ropes drying, were hardened campaigners; men,
roughened and toughened in their months of service, pausing a moment before
battle. The stains and tears of the tents were campaign badges. Tom began
to feel proud that "his" regiment was not like the new, raw troops he had
seen in the north--immaculately clean troops which had never known a night
in the open, far from the comforts of barracks.

He was speechless as the messenger who had been detailed by the Sergeant of
the Guard led him down the regimental street, where the officers' tents
faced each company street. Company F ... Company E ... Company D.... At the
head of each street was a small penciled sign telling them what company
they were passing. Tom glanced ahead to Company B. In front of the