“'Nothing but a corporal!' I'll give you to understand that a corporal in the First Massachusetts cavalry is not to be insulted. You have no right to speak to me without permission. I'll put you in the guard house and prefer charges against you.” “See here,” said Taylor. “Don't you fool with me. If you do I'll cuff you.” “Mutiny in the barracks,” shouted a lance sergeant who heard Giles's threat to smite the corporal. The first sergeant came out of a little room near the door, and charged down toward us with a saber in his hand. “What's the trouble here?” he demanded. “This recruit threatened to strike me,” replied the corporal. “And he threatened to put me in the guard house for saying I wouldn't sleep in that box without a bed,” said Taylor. “Did you ever hear the articles of war read?” asked the sergeant. “No, sir.” “Well, then, we'll let you go this time; but you've had a mighty narrow escape. Had you struck the corporal the penalty would have been death. Never talk back to an officer.” “Golly! that was a close call,” whispered Taylor, after he had crawled into his bunk. We each had a blanket issued to us for that night, but the next day straw ticks were filled, and added to our comfort. Waterman and I took the upper bunk, and Giles slept downstairs alone until he paired with Theodore C. Hom of Williamstown, another new-comer. One of the most discouraging experiences that a recruit was called upon to face before he reached the front was the drawing of his outfit--receiving his uniform and equipments. I speak of cavalry recruits. If there ever was a time when I felt homesick and regretted that I had not enlisted in the infantry it was the morning of the second day after our arrival at Camp Meigs. I recall no one event of my army life that broke me up so completely as did this experience. I had drawn a uniform in the Griswold cavalry at Troy before my father appeared on the scene with a _habeas corpus_, but I had not been called on to take charge of a full set of cavalry equipments. If I had been perhaps the second attack of the war fever would not have come so soon. A few minutes after breakfast the first sergeant of Company I came out from his room near the door and shouted: “Attention!” “Attention!” echoed the duty sergeants and corporals in the barracks. “Recruits of Company I who have not received their uniforms fall in this way.” A dozen “Johnny come Latelys,” including the Berlin trio, fell in as directed. The sergeant entered our names in a memorandum book. Then we were turned over to a corporal, who marched us to the quartermaster's office where we stood at attention for an hour or so while the requisition for our uniforms was going through the red-tape channels. Finally the door opened, and a dapper young sergeant with a pencil behind his ear informed the corporal that “all's ready.” The names were called alphabetically, and I was the first of the squad to go inside to receive my outfit.