After I had been under fire for some time I was told to step aside, and Waterman was brought before the examiners. “He looks too young,” said Mr. Robinson to Lieutenant Hopkins. “Well, question him, suggested the lieutenant. “How old are you? inquired the committee man. “Twenty-one, sir,” replied Waterman. “When were you twenty-one?” “Last week.” “I think you're stretching it a little.” “No, sir; I'm older than Allen, who has just been taken in.” “I guess not; you may go out in the other room by the stove and think it over.” Our married man Taylor was next called in. “We can't take you,” said Robinson. “What's matter?” exclaimed Giles. “You're not old enough.” “How old've I got to be?” “Twenty-one, unless you get the consent of your parents.” “Taylor's a married man,” I whispered to Lieutenant Hopkins. “Don't tell that, or he'll be asked to get the consent of his wife,” said the lieutenant, also in a whisper. The committee contended that Taylor would not fill the bill. Waterman was recalled, and Mr. Robinson said: “Well, you've had time to think it over. Now how old are you?” “Twenty-one, last week.” “I can't hardly swallow that.” “See here, Mr. Quinn” (I had not heard the committee man's other name then), I interrupted. “We three have come together to enlist. You have said that I can go. Taylor may be a trifle under age, but what of it? If you don't take the three of us none of us will go.” There was more talk of the same kind, but finally the war committee decided to send us on to Pittsfield and let the recruiting authorities of that place settle the question of Taylor and Waterman's eligibility. There was no trouble at Pittsfield, and we were forwarded to Boston in company with several other recruits. The rendezvous was at Camp Meigs in Readville, ten miles or so below the city. Arriving at the camp we were marched to the barracks of Company I, Third Battalion, First Massachusetts cavalry, to which company we had been assigned. When we entered the barracks we were greeted with cries of “fresh fish,” etc., by the “old soldiers,” some of whom had reached camp only a few days before our arrival. We accepted the situation, and were ready as soon as we had drawn our uniforms to join in similar greetings to later arrivals. The barracks were one-story board buildings. They would shed rain, but the wind made itself at home inside the structures when there was a storm, so there was plenty of ventilation. The bunks were double-deckers, arranged for two soldiers in each berth. “I'm not going to sleep in that apple bin without you give me a bed,” said Taylor to the corporal who pointed out our bunks. “Young man, do you know who you're speaking to?” thundered the corporal. “No; you may be the general or the colonel or nothing but a corporal--”