Sometimes these marches were made in pleasant weather, when the air was full of the perfume of flowers and melodious with the songs of birds. Sometimes they were made when the skies were leaden, and the clouds hung low; when rain poured down, hour after hour, and the roads became quagmires, and the men were soaked and chilled to the bone. Sometimes they were made in midwinter, when the ground was frozen, and the north wind cut like a knife, and at every step the road was stained with the blood of bruised and broken feet. Sometimes the route lay along pleasant lanes, or dim old country roads, or through quiet and shadowy woods, rich with odors of fir and pine; sometimes it followed, for days, the hard, white pikes, over which the dust hung like a cloud, thick, heavy, stifling. But no matter what the weather or the roads might be—whether the rain poured down in torrents, or the sun beat upon the column like a fiery furnace, or the cold of winter chilled and froze—the regiments formed and marched whenever orders came. The long lines dwindled steadily and fatefully. Regiments that had once mustered a thousand men, were reduced to two or three hundred; companies that had answered to roll-call an hundred strong were mere squads of ten or fifteen. But as their long columns shrank, and each soldier’s place in the line drew nearer and nearer to the faded and tattered flag in the center, it seemed to grow dearer and more precious to their hearts. They followed it, upheld it, loved it, with an earnestness and devotion without parallel. Following it, hardships and privations were welcomed; upholding it, dangers and sufferings were laughed at; and to protect it the humblest and roughest of them all would have cheerfully and proudly given his own life. I have heard men, of late years, deny the existence of such a thing as disinterested patriotism. But the soldiers of the Union exemplified this splendid sentiment during every moment of their lives. No difficulty could dampen their ardor, no repulse could shake their confidence in final victory, no toil or suffering could perplex their faithful loyalty. The flag represented the Republic; to serve it was a soldier’s duty; to die for it was a soldier’s fate.