And so the march had started. The route was in a big circle about the camp as a center, and would take about five days. The men were to sleep in dog tents, camping at certain designated points, and eating the rations they carried with them and the food that would be brought to them by supply trains that accompanied the army. It was to be as much like a hike through a hostile land as it was possible to make it. In order to make the illusion complete--that of having the young soldiers imagine they were at actual warfare--the same sort of marching was to prevail as would have prevailed had the men from Camp Dixton been on their way to take their place in the front line trenches, bordering on No Man’s Land, or as if they were hastening to the relief of a sorely-tried division. To that end it was ordered that the day’s march should be broken up into periods. That is, the soldiers would march at the regulation speed for a certain number of miles, a distance depending, to a certain degree, on the nature of the land and whether or not it was uphill or downhill. At the end of the distance a halt would be called, and the men would be allowed ten minutes’, or perhaps a half hour’s, rest. They were told not to take off their packs during this period, as it would be hard to get them adjusted to their backs again, but they were instructed to ease themselves as much as possible, by resting the weight of their packs on some convenient rock, log or hummock. And so down the road went Ned, Bob and Jerry, in the midst of their chums of the army--boys and men with whom they had formed, for the most part, desirable acquaintances. “This is one fine day,” remarked Jerry, as he and his friends trudged along together. “Couldn’t be better,” agreed Ned. “How about it, Chunky?” “Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” was the answer. “Chunky is worrying so much about whether or not he will have enough to eat that he doesn’t know whether the sun is shining or whether it’s a rainy day,” laughed a friend on the other side of the stout lad. “Well, I like my meals,” said the stout one, and there was more laughter. On and on marched the young soldiers. Their officers watched them closely, not only to gain a knowledge of the characteristics of the men, but to note any who might be in distress, and also for signs of stragglers who might purposely delay the march from a spirit of sheer laziness. The younger officers were given points on the method of marching and the care of their men by those who had been through the ordeal before. It was a sort of school for all concerned. The day was hot, and the roads were dusty, and to trudge along under those circumstances with seventy pounds, more or less, strapped to one’s back was difficult and trying work. But there was very little grumbling. Each man knew he had to do his bit, and, after all, there was a reason for everything, and a deep spirit of patriotism had possession of all.