As everybody knows, the corporal's rank is lowest in the company, only a step above the position of a private, and the distinguishing badge is that of the "chevrons," two triangular stripes on the sleeves of the coat. So little did Corporal Joe prize his office that he would not at first wear these; but the time speedily came when he found them desirable. We were hurried into the field, and when at Hagerstown in Maryland we joined the brigade to which we were assigned, we found ourselves in a strictly guarded camp. The men were allowed to pass the gates only in squads in charge of a non-commissioned officer. And now Joe, seeing that the chevrons might be useful, instead of applying to the commissary for a regulation set, cut strips of light blue from the skirt of his overcoat and rudely sewed them on the sleeve of one arm only. Then he proceeded to the gate and attempted to pass the guard, who of course stopped him. "You have no non-commissioned officer with you. Only a squad in charge of a serjeant or corporal can pass." Joe held out the newly adorned arm, exclaiming, "Is not _that_ corporal enough for you?" The guard, a member of a veteran regiment, was perplexed yet obdurate. "Yes, you may be a corporal, but where is your squad?" Quick as a flash Joe wheeled and showed the other, the plain coat-sleeve. "There! Isn't _that_ squad enough for you?" And then the lieutenant in command of the guard, who had watched the whole performance broke into a hearty laugh and said,-- "You may pass. We will let you go as a non-commissioned squad." It is to be feared that Joe was, for a long time, a thorn in the side of some of our company officers. Indeed I do not think that our orderly serjeant, a very business-like and soldierly German with a prejudice against the loose ways of our volunteer service, ever became reconciled to him. We were a hastily enlisted regiment, and were rushed to the front and into active service imperfectly equipped. Our arms were at first old Harper's Ferry muskets with locks converted from flint to percussion. Want of respect for these antique weapons made us too careless of their condition: a grave military fault which was a grief and vexation to the orderly and also to our conscientious first lieutenant. At "inspection" one morning that officer found fault, justly enough, with Joe's gun. Taking it from its owner and holding it out before us all, he said sternly,-- "Corporal, what sort of an example is this to set before the company? Look at the disgraceful condition of this musket!--of what use would such a weapon be if we should be called into action?" With his peculiar and provoking grin, and in that bland and childlike tone which he assumed so readily, Joe impudently answered,-- "Why, lieutenant, if we get into a fight I expect to rely on my bayonet!"