chopping, or drawing logs with an ox team. We left our old camp ground on November 18, 1862, with flying colors, to the tune of "Dixie" and "The Star Spangled Banner," and other patriotic airs. But all this did not occur without many tearful eyes, for the streets were crowded with friends and loved ones that were to be left behind. We pulled out of the dock at the foot of State street on the steamer City of Hartford about four o'clock in the afternoon. We arrived at Williamsburg, L.I., early the next morning, and the good people of that city treated us with all the sandwiches and coffee that we wanted. We marched about ten miles, with a portable bureau or what you might call a knapsack on our backs, before one o'clock that day, to the Centerville race course. We pitched our tents and made things as comfortable as we could for the night as you must know it was quite cold weather, it being the last of November. There is no place that reveals the real character of a man so quickly and so clearly as a shelter tent in an army on the field. All there is in him, be it noble or base, strong or weak, is brought to the front by the peculiar experiences of the soldier. The life of a soldier in camp is tedious and wearisome, but when a regiment starts for the field under a government not prepared for war (ours was not), the real trials of the soldier begin. When our regiment arrived at the camp at Centerville, after a march of ten miles, we found that no provision had been made for us,--and it now being the last of November. In the small hours of the morning Colonel Bissell drilled the regiment on a double quick movement on the race course to warm us up. The regiment was ordered to embark on November 29. The Twenty-fifth regiment was to have started on Saturday when lo! just as we were drawn up in line preparatory to a start, General Banks' orderly gallops up, bringing an order for Companies C, D, F, and G to remain behind and go with the Twenty-sixth Connecticut. Here was a pretty fix, for tents, baggage, and everything had already gone. To add to our troubles up came one of the hardest rainstorms, such as only Long Island can produce. As there was no other place, we were compelled to quarter in the old barn which was later turned into a guard house, where we slept on bare boards. Not a wisp of straw had we to lie on, for it was so rainy we could not gather any.