It is ten o'clock. The sun glares fiercely down, though there is a breeze from the north that keeps the flag upon the high mast, near the entrance of the camp, softly waving its bright benison above its crude surroundings. Oh beautiful banner! What desert doth it not make bright! How many have its gleaming folds lured on to death! How often glazing orbs have turned lovingly up to it their last glance!

The fifes and drums have ceased to sound. The parade is formed - after a fashion. Two straggling, uncertain lines of unarmed, blue-clad men stretch across the uneven field; a group of musicians, with a few fifes and drums, are in their places on the right; the men stand at parade rest, with hands clasped loosely before them; the sun beats hot on the glowing napes, which the military caps, just donned for the first time, have left unprotected - the sweat-drops creep down hot, flushed faces; many an eye wanders longingly to the blue, sparkling waves of Lake Erie, of which one might catch a distant glimpse.

A man in the uniform of a captain of the United States Army and one in the uniform of a colonel of Volunteers pass along the line, halting here and there, while a clerk calls the names of each company and checks the same upon the rolls, which are carried by an orderly. There are frequent discussions, in which the company's officers take part. Men are shifted from one company to another, until finally all are in their proper places. There is about the line that uneasiness and uncertainty of pose which marks the untrained soldier, and that general looseness of formation which inseparable from a parade without arms.

When the required changes have been made, the man in the uniform of the Regular Army takes his place in front of the center of the line; behind him, his clerk and orderly, and beside him the man in a colonel's uniform.

The long, blue line sways and rustles as the men straighten themselves into a more or less correct position, take touch of elbows, glance right and left to secure a better alignment, and wonderingly gaze to the front to see what will happen next. A group of spectators, among whom are a few ladies, who carry parasols, stand in front of the right wing. They are evidently interested in what is going on. Some of them intercept the mustering officer's view of that part of the line; he orders them back, but the group is a considerable one and do not understand what is wanted of them. An orderly is sent to repeat the command and see that it is obeyed. The crowd fall back willingly but wonderingly. Then the officer explains that, when the command is given, each one whose name has been called -officers and men alike - will take off his cap with the left hand and holding up his right one, with the open palm to the front, repeat after him the oath of service. Then came the command:

There is a scuffling in the ranks, each one looking to see if his neighbor has obeyed. A good many take off the camp with right hand and have to shift it to the left. The crowd titters at the many mistakes.

"Hands up!"

Some raise the right hand and some the left. The officers look around and correct mistakes. Near the middle of the line and intensely red head shows nigh a foot above the line of other heads on either side, and a red-bearded face looks calmly over the head of the officer, whose station is directly in his front.

"Get down!" he says, as his eye reaches the red head that overtops its neighbors. The red face turns one way and the other in wondering search of what has awakened the officer's displeasure. All the other faces in line turn also.

A titter runs along the line. Everyone knows what has happened. A shout goes up from the spectators. Some of the officers laugh. The Colonel steps forward and says something in an undertone to the mustering officer. The officer looks foolish There red-bearded face ducks a few inches nearer the line of heads about it. The face is redder than ever. It was not (6'9") Jerry Whetstone's fault that his comrades only came up to his shoulder. Yet, many thousand times on the march and in the camp - before he marches up the Avenue, in grand review, with his unerring rifle all out of line with the pieces of the little squad which are all that remains of the company - will the great, good-natured giant be exhorted to "Get off that stump!" And not once will the injunction fail to raise a laugh, no matter how weary those may be who hear it.

When the merriment has subsided, the officer directs that all repeat with him the oath of service, each giving his own name when the officer should repeat his:

A wave of confused murmurs rose from the long lines.

The response was heavier and more uniform than before.

Firm and full came the thousand-fold echo.

An exultant shout went up.

How earnest the solemn pledge!

How soon was trial of their sincerity to be made!

What greater privilege could await one!

Obedience is a soldier's duty!

What did they include? No matter!

There was a brief pause and the mustering officer added -

A solemn reverent murmur came in response.

Then the officer said, with that mixture of smartness and dignity with which a well-disciplined man performs an important routine act:

Hardly had the words escaped his lips when the drums rolled, the spectators cheered; the flag was dipped upon the mast; the one gun beside the gate fired a clamorous salute; caps were swung in the air, and with the oath of service fresh on their lips, and their right hands yet uplifted, the newly-constituted regiment cheered - itself! It must have been itself, since there was nothing else for them to cheer. The sun shone on the bared heads; men clasped each other's hands in earnest gratulation, and there was a hint of tears upon many glistening lids!

The colonel, who had hitherto stood beside the mustering officer, now took two steps forward, drew his sword from its sheath, brought it smartly to the shoulder, and with a voice rarely excelled for smoothness and evenness of tone, and perhaps unequalled in the whole army for distinctness and carrying power, command:

Was it admiration for the soldierly figure, so strikingly resembling in form and feature the portraits of the great Napoleon, the thrill of that marvelous voice they were to hear so often when other voices were unable to pierce the din of strife, or the exquisite modulation which even in command complimented those who stood before him on their newly assumed character, that so quickly hushed the turmoil? An hour before they had been merely a thousand men; now they were "The One Hundred and Fifth Regiment of Ohio Volunteer Infantry, " and a part of that Grand Army which Liberty threw across the path of secession, slavery and revolt which threatened the nation's life. All this and more, was conveyed by subtle instant's silence, after each man had restored his cap to its place and stiffened himself into the position of the soldier. Then there was another spontaneous outburst. This time it was the colonel who was cheered. He acknowledged it with a salute, and then commanded sharply and sternly:

A smart young officer who had stood a little to the rear of the Colonel, stepped briskly around him, advanced to a position midway between him and the lines and drew a package of papers from his belt. At the same time the Colonel commanded "Parade Rest!" The Adjutant read an order, announcing that "Albert S. Hall, having been appointed Colonel of the 105th Regiment Ohio Volunteer Infantry, hereby assumes command of the same." Then he read another order, announcing the field and staff, and the assignment of line officers to the various companies of said regiment.

All listened intently to this, the first official promulgation of a military order, that most of them ever heard. When the organization was completed, another order was read that sent a thrill of wondering surprise through every one who heard it.

It was a telegram from the Governor:

It was high noon when the ranks were broken. Sixty minutes afterwards, the regiment was on the march to the depot, and two hours later, was being whirled away to the theater of war.

It takes one's breath away, in these days of peace, when the soldier is recalled only as a pensioner, who discounted a thankless burden to the government, to think that men were hurried forward, unarmed, without an hour's instruction in their new duties, to be placed across the path of a victorious enemy. But nothing seemed surprising then, and if any were inclined to murmur, an instinctive sense of duty overbore their discontent. Yet if ever a soldier has a right to complain when once the oath of service has passed his lips, these men surely had . It was but eight days since the first of them had left their homes; but forty-six of their number had ever seen an hour's service; hardly half of the companies had had more than three or four hours of drill, and one of them, at least, only one hour! But nothing was strange in those days of miracle and self-forgetfulness! If there was any disposition to complain it was voiced only when they found themselves blamed for lacking the discipline they were given no opportunity to acquire.

The Story of a Thousand: Being a history of the Service of the 105th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, in the War for the Union from August 21, 1862 to June 6, 1865. Albion W. Tourgee. Buffalo, NY. S. McGerald & Son. 1896. Pages 1-9.