"There will be cursing".

Monday,September 9, 1861
I have been here for some few days. There are many others who have been here many weeks. All of us are here to be transformed from a rabble into a Rebel army. When we were disgorged from the train, we were escorted to a recruiting station. Folks with paper, books and pens took down our particulars as to body shape, hair color, complexion and the like. It was difficult for many of us to pay attention to the questions of the recruiting officers given the many distractions that surrounded us.

There was much yelling on the part of the drillmasters. Not all of their fulminations towards their recruits was fit for polite society but one must remember that this is no finishing school for girls. This is an army camp for soldiers.There will be cursing. Martial music from a band was sometimes drowned out by the whistles of steam locomotives delivering supplies and more men, fresh fish they are.

The recruiting officer commented about my age and then said that few were being turned away. All who came were looking to get into a scrap with the Yankees and no one wanted to dissappoint them. I mentioned that I had served in the Old Army in Mexico with "Rough and Ready" Taylor. For this, I was made a lance corporal on the spot and was given my own "squad" to train under the compassionate direction of a Corporal Joseph Flynn. Besides, I had my own musket and accroutrements.

My squad consists of only six recruits, all new to the profession of arms. There's William Beckham, William Caston, Thomas Duncan, Burrell Hancock, Philip Shehane and John White. We are not yet assigned to a company. With so very few of us here having any experience in creating an army from a bunch of plowboys, clerks, planters sons and the occassional gentleman, there is great confusion in camp. I'm not sure anyone knows what to do with us. I'm sure someone will figure this out and will tell us where to go.

With one lone exception, all my squad are from the up-country. I am the lone recruit from the coast. I am also the only one with a musket. For the present, it is not critical that my men be armed with anything. It is enough to get them to march in step, turn as one body and obey orders, especially the latter. I can give orders in a loud voice but it is really an art form. Corporal Flynn does not give orders. He vomits invective from his palate of many colors onto the blank canvasses of the recruits. He inspires respect. And fear.

My squad looks to me as the "Old Man" and they pepper me with many questions. All want to be good soldiers and are anxious to look good in my eyes while at the same time avoiding the eye of Corporal Flynn. They all want muskets and cartridge boxes in order to more look the part of seasoned veterans and not be mistaken for recruits. Military supplies are few and far between. They will be lucky to get a stick. It is not enough to look like a soldier; they must BE soldiers. Their lives and the life of our country depend on it.

For the moment, we must make do with what we have, trusting in our government to supply us with the means to ensure our liberty. We must drill and drill and drill. When it rains, the drill field gets muddy and having many hundreds of recruits tromping renders everything into a quagmire. All are dirty. Many fall in the mud. I have not seen soap issued since arriving. I brought a small piece with me and am very popular with the squad.

There are quite a number of officers here but I have spoken only with those of the recruiting service. Some of the officers look like fops their uniforms are so gaudy and very impractical. Active campaigning will take care of that. There is almost every color of the rainbow represented by the mix of uniforms here. There is blue, red, green, brown and even some grey. In camp, the word uniform is just an abstract concept. The Emperor Napoleon would have been proud.

The night is growing long and my candle is growing short. Tomorrow is coming and it could be exciting