"We'll see, Mr. Klegg," said the Captain, "if you can't learn to handle your arms without mashing the toes and stabbing the eyes out of the rest of the company."
CHAPTER VIII. ON COMPANY DRILL
SI GETS TANGLED IN THE MAZES OF THE EVOLUTIONS.
"ALL in for company drill!"
These words struck the unwilling ears of Co. Q, 200th Ind., the next time Buell halted his army to draw a long breath.
"Wish somebody would shoot that durned Orderly," muttered Si Klegg. "For two cents I'd do it myself."
"Don't do it, Si," admonished Shorty, "They'd git another one that'd be just as bad. All orderlies are cusses."
Si believed it would be a case of justifiable homicide, and, if the truth must be told, this feeling was largely shared by the other members of the company. For more than a week the boys had been tramping over a "macadamized" Kentucky pike. Feet were plentifully decorated with blisters, legs were stiff and sore, and joints almost refused to perform their functions.
It had rained nearly all the previous day, and the disgusted Hoosiers of the 200th went sloshing along, wet to the skin, for 20 dreary miles. With that diabolical care and method that were generally practiced at such times, the Generals selected the worst possible locations for the camps. The 200th was turned into a cornfield, where the men sank over their shoetops in mud, and were ordered to bivouac for the night. The wagons didn't get up at all. How they passed the slowly-dragging hours of that dismal night will not be told at this time. Indeed, bare mention is enough to recall the scene to those who have "been there."