There was more talk of the same kind, but finally the war committee decided to send us on to Pittsfield and let the recruiting authorities of that place settle the question of Taylor and Waterman's eligibility.
There was no trouble at Pittsfield, and we were forwarded to Boston in company with several other recruits. The rendezvous was at Camp Meigs in Readville, ten miles or so below the city. Arriving at the camp we were marched to the barracks of Company I, Third Battalion, First Massachusetts cavalry, to which company we had been assigned.
When we entered the barracks we were greeted with cries of “fresh fish,” etc., by the “old soldiers,” some of whom had reached camp only a few days before our arrival. We accepted the situation, and were ready as soon as we had drawn our uniforms to join in similar greetings to later arrivals. The barracks were one-story board buildings. They would shed rain, but the wind made itself at home inside the structures when there was a storm, so there was plenty of ventilation. The bunks were double-deckers, arranged for two soldiers in each berth.
“I'm not going to sleep in that apple bin without you give me a bed,” said Taylor to the corporal who pointed out our bunks.
“Young man, do you know who you're speaking to?” thundered the corporal.
“No; you may be the general or the colonel or nothing but a corporal—”
“'Nothing but a corporal!' I'll give you to understand that a corporal in the First Massachusetts cavalry is not to be insulted. You have no right to speak to me without permission. I'll put you in the guard house and prefer charges against you.”
“See here,” said Taylor. “Don't you fool with me. If you do I'll cuff you.”
“Mutiny in the barracks,” shouted a lance sergeant who heard Giles's threat to smite the corporal.
The first sergeant came out of a little room near the door, and charged down toward us with a saber in his hand.