Here, at any rate, military affairs were in the ascendant. His ideal of
a country was simply an East Point infinitely enlarged. His neat gray
uniform seemed already to transform him into a hero. When he thought
of the great soldiers who had been educated at this very place, he felt
a proud spirit swelling in his bosom. One night in a lonely part of the
parade-ground he solemnly knelt down and kissed the sod. The military
cemetery aroused his enthusiasm, and the captured cannon, the names of
battles inscribed here and there on the rocks, and the portraits of
generals in the mess-hall, all in turn fascinated him. As a new arrival
he was treated with scant courtesy and drilled very hard, but he did
not care. Tho his squad-fellows were almost overcome with fatigue, he
was always sorry when the drill came to an end. He never had enough of
marching and counter-marching, of shouldering and ordering arms. Even
the "setting-up" exercises filled him with joy. When cavalry drills
began he was still more in his element. His old teamster days now stood
him in good stead. In a week he could do anything with a horse,--he
understood the horse, and the horse trusted him. When he first emerged
from the riding-school on horseback in a squadron and took part in a
drill on the great parade-ground, he was prouder than ever before. He
went through it in a delirium, feeling like a composite photograph of
Washington and Napoleon.
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