CHAPTER XVIII.
It was still dark when he awoke with a violent start, dreaming of loud trumpets, and found himself sitting upright on his cot, staring into obscurity.
Outside on the veranda a multitude of heavy steps echoed and re-echoed over the creaking boards; spurs clinked, sabres dragged and clanked; a man's harsh, nasal voice sounded irritably at intervals: "We're not an army--we're not yet an army; that's what's the matter.

You can't erect an army by uniforming and drilling a few hundred thousand clerks and farmers.

You can't manufacture an army by brigading regiments--by creating divisions and forming army corps.

There is only one thing on God's long-enduring earth that can transform this mob of State troops into a National army--discipline!--and that takes time; and we've got to take it and let experience kick us out of one battle into another.

And some day we'll wake up to find ourselves a real army, with real departments, really controlled and in actual and practical working order.