The only thing he left out was the detachment of veterans.
"Putty-boom! Putty-boom! Putty-boom-boom-boom!" he vociferated, as the drums--and then as the bugles: "Ta, ta, ra, tara!" He addressed his restive legs: "_Whoa_, there, you Whitey! Gee! Haw! Git up!" Then, waving an imaginary sword: "Col-lumn right! Farwud _March!_ Halt! Carry _harms!_" He "carried arms." "Show-dler _harms!_" He "shouldered arms," and returned to his seat.
"That'd be me, Grandpa.

That's the way I'd do." And as the grandfather nodded, seeming to agree, a thought recently dismissed returned to the mind of the composite procession and he asked: "Well, _why_ weren't you ever afraid the Rebels would whip the Unions, Grandpa ?" "Oh, we knew they couldn't." "I guess so." The little boy laughed disdainfully, thinking his question satisfactorily answered.

"I guess those ole Rebels couldn't whipped a flea! They didn't know how to fight any at all, did they, Grandpa ?" "Oh, yes, they did!" "What ?" The boy was astounded.

"Weren't they all just reg'lar ole cowards, Grandpa ?" "No," said the grandfather.

"They were pretty fine soldiers." "They were?
Well, they ran away whenever you began shootin' at 'em, didn't they ?" "Sometimes they did, but most times they didn't.