THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
very much, and he thought it no more than proper to give me, besides the military salute, a further mark of respect by uncovering his head and bowing.
The case of our old friend, General Milroy, who occasionally discussed with his men why and how the next move should be made, was, of course, a very exceptional one. Perhaps it was unique. But it is certain that in the volunteer army the relations between officers and men were amicable—not to say fraternal—in a degree which in any European army would be considered subversive of all discipline. Nor could this have been otherwise. Not only was there no social class distinction between them, but the difference between them in point of education and capacity was not so general and not so great as to establish an authoritative superiority of one over the other. There were plenty of men in the ranks who were the equals, if not the superiors, of their lieutenants or captains, or even their colonels in point of intelligence or culture. As to military matters, they were, as a rule, at first, equally uninstructed and inexperienced. Some of the officers had, perhaps, the advantage of having taken part in the drill of some militia company, but that was of little account. The private soldier could, therefore, not see in his officer the man who might be depended upon to know how to do things in an emergency much better than the men he commanded. Thus the authority of such officers depended in a large measure upon the good will of the subordinates. I have already mentioned how on a march in warm weather the column could not be kept close, and how the men sitting down on the roadside would coolly reply to the officers urging them on: “All right, sir; we'll get there in time!”—which in most cases they did. This was so universal an experience that by and by all attempts to maintain very strict order on the march were given up, except in the immediate
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