At midnight, on the seventeenth, the whole
troop—about two hundred—from the hamlets
and villages of the commune, mustered before
the Bürgermeister's house; and, preceded by
him, with the pastor and schoolmaster bringing
up the rear, we marched through the dewy
forests to Gummersbach, where the Commission
sat. There was much shouting and
singing on the road; much joking, and one
or two quarrels; but the combatants were
speedily severed by the Bürgermeister's
interference, who threatened to denounce them as
"ripe for the barracks." As we approached
Gummersbach, we became all more
subdued; only the wild fellows among us
walked together in small troops, ready to
pick quarrels with the young fellows from
the other communes, who were likewise to
pass muster before the Commission on that
day.

The various communes always fight on
conscription day. It is a time-honoured custom
and it is always done, in spite of a large
body of gendarmes which accompany the
Commission for the express purpose of
preventing quarrels. While the Commission was
sitting, the young men were tolerably orderly;
but, in the afternoon, on their way home, the
war of the communes was resumed more
fiercely than ever.

Behold, then, the large yard of the only
hotel of which the town of Gummersbach
can boast, filled with a motley throng of
youths between the ages of from twenty to
twenty-three. Each commune drawn up
separately—Marienheide on the east side,
Hülsenbusch on the west, Gimborn on the
north, and Neustadt on the south—all
in military order; each division with a real
sergeant at its head, and gendarmes walking
up and down between them, rattling their
heavy swords and stroking their moustaches:
every one looking to the door of the hotel,
wondering when the "gentlemen" will be
ready, and which commune will have to go
first. At length an orderly marched out.

"Marienheide vor!"

The commune of Marienheide pressed
forward in spite of the admonitions of the
sergeant to keep places, and march in a
soldier-like manner. Close to the steps of
the door they were ranged in lines of twelve
each.

Another word of command, and the front
rank marched into the house, up the stairs,
and straight into the large saloon. There,
awful to behold, sat the Commission: a
real Major, with fringed epaulets—corpulent
as becomes a Major—and two thin lieutenants,
with the Landrath and the posse of
Bürgermeisters.

"Show them up."

Two gendarmes, who until then were
concealed behind the door, darted forward, and
one man after another was seized and pushed
up to the table.

"Name?" said the Major in an awful
voice. "Any reasons why you should not
serve? Any objections?"

There was very little to be said. The
Bürgermeister put in a word or two, appealing
to the Landrath; the Landrath could not
exactly see the force of the Bürgermeister's
reasons. He left it to the Major. That
laconic warrior placed his hand on the hilt of
his sword, and said

"To the doctor!"

Forthwith the astonished recruit was
hurried to a small room, was stripped, and
exposed to the examination of a military
surgeon who made a note of his opinion, and
handed the paper to the gendarmes. Recruit,
gendarmes, and the surgeon's note, were again
brought up to the table, and the Major gave
his decision:

"Put back one year," or "Put back two
years," as the case may be. But in the
majority of cases the order was:

"Put him down for the Grand Commission."

And the recruit was put down for the Grand
Commission accordingly.

The Grand Commission is held in the fall of
the year. It disposes of those whom the Lesser
Commission has picked out for service,
and distributes them to the various corps
of the army. The Lesser Commission
decides as to the fitness of the men; the Grand
Commission picks out the giants, and sends
them to the guards; the short, stout men
are given to the hussars; active men of
moderate size are noted down for the lancers;
the great men are distributed among the
various regiments of infantry. It struck me
at the time, as a fault in the system, that
little or no account is taken of the inclinations
of the recruits; that men who hate
walking are, without any apparent necessity,
sent to the foot regiments; and nervous youths,
to whom horseback is torture, are drafted
into cavalry corps. Perhaps this is done to
break their tempers from the first, and to
show them that, in military affairs, the
soldier's inclination and convenience go for
nothing. I had no reason to complain; for
the Colonel who headed the Grand
Commission was kind enough to make an exception
in my favour, and to allow me the choice of
my corps. I chose the Rifles.

After the Grand Commission, we were all
allowed to go home for a few months. The
future heroes of the infantry, cavalry, and
artillery—including six fine young men, who
had been picked out for the corps of miners—
followed their usual avocations, as if there
were no army or Grand Recruiting
Commission in the world. There was a little
swaggering now and then: a few preposterous
attempts at military bearing; and, after
church, the boys would sneer and the girls
would giggle at an incipient moustache; but,
in all other respects, we remained civilians
until our time was up, and the tall gendarme
made his appearance again with a fresh set of
printed forms, ordering the recruits to make