Chapter 14
Well, at last we heard the captain's whistle, and steadied. His voice came: "Range, eight hundred and fifty yards." We set our sights. "At one o'clock, to the right of the cemetery, fire at will!" We stood upright (it was a relief to straighten out!) and I saw, across the valley, beside a little cemetery on the top of the further hill, some moving figures, at which I fired a couple of clips. Then "Cease firing!" We locked our pieces; the men had disappeared. "Down, men!" And we crouched again. But next we heard "Battle sight--at four o'clock--fire at will," and when we stood up there was a line of skirmishers advancing out of the woods beyond the railway cutting, about where the figure four would be on a great clock-face if spread before us on the landscape, we ourselves being at the six. But while I was popping contentedly away at these men our platoon was ordered first to cease firing, and then to leave the trench and rush to the top of the hill, which we did helter-skelter, none, not even our leader, knowing why.
At the very ridge we were met, slap in the face, by a fierce wind of which we in the trench had as yet got no inkling, which blew our ponchos all about, and savagely drove heavy drops of rain in our eyes. In the midst of this surprise we were confronted by an orderly, who pointing along the ridge, told us that we were to form in column of squads. In which direction we should face, and which squad first, 7 or 10, he did not say. It is easy enough now to see what our leader should have done. He should have said: "Men, get down out of the line of the enemy's (highly imaginary) fire. Now, my good messenger, what are my orders? And meanwhile, my wise privates, keep silence." But nothing of the sort. There we stayed on the ridge, and there we finally formed in column of squads, all the time in full view of the enemy, who might have potted the last man of us. The major at last came to the rescue, got us down from the ridge, and in the hearing of us all roasted poor Jones quite as well as the lieutenant did yesterday. "If you have a brain, sir, don't use it. Stay in sight of the enemy and be shot." Then he sent us by a way I never should have chosen in cold blood, across the top of a steep slope, with sliding sand and loose stones underfoot, while all the time the same wind and rain whipped and beat us unmercifully. At last we were halted behind another hill, put in skirmish line, and told what we were to do. We were to rush the ridge, then to run down to a trench made and occupied by our engineers, while they, being worn out by many days of fighting in it, were to vacate it. We executed the order smartly, dashing down to the trench, the engineers, at sight of us, scrambling out and running for cover. I found myself jumping down into a trench as deep as my shoulder, very finely made. Different from our trench, which was protected from enfilading only by cross walls at intervals, this trench zigzagged; moreover, its parapet was wattled. The engineers must have worked at it from early dawn, unless they brought their hurdles with them.
(There, I have at last got my hay!)
Well, there was but little more. A man emerging on a distant slope, commanding a ridge along which any successful attack must come, I hit him squarely in the middle, only to discover when too late that he was an umpire. Two of our fellows claimed to have shot a buzzard, and contended for the honor. When at last we saw real enemies, two platoons coming into full view below us, we shot them all to pieces. An umpire told them that they were dead, whereupon they formed in line and went through the manual of arms, to get themselves warm. Then we were collected and marched back, triumphant. It seems that we were told that if we held our line till one o'clock, we won. It was past the hour, and our victory was complete. We marched to camp in good spirits, being especially pleased to hear the major (the opposing major!) compliment Captain Kirby on the excellence of his trench. _Our_ trench! We finished two hundred and fifty feet in an hour and twenty minutes. We are told that the trench was quite invisible, even after we had begun firing, and that we were betrayed only by the white bands on our hats.
I have talked with one of the men who was left at a bridge to tell any pursuers that it was blown up. He said that it gave him great pleasure to loll on the railing and watch a platoon ford the cold stream up to their waists.
With great relief I left the ground. We have so carefully policed each camping place that I had awful visions of having to fill in the trenches and replace the sod. But by some arrangement with the owner of the land we left the trenches as memorials of our great fight. How many cows will they trap, I wonder.
Our breakfast was at six, and we had no lunch till two o'clock. Whether we were hungry? In spite of this settled cold rain, which curiously is from the west, the men are in good spirits, though they show it by yowling at every bugle call that summons them out.
This letter is written up to date, and so I'll close it. Love from
DICK.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER
Cherubusco, Saturday the 30th, evening. In a farmhouse kitchen, where some of my things are drying, and where I, sitting in a CHAIR, am writing at a TABLE!
DEAR MOTHER:--
Yesterday I said to Knudsen, while David listened, "The trouble with our platoon is that we don't particularly care for our sergeants, and have got into the way of _knocking_ them. I've done more or less of it myself. Now it may be no more than they deserve, but it's bad for our discipline and our work. Don't you suppose we could turn about and help the sergeants more? If you should lead in it, it would make a difference in the whole platoon, for I notice that everyone wants to know your opinion." David's face showed that he approved, so Knudsen agreed, and we three talking to our squad and Squad Nine, have started a little Good Government Association. I think today it did good.
Last night was a long one for me. I am still unable to get myself a woollen cap, and though I used the felt hat for both the cold and the rain, it rolled away at every excuse. To keep out the rain, I had laid my poncho on the windward side of the tent, buttoning it along the ridgepole; but it slapped a good deal of the time. The entrance-flaps, which some of the fellows always button, I had open for the air, and they thrashed all night. Beside me Bann slept like a child; but I was pretty damp when I went to bed, the rain and the wind came through, and every little thing waked me. Twice a peg pulled out, but the tent stood, and I was able to put it in again. So the night was long. Yet I got some sleep, and we were surely better off than our opposite neighbors, whose tent blew down soon after midnight, so that they had to crawl out and set it up in the dark and the driving rain.
There are camp tales of all kinds of hardships. Some stayed round the fires all night to keep warm; some, their tents collapsing, took refuge on a nearby piazza; some talk of washing their faces this morning in hoar frost. But I _saw_ none of this.
The yowlings which usually greet the bugler on any unwelcome occasion were absent this morning, for most of us were ready to rise, or already risen. There was at first only a drizzle, in which I ate breakfast; it surely was better than last night, with the steady rain running from my hat into my stew as I bent over it, and cooling as well as diluting it, besides searching out vulnerable parts of my person, which a poncho does not truly protect. Yesterday I set my things down on a wet board; today I stood at the high running-board of an auto-truck, a very desirable position. Yet I thought my hands have seldom been colder than when I stood in line this morning, unable to give them the protection of gloves or pockets.
In the same drizzle we broke camp, packed our squad-bags and blanket-rolls, and made our packs. It rained as we started, and the whole outlook was bad--for to march ten miles in the wet, and then to make camp under these same conditions, was soldiering indeed.
Yet ten minutes after we had left camp, the advance guard of the battalion, we were staring at each other in new dismay. For pop-pop! Our point had found the enemy. Now for comfort a skirmish ought to be fought near the new camping ground: anticipation keeps us going till the fight begins, and then at the end, weary, we have but a short way to march. This was the deuce! In a moment we were turned aside into a field, and saw the white hat-bands beyond a fence in front. First deployment, then "Down, men!" and flat I threw myself into a six inch bed of clover, as wet as a sponge. From this couch I fired for a while, was ordered up, hurried with the squad forward to a new line, flopped again, fired, and then dashed once more.
For two hours, mother, this sort of thing continued. In a long line our company spread over the fields, now one part advancing, then the rest. Sometimes we were flat, sometimes we might squat on cold stones behind a wall, sometimes we were climbing walls and running forward. Discovering that it was wetter below me than above, I hung my poncho at my hip, and when we flopped, fell on it. We struck soft ground and formed in squad columns, then came to a place where the enemy was visible in a sugar-bush, across a ravine. Down into the gully I plunged among the rest, and in a confusion of men each seeking in a hurry the best way across, got through two wire fences, forced my way among a growth of alders, and splashed through a brook, luckily no deeper than my ankles. Then up the steep slope, and as soon as the platoon was gathered at the top Jones cried "Follow me,"--and those whose wind was poor began to lag. The enemy was driven from this position, then as we followed him he fired at us again from behind a stone wall, for there were plenty here, with others of all kinds. We drove him again, our laggards helping where they could, coming up to us as we paused to fire and falling down to pant. Poor Corder! Part of the charges he was in, part he had to plod after, out of breath. A minute's rest would freshen him, and then he would keep up for a while. But the pace was hot, until suddenly the enemy vanished. In pursuit, we crossed a wide space with broad flat weatherworn ledges, then came upon soft ground, and were bogged.
The part that confronted our squad was a hog-wallow below a pig pen and nicely full of water from the rain. Light-footed David slipped across, but I, being heavier, plunged in up to my shin. Then came a barbed wire fence, with the wires so taut that they would not separate to let us through, nor sag to let us easily over. We were helping each other, as is the rule, and the sergeant was hurrying us, as was his duty, when he was answered back by a corporal--not of our platoon, but one who with his squad had become annexed in the confusion. A little back-talk with an audience of silent men; our fellows remembered the new agreement. Then on we went again, stormed another position, and at last, every cartridge spent (my head was ringing with the firing, and rings yet!) we were assembled in the muddy road.
A little interview, then while we rested, between the sergeant, the corporal, and the captain, who demanded the reason for our platoon's delay. The corporal was explanatory; the captain had to silence him. Then the captain praised the company. (He also sent a message to us at Retreat, where the lieutenant commanded--we had done well; he would try to keep us out of brooks hereafter. I like these laconic statements; they mean much.) Then I company, with full cartridge belts, took up the advance-guard work along the road, and we saw them rummage out of a barn some cavalrymen who had hidden there. But soon, the day's manoeuvre over, we began the hike to camp. I wish you could have seen it.
The rain was over, though it was still cloudy and the cold wind was strong. The road was a mass of mud; there was no walking in it. We made two long lines, one on each side of it, and took up our brisk walk. Mile after mile in every footing, through desolate country where the scrub was low, the land slightly rolling, bleak, uninhabited. The road ran mostly straight; as it dipped you could see ahead the two lines of men swiftly plodding on and on.
There was talk at first, and some jokes. "That road looks worse than this," said one. "I wonder they didn't take us down it." The bushes looked very wet. "How about squad columns through that brush?" suggested one. "Try the prone position from the middle of the road," retorted another, as we passed a great puddle. A later puddle, chocolate brown, roused another man's regrets. "I'd like to stop and wash my breakfast kit. I used the water they provided at camp, but this looks better to me." But gradually all talk died away, and we just drove on and on. There were questions, of occasional teams that we passed, as to the distance to Cherubusco. "Three miles," and again after an hour "Three miles!" Well, it was a long hike, nearly two hours, and I am glad to say without halt, for in that wind we should have frozen. But we began to dry off. At last the sight of the trucks and the cook-tents cheered us, and we marched onto the ground where four companies were already finishing their dinner. We had driven off their enemy, and they had marched straight through.
The ground here holds the tent-pins well; the tent is secure. But I stood in line for half an hour in the wind, cold and ever colder in my poncho, while they let us in driblets into a barn and doled us out hay at high prices. I felt very cross against the good woman at whose table I now write, for not devising a quicker system--though she suffered from it too, for her teeth were chattering as she passed me through. But everything goes by; even while I shivered the wind dried my clothes; and I had cold feet for only a couple of hours, by which time I had dried out a pair of fresh stockings, and put them on with my dry boots. Since then I have been comfortably warm. We had fires, about which we sat; the sun at last came out (you should have heard the shout at the first thin rays!) and we have had a wonderful clear orange sunset, with spruces silhouetted against it, and the early setting of the young moon. Now it is clear and cold and quiet outside, with the northern lights flashing and glowing, violet and white, in cloud-like masses or shifting spires.
Well, such was the day, a hard one in many ways. Says a sergeant sitting by the stove, "I can describe it in two words, Damn nasty." But I am no more than ordinarily tired, and am dry. The hardships of such a day are not to be compared with those of the poor devils in the trenches across the water.
I must close this letter and leave it at the Y. M. C. A., for the call to quarters has just sounded. In fact it is welcome, for I am very sleepy. I am leaving my wet shoes here to dry. We have just learned, to our sorrow, that we work tomorrow--Sunday! But there is one good piece of news--our overcoats are coming! Much love from
DICK.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S LETTER HOME
Sunday, at Cherubusco, about 8.30 A. M. Sitting in the sun, in my overcoat, at the tent door.
DEAR MOTHER:--
After finishing my letter at the farmhouse last night, and getting from the good woman my second pair of dry stockings, I put on everything warm that I had, and went to bed. Fires were burning everywhere, with little groups of talking men around them; but the camp settled down very quickly. It pleased me to hear the first sergeant rounding up men to help in unloading the overcoats; but then I slept, and except for periods when I woke in the night and as usual told time by Orion, I slept sound. The men are all declaring that they slept well, all but one man, who said he was miserably cold, and looks it. It _was_ a cold night, with a heavy frost forming even inside my tent, and ice in my canteen when I tried to drink from it this morning. But now, warm and full, I am very comfortable, waiting for the call at 9.45 to go out and inspect the outposts which the first battalion are now setting. The captain has been up and down the street, inquiring how we are; he stopped to speak to me, feeling, I think, less constraint with me than he used.
It was very busy in camp for an hour after breakfast. Men were cleaning their shoes--and some were mourning over them, not having taken warning against leaving them too close to the fire, when though the leather may not be really burned it will lose its life and crack. Others were spreading blankets and clothes to dry, preparing the short pack (without the roll) for our tour of inspection, recleaning rifles, shaving, mending their clothes. Smoke is now drifting from a hundred fires, and towels and underwear are spread on the tents or flapping from improvised clothes lines. But the camp is slowly settling down into quiet, for work is done, the sun keeps us warm, and everybody is quite content.
I have just listened to the story that Newbold, the corporal of Squad Nine, tells of the fetching of the overcoats. On arriving at camp yesterday, wet through, he found that the new shoes which he bought at the camp exchange in Plattsburg just before leaving for the hike, were too small, and asked the captain's permission to go to the village here and try to get another pair. The captain, after finding out his need, said "You can change them in Plattsburg. Be ready in five minutes to start with the truck." So Newbold found himself in command of a five-ton truck, wallowing through these roads till they struck the macadam, forty-five miles in all to Plattsburg. There he presented his written orders, started the loading of the truck, and went out swinging his shoes by the strings till he found a shop where he could make a swap, the camp exchange being closed. Forty-five miles over the road again, he dozing in a nest he made among the overcoats, and arriving in time to go to bed at Taps.
The overcoats will keep us safe from now on. But the hard work of the past two days has knocked out a few more men. Hale, who felt the cold night so severely, proves to be threatened with bronchitis, and has been sent in to the hospital. Hageman, with digestion on strike, has to leave us for good. I may mention men to you for the first time, but you must understand that I have acquaintance with a great many now, and when in future I hear their cities mentioned, Kansas City, Cleveland, wherever else, I shall always remember that I have friends there.
--(_Afternoon._) We finished the morning with some genuine outpost work. The first battalion, going early, set a circle of outposts to the west, which our battalion, going later, had to find and relieve. While it was interesting from a military standpoint, I can scarcely hope to make it picturesque to you. Supposing an enemy ready to drop on us, we had to keep out of his sight while watching for him, and also to ferret out sentry posts which for the same reason had been pretty carefully hidden, and to which our directions were the vaguest. It was all done with thoroughness and care; we had the usual bogs to cross and brooks to jump; we found our men in hollows, thickets, and even in trees; and finally to our joy (for the day was hot and we were mostly sleepy from yesterday) we were brought home, fed, and allowed to snooze.
Some of the indefatigables begged for the day and have gone to Canada, which is but three miles away. But most of us are content to loll in camp and rest up, especially considering the fact that tomorrow we are again to be the advance guard. This being for the second time in succession, seems to us something of a compliment, and H company is proud.
I hear someone coming and saying, "Mr. Godwin is wanted at the head of the street." The lieutenant!
(_Evening._) Yes, it was Lieutenant Pendleton, of whom, by the way, I have seen very little for some time. For we go very much by platoons, as you have noticed; and he having command of the first is out of my ken. But whenever I have seen him he is always the same, very cool, inscrutable, accurate, and busy. His men are devoted to him. Well, he came walking along, scrutinizing the groups, and when he found me, delivering the summons, returning my salute, and passing on with his little smile. As he did not come back at all, I see that he took that method of making his escape.
For when I got to the head of the street there was a big touring car, the captain standing talking beside it, and in it, besides the old Colonel and our old neighbors the Chapmans, were Vera and her sister Frances. Some other officers were likewise there, and when the visitors descended to walk about, took charge of them. I, a humble private lingering near because commanded, thought that now I might slip away; but Vera in her usual way chose her own partner, and chose me.
The camp did not interest her especially; she had seen it at a glance from the automobile. The way we lived was at once familiar to her; I soon found that she did not want me to explain anything. Knowing that she always has her own purposes, and also knowing that I can never guess them, I waited for her to declare herself. She selected a convenient seat on a stone wall, where we could see everything; every man who went by stared at her in admiration, and evidently said to himself, "Isn't that rookie in luck!"
Her pretence was that she wanted to know about me, so as to write you; but pretences with Vera are very open. Really she wanted to know about the captain--what kind of a man, how he treated us, how we liked him. She couldn't quite bring herself to say, "Dick, tell me about him!" There is always Vera's pride. But after all, there never need be concealments between us; she knows we are to be friends all our lives. So she let me see what she wouldn't plainly say. And I answered quite as plainly: a fine captain, a fine man, the fellows swore by him.
She objected. "He says they hate him."
"Perhaps you never before," I said, "came across an aggressive man who is modest. I know he thinks that; it merely shows that he can't work for popularity. But he was telling us recently of the practice hikes he has been giving his company in Panama, to show that after all the hardest work is what we shall look back on with the most pride. It was as plain as day to us, though not to him, that the men there are like our fellows here--they will do anything for him."
She dropped the subject; one not knowing Vera would have supposed that she was not even interested in it, but I knew that she had learned what she wanted. Idly she looked down the company street. "What are those men doing?" she asked.
A bunch of the men, growing every minute, had been singing to the tune of Solomon Levi words that were not clear to us, being too far away. "It must be the new company song," I said. "I've been told it's good. The fellows are learning it.--See, they're coming this way. I believe they mean to sing it to the captain!"
Our other visitors were returning, headed by the captain and Frances. The men, grouped by the water barrel at the head of the street, waited till he was near, pushed their leader out in front, and in hoarse whispers commanded him to begin. You must understand that Vera promptly, but without hurry, had got me close enough to listen. He sang the solo.
"One night as I lay dreaming, Underneath the stars, The buzzard stole between the tents To sell us chocolate bars. The captain took him by the scruff And kicked him in the seat, And said 'You greedy buzzard, Get out of the company street!'"
The delighted men roared the chorus.