Chapter 9

(_Later._) My turn approached, and I stood waiting, the sling clasped on my arm. I felt the strain of the long wait before there came the call, Ready! To my coaches I had said--to one, "Don't let me shoot too fast, and keep me on _my_ target"; to the other, "Remind me to squeeze." Then the blank target, beside the great 28, began to sink, and down I dropped. I was not nervous now; at least I did not tremble. I tried to fire slow, to squeeze, to keep on my own target, (for truly, as the captain lately said, firing on another man's target is one of the sad things of life.) My second clip I had to shoot quicker until my last shot, when the coach said, "Plenty of time." So I sighted and squeezed my best, felt that I could call the bullseye, and pulling out the bolt for the last time, to show that the breech and magazine were empty, stood up and stepped back. Now for the score.

The target rose at last. The red disk was all I hoped for, but there came the white, again the white, again the white, again, again, again, then three times the red, and once the black. I still waited, having lost count. Would the flag come now? But no, the target sank, and my coaches congratulated me on a forty-five!

(_Evening. In the tent._) Well, I won't put in too much detail for you, to whom perhaps this shooting has no interest. We finished at two hundred yards and moved back, carrying benches, racks, chairs, flags, everything, and began over again at three hundred yards, prone. The men were mostly very much on the stretch, and I admit that I was, for while I now was practically sure of my grade of marksman, I might, by shooting especially well, even become a sharpshooter. Lucy was in a similar state, marksman being within his grasp. Randall was swaggering; he had been shooting well. But Knudsen was very anxious, surprising in so cool a fellow. "To be Expert," he said, "I've got to make a fifty. Confound it, I'm afraid that shot I sent into the wrong target will ruin my chances. I need the little leeway it would give."

Well, he missed it by two, and that little error undid him. Lucy got his grade of marksman, and his excitement was delightful. He sought out each member of the squad and called for congratulations. How disgusted his mother would be to see him with his hand on Pickle's shoulder, discussing the score, for really, don't you know, socially Pickle is less than nobody! I made my grade as sharpshooter, just made it, with a forty-nine.

Poor Reardon! His scores had not been good, only a miracle could make him marksman, but he lost his chance. Loretta--

I'll tell you about Loretta, a sergeant whom the boys have nicknamed thus. Luckily he is not in our platoon; but we soon got to know the lofty smile with which he passed up and down the street, and his contempt for the enlisted man. Such, my dear mother, is the inflating power of a little authority.

Well, he has been very busy with the shooting, making a good record himself, and helping, as all the sergeants did, with the scoring. Needing a scorer at one of the targets, he took poor Reardon and put him at work just when his last turn was coming on, and in spite of the fact that he had already served long hours at the job. Reardon protested, Loretta promised to let him have his turn, but when the shooting was all over there was poor Reardon still at the desk, and his last round was not fired. We noticed that on the way back to camp he was very silent and cast down, but we did not know why till we were cleaning our guns in the tent, all the racks being occupied outside. Then I questioned Reardon, and the facts came out.

All of us were wrathy, but you should have seen Lucy! Tears of anger came into his eyes as he started up. "I'll go at once and tell the captain!" Reardon clutched him. "No," said the good fellow. "I hadn't a chance to qualify. It's perfectly true. Loretta told me so."

"Loretta told you so!" echoed David. He was quite white and shaking at this instance of adding insult to injury. "By God!"

He was for going at once and complaining, but Reardon wouldn't let him. "Then," said David, "wait till the hike. If you don't get even with him then, I will!"

I wouldn't tell this story to David's mother. She might think her son too sympathetic with an "outsider."

The fellows have been in the habit of cooing at Loretta as he passes their tents. His pet name precedes him down the street, the coos come from the shadowed interiors. It has been meant harmlessly. But this story of Reardon has spread rapidly, and I thought I detected a snarl in the cooing when Loretta just went by. There is something in David's threat. Wait till the hike!

This afternoon we had our usual drill and calisthenics, after which I went swimming in the lake, as I do daily, though under certain difficulties. The beach is very stony and bruises the feet, and the piers that have been built at our two bathing places are quite inadequate, both as accommodating too few men at a time, and next as not going out into deep water. Perhaps early in the summer the water at the ends may be up to one's shoulders, but now it is scarcely above the waist, and none but the cleverest and most venturesome dare to dive. So many would like the diving that it is a pity that a little money can't be expended here. However, the water is fine, even if it is now getting so cold that some of the men are giving up their swim. We often have surf here, when the southeast wind quarters across the bay all the way from Burlington, and then the fun is notable.

The scene at the foot of the pier particularly struck me today, after the men were out. There were nearly a hundred of them in a rather narrow compass, so close to each other, on the boulders of the beach, that they reminded me of the pictures one sees of big birds in their colonies. The men were naked, and every one in active motion, rubbing down. The sight of so much brown and pink skin, of so many moving bodies and arms and legs, was most peculiar and amusing.

The list of company officers has been published. Two of our best sergeants becoming lieutenants, other sergeants have been named, and the list of corporals and sub-squad-leaders has been fixed. In our squad Bannister and Reardon stand as before. Ban quietly told us that he was glad to get the appointment. "I had my eye on you," he said to Knudsen, "and on you," to me. "This will please my old father: he was a corporal in the Civil War." And good Ban forgot us as he thought of the satisfaction of the old man at home.

Tonight at conference we were given definite details of the scheme for reimbursing us for our travelling expenses and our mess. The government will repay those who take the oath of allegiance--and everyone is hunting for the nigger in the woodpile. There is so general a sentiment that the War Department tricked the militia into taking the oath of six years' service before starting for Texas, that none of us cares to be caught promising too much. But I feel that the form of oath, which was read aloud tonight, is pretty straightforward. We enlist only for the period of the camp, and for instruction only. I shall take the oath. If before the period is over the government takes us away for service anywhere, I suppose there will be an emergency to justify it.

We were also given additional facts regarding the hike. Having so small a regiment, yet having the baggage train of the large August camp, we are to go on the longest hike yet, eleven days on the road and in the field, ten nights in the pup-tents. We are sorting our belongings to take or to leave, and David is wondering how he can carry all his exquisite appointments.

But he has just come out strong. Company conference being over, there was held the boxing match which one of the sergeants has been promoting, and the whole company (officers discreetly absent) formed the ring and applauded the heroism. Much of it would not interest you, yet you could have stood a glimpse of it--the circle of men, good-naturedly applauding, the heavy shadows under the overhead light, the gray-green uniformity of men and sand, the two dancing figures, and the pat-pat of the gloves. There were some neat bouts, and then the promoter made an announcement, which to my surprise I saw Randall, stripped to the waist, furtively trying to stop.

He had on his left, said the sergeant, one remaining contestant, whose opponent had just sent word that he had hurt his wrist. Would any gentleman be willing to provide Mr. Randall with an antagonist?

No one came forward. Randall looked very formidable, with his handsome features and also a most superb set of muscles. I was saying to myself that perhaps I'd better give him a go, when I caught sight of Lucy's face, peering between the men in front of him, and so plainly full of desire that I waited. Then Corder, on the other side of him, jogged David in the ribs, and said in a low voice, "He called you Lucy!" In an instant David, without a look behind or a moment's hesitation, was pushing through the ring. "Let me try." And he stepped out into the light.

Someone caught me by the arm, and there was Knudsen, very angry. "Why didn't you stop him?" he demanded. "He never can stand up to that fellow." But I, feeling quite as satisfied as ever I felt in my life, smiled him down, "Somehow I think he can," said I, and pushed after David, to act as his second.

Oh, I coached him all I could, and in the rests I helped the gasping boy in every way I knew how. The rounds were short, but too long for him in his still soft condition. And he knew so little of the game! Had Randall, who really had boxed before, used his head, poor David would have stood no chance whatever. Yet the boy's insight was correct. No sooner did Randall see before him the lad's unmistakably eager face, and know from David's first rush that here was a fight, than he was flustered. So as boxing the bout was nothing: neither could hit clean, parries were clumsy, much was accident. David's very ardor betrayed him, and he came back to me at the end of each round quite winded. But for the rest, nothing could be finer. Randall was twenty pounds the heavier, and slight David staggered when the blows came home, yet always he came back. His panting persistence, his determination to strike, were too much for the other. He held back, and David came on; he drew aside, and David followed him; he struck, and David without parrying came right through, and landed blow after blow somewhere.

The men were yelling presently, here was so evidently grit against mere muscle, spirit against flesh. Randall grew angry and hit hard, but he was wild; he grew afraid and tried to clinch, but his rush was feeble. David jabbed him repeatedly in the ribs, drew off, and for the first time in the three rounds (the referee was just calling time) hit Randall neatly--on the nose.

And Randall, in pain but not hurt (for the boy couldn't hit hard) nevertheless believed himself finished. I think he wanted to stagger and fall at full length, but he only succeeded in sitting down. Shout upon shout upon shout! Then we of the squad took David, groggy with his own efforts, rubbed him and fanned him and swabbed him, and finally walked him off between us.

Knudsen said in my ear, "You were right. That was worth a thousand dollars."

A fellow from another squad tried to be complimentary. "Well done, Lucy!"

Pickle, without any ceremony, pushed in between. "Cut that out! His name is Farnham."

The chap was puzzled. "But you don't call him that."

"We know him better now," said Pickle. "We call him David."

And David, who had been leaning heavily on me, at the words stood upright. He had been smiling with satisfaction; now he looked happy. He put his arm over Pickle's shoulder as the other fellow walked away. "Thanks, Pick, old man," he said.

Knudsen and Corder and I fell behind and shook hands. The name Lucy was dead and buried.

David wouldn't go to bed; he sat contentedly on his cot, sopping liniment on a bruised lip, while fellows kept coming in from other squads, to congratulate. After a while I went out, and seeing a little knot of our men at the captain's tent, joined them.

The officers like to have the men come to them with questions, and after repeated invitations issued at general conferences, the men have come to believe it. So there is growing up a little habit of stopping at the captain's tent for a question which often extends into an interchange of ideas from which each side benefits. But they weren't on any technical subject tonight; the men had got the captain talking on the topic of an officer's life, and they had just reached the items of his expenses. I had never particularly thought of this side of the matter before; I knew that an officer is technically a gentleman and must dress as such, but that his pay is so small, his perquisites so few, and his necessary uniforms so many, I had not realized. To tell the truth, the little group of us who listened were really rather shocked that these men who work so hard for the nation are under such burdens. The captain perceived it, and for his own interest suddenly turned the tables on us.

"I have been rather frank, gentlemen," he said. "Now I know your expenses are such as you choose to make them; but would you mind telling me how your incomes compare with mine?"

The question was perfectly fair, for the men had been pumping him; and they responded at once. "I count on eight thousand yearly from my factory," said one. The next said that his salary was six. The third, with a little embarrassed laugh, admitted that he earned ten thousand. And the next said that last year he cleaned up forty thousand dollars. As you can imagine, these were all men older than the average rookie. They wear their uniforms badly, some of them, being no longer lithe and lissome; and yet the forty thousand dollar man was lean and hard as an Indian. I had so far known him only as a sportsman who loved to talk about big game. The captain, as he listened, nodded gravely at each statement, and when the last had spoken turned his eye on me. I could only tell him the truth--twelve thousand as my salary, and perhaps an equal amount on the side.

He drew a long breath. "Well, gentlemen, you have my congratulations. On the other hand, I'm not sorry to have told you these facts about army life. It's well that you civilians should understand conditions. As for myself, I went into the service with my eyes open, and I'm not yet ready to change it."

His eye rather lingered on me. I have the impression that he's acutely conscious of my presence whenever I'm about. Is that Vera's doing? Do you suppose she's got him too?

Love from

DICK.

LETTER FROM VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER FRANCES

Plattsburg Post, Thursday, Sept. 21.

DEAR FRANCES:--

I wish I hadn't come. Two of them are in earnest! Lieutenant Pendleton is here every day, very gay but very desperate. I use the Colonel all I can against him, and the innocent old man will talk shop with him by the hour. But sometimes the lieutenant manages to get me alone, and only my best cold-storage manner has saved me so far.

But if the lieutenant is the kind that takes you by storm, Captain Kirby is one that will lay siege. He doesn't come so often as the other, he doesn't stay so long, he doesn't say so much; but he is the kind that sticks. I may be able to stave off the lieutenant, but I shall have to have it out with the captain.

I wish you were here. You would be such a help! Can't you manage it? Oh, Frances dear, I don't like army life. Why couldn't I be satisfied with Dick? Come and help me!

VERA.

FROM PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

Plattsburg, Friday, Sept. 22, 1916.

DEAR MOTHER:--

It rained in the night, and between showers I went out and fixed the cap of the tent, loosening also the cords. If we don't attend to these latter as soon as rain begins they are likely to shrink and tear the canvas, or perhaps pull up the tent pegs. And if everything holds till morning, then the job of loosening the ropes, even with three men to each, is considerable. But I was in time. In the morning it was cloudy, but we had dry weather for our baths and breakfast, and for making up our packs. Then the rain began to patter, and we to groan. The bugle blew, and we stood expectant at the doors of our tents, waiting for the whistle. We awaited the order, "full equipment, ponchos over all," but the call came, "non-commissioned officers, with their drill regulations, at the head of the street." The corporals and sergeants went, the privates in the tents cheered madly, and now we are awaiting what may happen next.

So in the interval, just a few words about our proficiency, and our partial failure so far. We haven't done very well, and that's a fact. We march badly, losing distance, interval, and alignment; we dress slowly, we fall in with much delay, and our various manoeuvres are done with much hesitation and uncertainty. For all this the captain has, as the boys say, plentifully "bawled us out," constantly working us more than any other officer has done in the battalion. We can't deny that we are ragged and slovenly, but why is it?

To begin with we are trying to do, as the captain acknowledges, more than could be hoped of ordinary recruits, we being (ahem!) of the intelligent class. But intellectually we are uneven, some of us plainly not being born to be soldiers, so that with the best of will they lag. Again, the Plattsburg movement has reached the stage in which the men have not all come with the same impulse to serve the country, a considerable proportion being, as it were, substitutes, being sent by the public spirit of employers who cannot come themselves. The motive is excellent, and they choose, I make no doubt, the best men available among their clerks. But not all of these are suitable material, some being here for a lark, and some being too young to be serious. Such fellows impede the progress of the others. When the movement takes still wider scope, or when we reach the stage of compulsory general training, evidently the leaven that pretty successfully leavens this lump will then, being much diluted, have harder work to do, and to make the mob into a regiment will take double the time. Finally, I have already spoken of another of our weaknesses, the inexperience of our non-coms. Most of our corporals are here for the first time; many of the sergeants, though familiar with the corporal's job, are new at the higher work. Indeed some of them have never worn stripes before. They are therefore so necessarily intent on guarding against their own mistakes (which still are plentiful) that they can't give enough attention to the blunders of the men. Nor, as I have said, do I think that the professional non-com will help us here, unless specially chosen for understanding the Plattsburger. The martinet drill-sergeant whose severities the docile German may bear, would never be tolerated among us. What we need is to make it a matter of pride for the veterans of one camp to come back and serve as corporals in the next and as sergeants in the next. With regular non-coms in the way there is no chance for the civilian to make himself a valuable reserve man; but if he can be tempted by promotion to come again and yet again, he is not only now serving the training cause better than anyone else can, but he is building up a body of responsible men whom the country can call upon at need.

Theories, my dear mother, theories. I will test them on the hike.

--It is the end of a day which I shall look back upon with respect. Curious that when at breakfast someone asked me if I found the work strenuous, I answered that so far I had not found it strenuous at all. Since when we have had our heaviest day's work.

The weather was showery and chilly, and the non-coms returned from their conference with orders for us to wear sweaters and ponchos. Being put into close battalion formation, we were informed by the major that an enemy had landed at Keesville, some twenty-odd miles south, and that we were to march out and get in touch with him. So our three companies followed the first battalion along the road to AuSable, having out the proper patrols--point and communicating files and rear guard, with combat patrols--and we found ourselves on a real hike.

It was tramp, tramp, tramp on the hard macadam all the way. Now remember that though we have been on hard roads some part of every day, we have mostly been on gravel or the turf of the fields and the parade ground. So we weren't really toughened to the work. The weather bothered us also. The ponchos came off after a while, then we got heated in the sun, and were feeling the weight of our sweaters when the clouds closed in and a shower came. Thus it changed most of the time. Every forty-five to fifty minutes we stopped to rest, spread our ponchos, and lay down. To be exact, after the first forty-five minutes we rested fifteen, and after each succeeding fifty we rested ten. We marched nearly four miles, then turned back. Our company was now second in the column, but none of the patrol duty fell to me, for which I was rather glad, as a heel began to bother me.

A man from Squad Seven fell out from the column. "This finishes the camp for me," he said ruefully as he left us. He has rigid arches, and it seems that the doctors have warned him that he could not stand the marching. He sat and waited for some kind motorist, and after an hour passed us, comfortable in a limousine. There were others among us who got pretty weary; but on the other hand there were plenty, I am glad to say, who were not tired, and whistled and sang most of the way, to the advantage of those who felt weary. Some of these blades spying a couple of bold damsels, cried "Eyes Right!" at which they giggled. But the captain made us march at attention, and explained, when we got back to camp, that we were expected to mind our manners in the presence of the other sex (or as he put it, persons in female attire) else we might be sure of marching at attention for the whole of the way.

We were back at the usual time, after seven miles and a half, and I, wet from inside and from out, was glad to wash and change and find leisure to inspect my troublesome heel, on which I found two blisters which Clay, being as I told you a medico, skilfully doctored.

But there was no rest for the weary. I foolishly rejoiced when I escaped the work of helping to make up the shooting records, also (perhaps not so foolishly) when the typhoid sufferers were taken to be inoculated for the third time. But while the captain supervised the company clerks, the lieutenant, in anticipation of a regimental parade, took us out on the field. See how carefully it was done. As we were but the fraction of a company he lined us up and made up squads afresh, a corporal to each, then instructed us in our parade work, and drilled us for two hours. Having my two blisters, I did not enjoy it, and the men were groaning all around me. He was as hard to please as the captain; once, looking back along the line as we marched company front, he said, "The ancestors of this bunch certainly must have been a lot of snakes!" But I'll venture to say that none of us, after this, will forget how to oblique in making the turn.

After ten minutes' rest, we were taken to calisthenics, after which I anticipated a good loaf. But no, we were assembled, the whole regiment, for a conference concerning our return home by government aid, the major and a railroad agent instructing us in the terms. I was glad to find that I can simply go home on my return ticket, and let the treasury department pay me when it's good and ready; and after standing in line for half an hour I was able to state my intention to do this.