CHAPTER V

A DRUMMER IN THE U. S. MARINES

"Rise and shine! Come on, you kids, shake a leg and get up out of this!"

Dick Comstock sleepily rubbed his eyes for the fraction of a second and then sprang out of his comfortable bunk as the sergeant's voice bellowed through the room. In the long dormitory thirty-odd boys, their ages ranging from fifteen to Dick's own, were hurrying their preparations to get into uniform and down on the parade ground in time for reveille roll call. Another day in a marine's life had begun.

Out the doors and down the stairs clattered the noisy, boisterous throng, fastening last buttons as they emerged into the light of the midsummer rising sun.

August was half gone and Dick had now completed over a month and a half in Uncle Sam's _corps d'elite_, for such it was acknowledged to be by well informed military men of both continents. During that time he had not found the days hanging heavily on his hands. Being fortunate in knowing, before he came into the service, how to handle the ebony sticks and blow a bugle, he had escaped a good deal of the monotonous preliminary ground work which the boys in the "school for musics" were required to undergo. It is true that he first had to prove his ability to his drill masters, and having received no regular instruction previously, he made no mention of his accomplishments during his first few days at the school.

With the others he had gone each morning to the basement, where the drumming lessons were given; sat astride the wooden benches with his companions and lustily pounded out "Ma-ma, Dad-dy," till the very walls seemed to shake and tremble from the fearful racket.

The old retired drummer who called him up for his first lesson asked Dick no questions.

"Comstock!" he had called out, and Dick went modestly forward to receive his instructions from the old martinet, for such he was, and had to be with that mischievously inclined, irresponsible lot of young Americans. "I want you to start in practising this to-day--yes, that is right--you hold the sticks correctly! Now, make two strokes with the left hand,--slow, like this,--then two with the right. Now watch me," and the old fellow tapped the bench before him demonstrating his meaning.

With each two strokes of the left-hand stick he would say aloud, "Ma-ma," and with the right-hand strokes, "Dad-dy," slowly at first then more quickly, till finally the plank beneath gave forth the wonderful roll of sound never acquired except by long and faithful practise.

"Now you see how it should be done! At first you must only try to do it slowly, for unless you get this down thoroughly at the start you will never be a drummer. Next!" And Dick was moved along to practise in playing "Mama, Daddy," "Mama, Daddy," for the next hour.

It had been otherwise with the bugle instructor. He saw at once that the boy knew how to "tongue" the mouthpiece, and that his lip was in condition, and after trying him out the first day and finding him able to read notes, Dick was told to learn the calls with which he was unfamiliar and left to work out his own salvation.

In a little over a month he passed the required examination and was regularly appointed a drummer.

The prediction of Colonel Waverly that Dick would probably be the largest boy in the school proved nearly correct, there being but one other boy, Henry Clay Cabell, a Southerner, who approached him in size. "Hank" or "Daddy" Cabell, as he was called by the rest of the school until Dick's entrance, had been the oldest boy there; he was as tall as Richard, but did not have the weight nor strength. From their first meeting Dick and Henry formed a liking for each other which daily increased and strengthened. Henry confided to Dick that he hoped to work his way up to a commission, and they agreed to help each other with that end in view. At the same time Dick was graduated and made a drummer Henry Cabell was appointed a trumpeter, and it was their fondest desire to be detailed for duty at the same station if sent away in the near future, as was very likely to be the case.

On this particular August morning while the two walked back to their squad room after the regular physical drill which followed the reveille roll call, they were discussing this matter.

"I reckon it won't be long before we get our walking papers," said Henry in his deliberate Southern drawl, "now that we are no longer apprentices.

"I'll be glad to leave that crazy bunch, anyway," he continued as they stopped for a moment under the barracks arcade and watched the apprentices racing wildly across the parade ground after being dismissed from their drill. "I don't reckon they ever will learn anything. They are only mischief-making children, and seem to have no sense of responsibility at all. Sometimes I wonder why they take such babies into a crack organization like this. Do you reckon it ever pays in the long run? They try to fuss 'Old Grumpy' the entire time, and never make the least attempt to learn their lessons at school."

"I guess you've still a great deal to learn about the marines," remarked Dick drily. "In the first place, those boys seldom fool Gunnery Sergeant Miller with their tricks. He has been handling boys for such a long time in the capacity of 'N.C.O.[#] in Charge' that they have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on him. He has been through the mill himself, for he is a graduate from this very school. It's just because they are kids, that's all, and most of them have not had the advantages you and I have enjoyed, Hank, in the way of schooling and home training and associations. They get the spirit of the Corps sooner or later, I guess. You see, we were fortunate; we both went through high school, and that is why we were excused from taking the lessons those boys have to labor over. Some of those chaps never got beyond the primary schools till they came here."

[#] Non-commissioned officer.

"Where did you get all your dope, Dick?" inquired Henry, rather curious to know how his friend found out so many things.

"Well, you see, Hank, I'm in the Marine Corps to learn all I can about it. I want to be familiar with its history in every way, and I've had several talks with Miller and other N.C.O.'s about service things. In this way I get quite a little valuable information not put down in the rules and regulations; and it may come in handy some day."

"Oh yes, I reckon so, and you may be right; but for my part the N.C.O.'s are such an ignorant lot themselves, and more or less vulgar too, that I avoid all of them as much as possible. Until you came along, Dick, I hardly spoke to anyone in the barracks. It goes against the grain to have too close an intimacy with them."

"Henry, you are too good a fellow to hold such ideas; and besides, you are wrong about their being ignorant, or vulgar either. I am beginning to believe that every individual can teach us something which, if we use the knowledge properly, is bound to help us and make us better men. If you hope to become a successful officer you will have to know your men, how to treat them and to deal with them; you will have to make their interests your interests to a great extent; but if you despise your men because they all don't happen to measure up to your standard, socially, mentally and morally, I'll tell you right now you've got a hard row to travel ahead of you, old boy."

"Your argument doesn't appeal to me, Dick," responded Henry, with a little coolness in his voice. "I reckon I'll get along. So, as we can't agree on that point, let us cut out the discussion and get our quarters policed up. It is nearly time for mess call."

It was Saturday morning, and the quarters of the apprentices were due for an extra cleaning, for on this day of the week the Commanding Officer of the Post held his weekly inspection, and woe betide any luckless youngster whose bunk was not properly made up, shoes not accurately lined and shined, or whose steel clothes locker was not in "apple pie order."

Each boy had his own work to do. The narrow aluminum painted bunks were carefully aligned along either wall of the long room. Folded back on the wire springs towards the head of the bed were the mattresses in their immaculate white covers; on top of each mattress were the folded sheets, their smooth edges to the front. Next came the pillow in its linen case; and finally surmounting these were the gray blankets with the initials "U.S.M.C." woven in dark blue lettering across their centers, while plainly in view were the owners' names in white stencil.

In the five-foot spaces between bunks were the dark, green-painted steel lockers in which were stored toilet articles, knickknacks, and wearing apparel. Each bit of clothing was laid with the folded edge outward and flush with the front of the locker shelves.

The hard-wood floors needed but a careful sweeping and dusting, for Friday is field day in every Marine Corps garrison, consequently the scrubbing and preliminary polishing had been previously attended to.

The work was barely completed when the blaring call of a bugle announced breakfast.

"Soupy, soupy, soupy, The worst I 've ever seen: Coffee, coffee, coffee, Without a single bean: Porky, porky, porky, And not a streak of lean."

Thus sang the bugle!

Again the clattering down the stairs, as not only the music boys, but the entire garrison "fell in" under the arcade and were marched into the spotless mess hall to a breakfast of bacon and eggs, hot cakes and coffee. Then the clatter of heavy china dishes on the wooden mess tables, the noise of knife and fork and spoon, the clatter of voices filled the air. Messmen, who were themselves marines detailed for the duty, for which they received an extra compensation of five dollars pay per month, their uniforms covered with long white aprons, scurried to and from the galley, with steaming pitchers of hot coffee or large platters of golden-brown flapjacks, serving the hungry men at the tables.

In the middle of this tumult an officer entered, dressed in khaki, and wearing at his left side the famous "sword of the Mamelukes" in its glittering scabbard.

"'Ten--shun!"

The command rang out in stentorian tones through the room. Each man sat bolt upright in his place. The hustling messmen[#] stood halted in their tracks and instant silence reigned. Some N.C.O., catching sight of the Officer of the Day coming through the doorway to inspect the morning meal, called out the order, but only for a moment was the progress of the repast delayed; almost before the noise had ceased the O.D.'s command, "Carry On,"[#] was heard, and the din and clatter began with redoubled energy.

[#] By Navy Regulations one mess-man is allowed for every twenty men in the mess.

[#] A Navy and Marine Corps command, by voice or bugle, meaning for the men to continue work, drill, or occupation in which they were engaged when interrupted. This command has been in vogue for many years.

In and out among the tables walked the officer, asking this or that one questions about the food or calling the attention of the busy messmen to some trivial defect, then he disappeared in the direction of the galley to taste for himself the quality of the articles served. This routine was part of the O.D.'s duty.

In service, meals are quickly over, and no loitering is allowed at tables, especially on inspection day. Richard, having finished his rations with all the gusto of a healthy boy, strolled from the mess hall back to his squad room. The apprentices were supposed to have their quarters in proper "police" by mess call in the morning, and while they were engaged in filling their stomachs, the N.C.O. in charge, Gunnery Sergeant Miller, usually made his unofficial morning inspection in order to discover and correct any violations of requirements before the regular function by the O.D., or on Saturdays the Commanding Officer.

"Old Grumpy" knew boys from "A to Izzard," and though they were ever attempting to play all sorts of pranks on him it was seldom they succeeded. Tall, lean, gruff, the boys soon found he possessed a heart under the weather-beaten exterior, and honestly admired and respected him. He was never unjust, he gave them no work not necessary to their welfare. He heard their complaints, settled their disputes; or, if he believed these could be settled only by a fistic encounter, he arranged the match, and acted as referee, timekeeper and general adviser.

He also took charge of their scholastic career, so sadly neglected in many cases. It was called "Grammar" school, but its curriculum was little more than the "three R's." Besides being the drill instructor, Gunnery Sergeant Miller strove at all times to teach his young charges the manly virtues of honesty, courage, self-control, obedience, industry and clean living.

When Dick entered the squad room he thought at first it must have been occupied during his absence at breakfast by a menagerie of wild beasts. At the far end, where there happened to be a few empty bunks, a regular free-for-all fight seemed to be in progress. Shoes were flying about the room in all directions, boys wrestling on the floor, pulling at one another, yelling, laughing, punching, crawling. During "Old Grumpy's" inspection, while they were at mess, he had found several pairs of shoes unblackened, others not aligned, and still others poked away in improper places. So he gathered all the shoes in the room in a heap and left them for their owners to disentangle and set aright. It was not an easy job to find one's shoes when mixed up in a jumbled mass of over sixty pairs, and by the time the owners secured their rightful property, get them again cleaned (for the scrimmage had effectually destroyed any previous gloss), and aligned under the bunks, brass work of drum and bugle polished, leggins khaki-blancoed, clothing and equipment brushed and adjusted, guard mounting was over and first call for inspection sounded from the area of barracks.

At the sounding of assembly the lads formed in two ranks on their allotted parade ground, while the companies under arms and the band marched to their assigned places.

This was the first Saturday inspection for some of the apprentices recently arrived, so Gunnery Sergeant Miller took occasion to give them a few last cautions regarding their duties, and ended by addressing them as follows:

"I want to tell you boys that every time in the future I don't find your shoes properly policed at early inspection they all go into a pile as they did this morning. That means more work for all hands. I can't stop to pick out the few that are all right when so many are all wrong. Take the hint and all of you cooeperate and save yourselves extra and useless work. That's all! At Ease!"

The strains of the band were now heard and the apprentices watched the movements of the companies as they went through the ceremony of inspection and review.

The United States Marine Corps band is one of the most famous organizations of its kind in the world. It is stationed at the Marine Barracks in Washington, D.C., and plays during all parades, guard mountings, and other like ceremonies. Once John Philip Sousa was its leader, and the band has always rendered his well-known march music to perfection. At this moment following the sounding of "Adjutant's Call," the space between the barrack buildings was filled with marching men forming in one long line with the band on its right, swords flashing, guns glinting in the sun, and the red, white and blue of the silken flag fluttering. It was indeed a martial and inspiring sight. Later, as the armed men passed in review before Colonel Waverly to the sound of the Marines' own march by Sousa--"Semper Fidelis"--every step and movement was in perfect unison.

"Any man whose feet don't just naturally keep in time to that music never will be a soldier if he lives to be as old as Methuselah," remarked Gunnery Sergeant Miller to the latest recruit near whom he was standing, "and when you get to blow the bugle like those musics in rear of the band, then you're a field music and no mistake."

Behind the band twelve boys, all recent graduates from the school, among them Richard Comstock and Henry Cabell, were adding volume to the music during certain parts of the march. It was then that the whole enclosure fairly vibrated with the soul-stirring strains.

The review ended: the extra musics fell out and joined their fellows under Miller, and the inspection of the troops began. During this function the band rendered various selections much to the delectation of many curious sightseers who had been admitted at the Main Gate to the barracks. Many of these people were music lovers and could be found seated on the same benches day after day, listening to the band.

"Do you see that pretty girl across the parade, Dick?" asked Henry. "No, not where you are looking, but the one standing near the bench under the trees--the girl looking this way."

Dick's eyes following the directions of his friend soon spied the girl referred to. How familiar she looked! She reminded him of--yes,--it was,--Ursula, his sister, and by her side stood his mother and father.

Forgetting he was no longer a free agent, Dick gave a wild "whoop" and started from the ranks. Just in the nick of time Henry caught him by the coat-tails and jerked him backward to his place in line.

"Watch yourself, Dick," muttered Henry between his teeth, "here comes the 'Old Man!'" His prompt action probably saved Dick a severe reprimand, if nothing worse.

Gunnery Sergeant Miller had whirled about on hearing the unaccustomed war whoop but he was not swift enough to catch the culprit. So he was forced to postpone further investigation of the untoward circumstance until another time, for Colonel Waverly was now but a few yards away, coming to inspect the apprentices.

"Attention! Prepare for inspection; Open--Ranks; March!"

The apprentices became a stiff line of human ramrods and at the command of execution--"March,"--the rear rank took three paces backward and halted, while in both lines heads and eyes were turned smartly to the right. Having verified the alignment of both ranks the Gunnery Sergeant stepped to the front and commanded:

"Front!"

Each head snapped to the front. The N.C.O. in charge then saluted the Commanding Officer by bringing the sword he carried up to a position in front of the center of his body, the right hand grasping the hilt a few inches from his chin, with the blade slanting upward and slightly outward. This part of the ceremony being over Colonel Waverly carefully inspected every boy in line. He examined their shoes, the fit of their clothing, their equipment, the cut of their hair and even, if truth must be told, their necks, to see if soap and water had been recently and properly applied.

All this time Dick was nearly bursting with impatience. He began to believe the Colonel never would finish. At last the ordeal was over and immediately on being dismissed he requested and received of "Old Grumpy" permission to speak to the Commanding Officer. Approaching him, Dick rendered his most military salute.

"What do you wish, Music?" questioned Colonel Waverly.

"Drummer Comstock would thank the Commanding Officer for permission to go to the visitors' benches and speak with his mother, father and sister. They have just arrived, and are over near the gate, sir."

"Granted, young man, and you are excused for the rest of the day."

Dick Comstock cannot recollect whether or not he saluted his colonel after a fervent "Thank you, sir," but he still remembers the feeling of those motherly arms about him and the sweet kisses on his lips as Mrs. Comstock gathered her stalwart drummer boy to her bosom,--drum, drumsticks and all.