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.