Although the incident at the flag-raising on the Fourth of July was
deeply and unpleasantly impressed on the mind and memory of Halpert
McCormack, it did not deter him from following the advice of his
Aunt Sarah Halpert, and filing his application to become a member of
Company E of the National Guard. He felt, in the first place, that in
doing so he was honoring the memory of his father, who had been, in
his lifetime, the captain of the company and devoted to its interests.
He felt also that while military force ought to be unnecessary in the
conduct and protection of governments, the times were not yet ripe for
the voluntary disarmament of any nation, and that perhaps it was his
duty as a young American citizen to identify himself with the visible
means of preserving domestic order and preventing foreign aggression.
His application for enlistment was promptly approved by the commanding
officer, and he was directed to present himself at the armory to be
sworn in.
It so happened that McCormack and Benjamin Barriscale, Jr., appeared
at headquarters on the same evening for the same purpose. The oath,
administered to them by Captain Murray, was handed to them on separate
sheets for each one to sign. Young Barriscale affixed his name at once
with a dash and a certainty that indicated complete satisfaction with
the course he was taking. But McCormack was not so prompt. He was
given to deliberation, and he read over carefully the oath that he had
already heard. It was only after he had fully digested its contents and
asked some questions concerning it that he signed his name. One clause
of it stuck fast in his memory, and he never afterward forgot it.
“And I do solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and
allegiance to the United States of America, that I will
serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies
whomsoever.”
After the ceremony of enlistment had been completed Barriscale and
McCormack were placed in charge of a sergeant and taken down to the
drill-hall to be instructed in the “setting-up” process. And, as no
other recruits had been enlisted at about that time, they two alone
formed the awkward squad.
They were made to assume the position and attitude of a soldier:
Heels on the same line, feet turned out equally, knees straight
without stiffness, body and head erect and squarely to the front,
chin drawn in, arms hanging naturally with thumbs along the seams of
the trousers. They were drilled in alignments, in the facings and in
marchings. Occasionally an officer or a group of privates would come
along and watch for a little the instruction of the “rookies,” and
comment on the facility with which they grasped an understanding of
military methods and practice. But there was no criticism of their
awkwardness, nor was any fun made of their mistakes.
The most interested onlooker was Chick Dalloway. Chick was a hanger-on
of Company E. He had a decided leaning toward the military life, and
hoped some day to be a member of the company. But poor Chick was
under-sized, hump-backed, lop-shouldered, and hollow-chested. Moreover
he had not that degree of mental alertness and stability necessary in
an efficient soldier. So, although no one had ever had the heart, or
heartlessness, to tell him so, every one but Chick knew that there
was no possibility of his ever becoming an enlisted man in Company E.
In the meantime, however, the company profited by his devotion to its
interests. He was always present on drill nights, he always accompanied
the troops to the summer encampment, he ran errands, he carried water,
he cleaned equipment, he performed all kinds of humble service for
the officers and enlisted men; and while he was not on the company’s
pay-roll, he received regularly a small gratuity from those whom he
served. And as the weeks and months and years went by, he never ceased
to dream of the day when he too should wear khaki, and carry a rifle,
and march with the best of them.
At the end of an hour the two new recruits were dismissed with
commendation from the drill-master and compliments from Chick.
“I ain’t never seen no two rookies,” said the boy, “since I been in the
company, what got into the game quicker’n easier’n them fellers.”
It was three weeks later that McCormack, on his way to the armory on
a drill night, ran squarely into Hugo Donatello at the river bridge
on Main Street. It was the first time that the two young men had seen
each other since the Fourth of July, but the recognition was mutual.
McCormack would have passed on with a nod, but Donatello stopped and
held out his hand.
“I have not before had the opportunity,” he said, “to thank you for
your attitude toward me on your Independence Day. I wish that I do so
now.”
Hal took the man’s hand; he could do no less.
“Oh,” he replied, “that was nothing. I thought they weren’t giving you
a square deal, and I said so, that was all.”
“I know; but it demanded the courage to say so. You were very brave.
Me, I shall not soon forget it.”
“Well,” replied Hal, smiling, “I always did sympathize with the under
dog in a fight, and you were the under dog that day all right.”
“Yes. The--the under dog.” He was a little doubtful about the meaning
of the phrase. The simile was not familiar to him. But he continued:
“They thought to punish me. It is the--what you call--boomerang. The
incident is known and deprecated by workers everywhere. It has roused
their resentment. They do not like that a capitalist flag be made one
excuse for abuse and oppression of a member of the proletariat. The
ruling class, they are to suffer for that outrage.”
His voice rose at the finish, and his eyes flashed. It was plain that
the resentment he harbored was deep and bitter.
“I’ve told you already,” said Hal, “that I didn’t think they treated
you right. But I don’t know that it was the ruling class that was to
blame for it.”
“Yes. The capitalistic system. That is it which is to blame for all
outrages on society. When the workers come into control, it is then
that there will be justice for everybody.”
He opened his arms as if to take into his embrace all men everywhere.
“I know,” replied Hal. “I know what you people preach; I know what your
paper advocates. I read it. I’m interested in this social problem. I
think you’re right in a good many things, but I can’t follow you to the
end. I’m with everybody who doesn’t have a fair chance. But I don’t
see the justice in knocking down a man who has a little more than I
have and taking it away from him, provided he got it honestly.”
“Exactly! If he got it honestly then would he have no more than his
fellow-man. Exactly! It is the ruling class who take the workers by
the throat and choke them, so, into submission, into labor, poverty,
bondage. What is the law? They make the law for us to obey. Do we
ask for our own? Behold the jail! Do we try to take what belongs to
us? Come the hired assassins, police, constabulary, militia, federal
troops. So! It is terrible! Yet, some day, some day the workers will
come into their own!”
They had stopped on the bridge and stood leaning against the
guard-rail, looking out through the twilight across the shadowed
surface of the river to the hills that towered precipitately from the
farther bank. As they stood there Ben Barriscale passed them by on his
way to the armory. Attracted by the eagerness in Donatello’s voice, he
slackened his pace for a moment to look and listen. But the speakers,
absorbed in their conversation, did not notice him.
“Why,” replied Hal, “I know there’s a good deal of injustice. But
without the courts and the military there’d be more. We’ve got to have
a government, and laws, and we’ve got to keep order. That’s what the
militia is for. I belong to the National Guard, now, myself.”
“So? You are, then, a soldier?”
“Yes. I’ve got a state and a country. I’ve sworn allegiance to the
United States, and to the State of Pennsylvania, and that I will serve
them against all their enemies.”
“So, then, who are their enemies?” asked Donatello, and answered his
own question: “all who exploit labor and oppress the poor.”
“Yes,” agreed Hal, “that’s true, perhaps. But there may be more direct
enemies. Mobs at home, governments abroad that would want to fight us.
We must protect our own. We must be patriotic.”
Donatello caught up the word:
“Patriotic! What then is patriotism? A fetish! Nothing more. A
superstition fostered by capitalism for its own most selfish purposes.
Oh, in that day, under the rule of the proletariat, patriotism will not
be any more. Workers the world over will unite under one flag, the red
flag of the common brotherhood. Not any longer will be nationalism, but
internationalism. Not any longer will be wars, poverty, suffering; but
peace, always peace, plenty, happiness!”
The arc light on the bridge flashed up and lighted the speaker’s face,
aglow with earnestness and conviction. That he was a devout believer in
his own propaganda there could be no doubt.
Hal lifted his elbows from the railing and shook his shoulders as if to
cast off the spell laid on him by the speaker’s enthusiasm.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to hurry along or I’ll be late for drill.
I’m glad to have had a talk with you, though; I’ve often wanted to hear
one of you radicals expound your beliefs. I’ve thought and read about
these things quite a bit. I like your idealism all right; but I can’t
follow you practically.”
“Ah, but some day you will, when you see the more clearly. I shall talk
with you again; is it not so? I have much interest. We may reach common
ground.”
He held out his hand cordially, as to an old-time friend. So they shook
hands and said good-night to each other, and then Private McCormack,
with a leaning toward socialism, hurried along to the armory to attend
to his duties as a soldier in the service of the State.
Both McCormack and Barriscale were now serving regularly in the ranks.
They were fully uniformed and equipped, and they drilled, marched, and
faced imaginary foes with the rest. It was not a disagreeable service.
The officers of the company were considerate, and the enlisted men
were for the most part congenial, at least to Hal. Moreover, there was
a kind of satisfaction, an exhilaration indeed, in the performance
of military movements in unison with a body of men. The swing and
rhythm of it were captivating to Hal, the sense of power engendered by
it was inspiring to Ben. And then, too, a feeling of patriotism was
aroused, an emotion that would not have been so deeply stirred by the
activities of civil life. But, while McCormack was patriotic, he was
not bloodthirsty. On the contrary, he was peace-loving in the extreme.
No one would have deprecated more than he the necessity of going to
war, yet if his country had been endangered, or his flag threatened, he
would not have hesitated to fight. Young Barriscale, on the other hand,
was more belligerent. He believed in the arbitrament of the sword.
He believed that a nation like ours should always maintain a strong,
well-drilled, well-officered national army, and be prepared to fight,
not only for the suppression of domestic and internal revolts, not only
for the defense of its own soil, but also for the preservation of the
liberties of any people oppressed by a tyrannical government, as Cuba
had been prior to 1898. Naturally, with such divergent opinions, there
had been more than one clash between the two boys, yet no bad blood had
been aroused, and their friendship with each other remained unbroken.
There had been another point of disagreement between them also. That
was concerning the punishment meted out to Donatello on the Fourth of
July. Ben had insisted that it was not a fraction of what he deserved;
Hal had contended that it was excessive, uncalled for, and brutal. So,
while the two young men remained passive friends, there had been no
companionship between them. Indeed, they had little in common save a
desire on the part of each to excel in proficiency as a member of the
National Guard.
Then came an incident, entirely unlooked for, that brought to a sudden
end such friendly relations as had hitherto existed between them. It
occurred on the same evening on which McCormack had had his interview
with Donatello on the bridge. It was following company drill. Ranks
had been broken, and the men moved off, singly and in groups, to the
stack and locker room to put away their rifles and equipment, Hal and
Ben going with the rest. But it so chanced that each of the two boys,
independently of the other, decided to remain for a little and clean
and brighten up his gun and accoutrements.
Ben had discovered a small spot of rust on the barrel of his rifle and
he determined to remove it. So, after oiling and rubbing the leather
parts of his equipment, he got a piece of emery paper from his locker
and set to work.
The only persons remaining in the stack-room at this time, besides
himself, were Hal, who was busy cleaning his own rifle, and Chick, who
was watching them both.
Chick usually followed the enlisted men to the racks after drill, and
helped them, so far as they cared to be helped, in disposing of their
arms and accoutrements.
He was looking on now at Hal, talking with him, making suggestions and
comments, commending him for the excellence of his work. Of the two
boys he liked Hal the better. For Hal was always kind to him, and very
considerate, and treated him just as though he were already the bona
fide enlisted man that he expected some day to be; while Ben, aside
from directing him, on occasion, to perform some small service, was
dignified and distant, and had little to say to him.
So to-night, save for an occasional side glance, Chick was paying
little attention to Private Barriscale. But when, out of the corner of
his eye, he saw Ben, with his rifle resting across his knees, begin
to rub the spot of rust on the barrel with a square of emery paper,
the boy’s attention was instantly attracted, and his interest aroused.
He looked on incredulously for a moment, then, apparently unable to
restrain his criticism, he walked across the room to where Ben was
sitting.
“Excuse me!” he said, saluting as he approached, “but that ain’t no way
to git rust spots off’n a rifle bar’l.”
Private Barriscale looked up in amazement. He was not accustomed to
being criticized by a company hanger-on, and, besides, things had not
gone well at the drill, and he was not in a particularly genial mood.
“What? What’s that you say?” he demanded sharply.
“I say,” responded Chick, “as that ain’t no way to clean a rifle bar’l.
You shouldn’t ever ought to clean a rifle bar’l with emery.”
“What business is it of yours how I clean my rifle?”
“Why, I s’pose ’tain’t none o’ my business. But I know ’t no one can’t
clean his rifle bar’l with no emery paper, cause it’s ag’inst the
rules.”
“Well, when I want your advice I’ll tell you. In the meantime suppose
you confine your admonitions to your friend across the room.”
Chick was not angry nor resentful. He felt that he had done his duty by
a new recruit. If his advice was not acceptable it was not his fault.
“Excuse me!” he said. “I didn’t have no intention o’ buttin’ in. I just
wanted you to know what I know about cleanin’ rifle bar’ls. I al’ays
try to help the rookies out, best I kin.”
Then, indeed, Ben’s wrath blazed up. To be called a “rookie” by this
inconsequential camp-trotter was more than he could stand. He jumped to
his feet and brought the butt of his rifle to the floor with a crash.
“You leave this room!” he shouted. “You’ve no business here! You’re a
meddler and a fool!”
Chick stood staring at the angry youth in amazement. He could not
understand why his well-intentioned advice should have brought forth
such a burst of wrath. Still less could he understand why he should
be ordered to leave a room in which, so far as he knew, he had been
welcome as a friend and helper for the last three years. Nor could
Halpert McCormack understand it. Or, if he did dimly understand the
cause of Barriscale’s wrath he could have no sympathy with him in his
angry outburst. Up to this moment he had been a silent witness to the
affair. Now he felt that it was just to Chick, and due to his own
self-respect, that he should take a hand in it.
“You don’t have to go, Chick,” he said quietly. “I’ve as much authority
here as Barriscale has, and I tell you to stay.”
Ben’s face, already flushed with anger, turned scarlet now. For a
moment he could not find words with which to express his indignation.
But when he did speak it was apparent that the current of his wrath had
changed and was setting violently toward Hal.
“What business is it of yours,” he demanded, “what orders I give to
this intermeddling runt?”
“It’s my business,” replied Hal, “because you’ve no right to give such
orders. Besides, Chick wasn’t intermeddling; he intended to do you a
favor.”
“Me? Do me a favor?” He spoke in a voice and manner of infinite scorn.
“Yes. He was entirely right when he said it was improper and against
the rules to use emery paper on your rifle barrel. A little oil,
a piece of soft wood, and a woolen rag will remove a spot of rust
effectually and save the finish on your barrel.”
If Hal had thought to appease his comrade’s wrath by this explanation,
he soon discovered his error. Barriscale was more violently angry than
before.
“Who set you up,” he shouted, “as an instructor in the care of arms?”
McCormack was still calm.
“No one,” he replied. “I’ve simply studied my regulations, and Chick
taught me, a week ago, how to remove rust.”
“Oh, Chick taught you, did he? Major-General Chick! No wonder you’ve
made a bosom friend of him! It seems to be the height of your ambition
to make boon companions of anarchists and fools!”
This was his parting shot. He put his rifle in its place in the rack
with a bang, flung his cleaning appliances into his locker and snapped
the door shut, and then, white with unreasonable rage, he left the
room.