It had been nearly two years since Halpert McCormack and Ben Barriscale
enlisted for service in the National Guard. They had one more year to
serve, yet neither of them had a thought of leaving the service when
the period of their enlistment expired. They had not only not tired of
the militiaman’s life with its duties and its tasks, they had found
pleasure and profit in it. For each of them, in a different way, it had
had its compensations and its satisfactions.
And each of them had merited and received promotion. First they
had been advanced to the grade of corporal. And when, by reason of
contemporaneous enlistment, the terms of the first and second sergeant
expired simultaneously, and it became known that they would not
reënlist, it was generally conceded that the two places would go to
McCormack and Barriscale. But which one of them he would make his first
sergeant was still a problem in the mind of Captain Murray. Both young
men were excellent soldiers. Both of them had mastered every detail
of company drill, and there were few movements, exercises or duties
for the enlisted man to perform with which both men were not entirely
familiar.
But the office of first sergeant is a most important one. A well-known
military authority has written:
“It has been said the captain is the proprietor of the company,
and the first sergeant is the foreman. Under supervision of
the captain he has immediate charge of all routine matters
pertaining to the company.”
Captain Murray knew that whichever one of the two men he selected he
would have an intelligent and efficient first sergeant. His hesitation
was due to the fact that he wished to avoid any appearance of
favoritism. Finally, remembering and following the still unfulfilled
purpose and plan of Benjamin Barriscale, Sr., he decided to award
the office as a prize to the man who should most successfully pass
an examination in military tactics. In order to be entirely fair the
test was thrown open to every enlisted man; and in order still further
to secure absolute justice in the matter, Captain Cowperthwaite from
Company M was called in to conduct the examination.
But, as every one knew would be the case, Corporals McCormack and
Barriscale were the only ones who took the test. It was unusually
thorough and severe, and was a combination of written, oral and
physical exercises. Three days after it was held Captain Cowperthwaite
made his report which was to the effect that Corporal Barriscale had
won out by three points, the score standing nine-five and ninety-eight.
The report was read to the company at the armory on the night of the
weekly drill. There was no demonstration from the ranks. The men
were at attention, and anything like a demonstration would have been
subversive of military discipline. Moreover, there was no enthusiasm
among the enlisted men over Barriscale’s success. Most of them liked
Hal better and would have been glad to see him capture the prize. But
they knew that Ben was a good soldier, would make an efficient orderly,
and had won his promotion fairly, so they were content.
Immediately following the reading of the report Captain Murray
announced the appointment of Corporal Barriscale to be first sergeant,
and Corporal McCormack to be second sergeant, and directed that
official warrants confirming these appointments be read accordingly.
When the company was dismissed Hal was the first to grasp the hand of
the new first sergeant and congratulate him on his appointment. And he
did it so frankly, with such good spirit and apparent sincerity, that
his conduct should have gone a long way toward closing the breach that
had opened between the two boys on the night of Chick’s rebuff, had
yawned wide on the night of the meeting called to decide the question
of acceptance of the prize offered by the senior Barriscale, and had
never since been completely bridged over. There had, indeed, been no
open hostility between them on account of these incidents. The matters
had not been mentioned by either of them since their occurrence. But
there was no companionship, no friendship. They were members of and
officers in the same militia company, they had such communication with
each other as their military duties required of them; that was all.
But both boys had grown, not only physically and mentally, but also
in their outlook on life. Young Barriscale was less autocratic and
arrogant, more approachable, more politic perhaps, yet he retained,
nevertheless, much of his aristocratic feeling. He still believed
that society was and should be divided into classes, and that while
it was the privilege of some to command, it was the duty of others to
obey. He approved of a democratic government indeed, provided it was
sufficiently strong to hold the masses in check, and for this purpose
its military arm should, in his opinion, be complete, invincible, and
at all times ready for use.
McCormack, on the other hand, was still peace-loving, and more of a
humanitarian than ever. He had always been a student and a dreamer,
and the more he read and pondered, the more he saw of actual social
conditions, the more thoroughly convinced he became that the salvation
of humanity for the future lay in that leveling process by which
the workers and the poor should be lifted to a higher social and
economic plane, and the millionaires and aristocrats brought down
to approximately the same level. Perhaps he was a socialist, he did
not quite know. At any rate, he was not a radical. He believed in a
democratic form of government, operated by virtue of its laws, and that
its laws should be enforced, even though it became necessary to use its
military arm in order to do so.
During the last two years he had seen much of Hugo Donatello. They had,
on many occasions, discussed with each other the economic problems
confronting the country and the world. But they could not quite reach
a common ground. As time passed Donatello, who had become practically
the leader of a group of organized radicals in the city, grew more
and more extreme in his views, and through the medium of his journal,
_The Disinherited_, advocated, every week, such direct action as would
make the “workers of the world,” without further delay, the masters of
its wealth and pleasures. Quiet in manner, dreamy-eyed, soft-voiced
except when aroused, persuasive in argument and eloquent in appeal, he
exerted an influence over Hal the true extent of which the boy did not
realize. The ideas of the young radical were so big, his humanitarian
instincts apparently so strong, his theory of internationalism,
as opposed to nationalism, leading to the ultimate and glorious
brotherhood of all men, was so pleasingly and convincingly put, that
it was difficult for this bank clerk, unschooled in the art of logic,
to detect the fallacies with which the argument abounded. Yet the boy
was not swept off his feet. By reason both of his ancestry and his
education he was firmly grounded in the principle of patriotism, and
he was not easily moved. His mind was receptive, it was not thoroughly
convinced.
But his friendship with Donatello and his association with other social
radicals in the city were commented on unfavorably in many quarters.
When the matter reached the ears of his aunt, Miss Sarah Halpert, she
brought him up with a round turn.
“What business have you, anyway,” she asked him, “to be associating
with that ordinary class of people? They’re not your kind. What have
you in common with them, I should like to know?”
“Well,” replied Hal, “they have hearts and brains and lungs and
stomachs just as I have. They get hot and cold and hungry and thirsty
just as I do. And whatever pleasant things there are in life they are
just as well fitted as I am to enjoy them. It seems to me that we have
a good deal in common.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” she ejaculated. “You know very well what I mean.
And you know you can’t afford to be linked up with such a fellow, for
instance, as this Donatello. Why, his paper is a disgrace to the city.
Did you read what he had in it last week again about the National
Guard?”
“Yes. He was rather severe on us.”
“Severe! It was positively scandalous! Why, his sheet ought to be
suppressed by the authorities, and he, himself, put in jail for a month
and fed on bread and water.”
“I’m afraid the fast-cure wouldn’t be a prophylactic for radicalism,
Aunt Sarah.”
“There you go with your big words again! But this is no joke, young
man. Bad company is bound to have its effect. The next thing you know
they’ll be putting you out of the National Guard.”
“Perhaps I’ll deserve it.”
“If you do deserve it, I hope to goodness they’ll do it! You just
go along now and behave yourself, and drop your socialistic and
anarchistic heresies, and shake your bad company, and be a soldier and
a gentleman.”
It was not long after this interview that Sergeant McCormack’s
qualities as a soldier and a gentleman were put severely to the test.
There was to be an exhibition drill on a certain evening, at the
armory, to which drill people of the city who were interested in the
military proficiency of the men of Company E were invited.
There is always something attractive about this handling of rifles by
an entire company, with its rhythmic movements, its click and clash,
its sudden and startling changes, and the picturesque way in which
it brings out the muscular alertness of the men. People were fond of
coming to see such exercises. Moreover, following the drill, there
were to be gymnastic contests, such as cane wrestling, pole pulling,
tug of war, etc. It had been the aim of Captain Murray to keep his men
interested by an appeal to their social and amusement-loving natures as
well as to their ambition to excel in military proficiency. This was
one reason why the company, as a whole, was always loyal and contented,
and why it was possible to keep the ranks full of excellent soldierly
material.
On this particular evening Sergeant McCormack, dressed in uniform, was
hurrying from his home to the armory. His mother and his sisters were
to go a little later in the car with his Aunt Sarah.
It so chanced that on the foot-walk of the Main Street Bridge, just
where he had met him and had his first interview with him two years
before, he met Hugo Donatello.
“I suppose,” said the young radical, half jocosely, “that you now go
for instruction of how to destroy the proletariat with the rifle,
including me, myself?”
“Well,” replied Hal, “so far as you are concerned, I don’t know but you
deserve to be destroyed, newspaper and all. That was a fierce article
you had in last week about the National Guard.”
“But was it not true, what I said?”
“No. The Guard is made up of right-minded men, trying to serve their
country and their State in the fairest possible way.”
“You do not yet know. No military is just or fair, nor can be. They are
under orders of politicians. Politicians are controlled by capitalists.
Capitalists conspire to crush workers. So there; what would you?”
He threw out his hands with a gesture which meant that there could be
no other conclusion.
“I haven’t got time to argue the matter with you to-night,” replied
Hal. “But I don’t like to have you talk about our men as though they
were a lot of thugs, nor our armory as though it were a nest of
conspirators against the liberty of working-men. By the way, were you
ever in our armory? Do you know what you’re talking about when you
write us down this way?”
“I have not had the pleasure to be ever in your armory, that is true.”
“Then come with me to-night and look us over for yourself.”
“I would not be welcome there.”
“I’ll answer for that. Come as my guest. It’s exhibition night.
There’ll be a lot of people there.”
Donatello hesitated for a moment before answering. Then, as though
suddenly making up his mind, he said:
“Very well. I will go. I am not too old, nor have I too much of the
prejudice to learn.”
First Sergeant Benjamin Barriscale, Jr., came into the drill-hall
that evening and cast his eyes over the large number of people seated
in rows of chairs against the side-walls of the armory, awaiting the
assembling of the company. He had already mastered every detail of the
duties of his new office. He felt that the men of the company respected
him accordingly, and that by reason of his soldierly qualities rather
than of any undue condescension on his part, he was becoming popular
with the rank and file. The privates, armed and equipped, lounging
about the hall or talking with friends at the side, saluted or spoke
to him as he passed by. His keen eye discovered Hal’s mother, as well
as Hal’s sisters and aunt, Miss Halpert, seated among the guests. He
wondered what particular accomplishment Sergeant McCormack expected to
exhibit that he had been vain enough to bring all the members of his
family to see. McCormack was still a source of discomfort to him. If
he could only humiliate him again in a legitimate way, as he had done
in the competition for appointments!
Then First Sergeant Barriscale discovered some one else, and this
discovery gave him a far greater shock than had the first one. He saw,
among the visitors, leaning unconcernedly back in his chair, Hugo
Donatello, socialist, radical, firebrand, slanderer of the government,
insulter of the flag, defamer of the National Guard.
As one of these epithets after another came into his mind his anger
rose. Ever since the incident at the flag-raising the fellow with his
vicious weekly journal had been a thorn in the young man’s flesh. Why
should such a person force his unwelcome presence on reputable citizens
and loyal soldiers in this manner? It was not only impudent, it was
insulting.
Without further thought or consideration he crossed the drill-hall and
confronted the objectionable visitor.
“You are Hugo Donatello, I believe?” he said.
The man looked up at him and answered quietly:
“That is my name, yes.”
“I must ask you to leave the armory. Your presence here is most
offensive.”
For a moment Donatello stared at the officer incredulously. He could
not quite believe that he had been ordered out.
“I came,” he said at last, “by the invitation of one, Mr. McCormack, a
member of your soldiery.”
The mention of Hal’s name only served to increase Barriscale’s wrath.
His face grew red and his voice rose.
“I don’t care how you came,” he replied. “I am in command here for the
present, and I order you to go.”
Then Donatello, realizing the situation, became, in his turn,
determined and angry.
“I am an American citizen,” he declared. “I pay the tax. This military
establishment, it is my money that helps to maintain it. I have the
right here. I will not go.”
“Then I shall have you ejected.”
“At your peril that will be. I give you fair warning.”
For a moment the situation was tense. People who were sitting near
by and heard the dialogue and saw the faces of the two angry men,
grew restless and apprehensive. Just what would happen no one could
conjecture.
But Sergeant Barriscale, without another word, turned on his heel,
strode back to the center of the hall and signaled to the drummer to
beat the assembly. Hardly had the last tap rolled from the end of the
drum-stick when the command was given to “Fall in!”
When the lines were properly formed and dressed, and the men brought
to a “Right shoulder arms!” Sergeant Barriscale began, from memory,
to call the company roll. As each man’s name was called he responded
distinctly: “Here!” and brought his piece smartly to an “order arms.”
At the end of the roll-call the captain and his lieutenants had not yet
come down from their quarters to the drill-hall. But while Barriscale
could not account for the delay he did not regret it. It left him still
in charge of the company. Facing the ranks he gave the command:
“Sergeant McCormack, step two paces to the front.”
Without knowing the purport of the order, the second sergeant,
accustomed to giving prompt obedience to all commands, passed around
the right of the line, down to the center, stepped two paces to the
front, halted and saluted his superior officer.
The first sergeant acknowledged the salute, then, with deliberate
emphasis, in a voice that could be heard the length of the hall, he
said:
“Sergeant McCormack, you will take a detail, consisting of one corporal
and two privates, and conduct to the street one, Hugo Donatello, whose
presence in this room is offensive to Company E and its guests.”
For a moment Hal stood motionless and speechless. He had seen and
known nothing of the brief interview between the first sergeant and
Donatello. When he realized the meaning and force of the command that
had been given to him, he was amazed and indignant. He brought his hand
up sharply in a second salute.
“Hugo Donatello,” he replied, “is my guest here this evening.”
The first sergeant did not move, nor did the expression on his
face change by so much as the lifting of an eyebrow. Again, more
deliberately, more emphatically than before, in a voice that could be
heard to the remotest corner of the drill-hall, he gave the command:
“Sergeant McCormack, you will take a detail, consisting of one corporal
and two privates, and conduct to the street one, Hugo Donatello, whose
presence in this room is an offense to Company E and its guests.”
For Halpert McCormack it was the most tense moment that his life
had thus far known. That the man whom he had brought as his guest
should be thus publicly humiliated; that he, himself, should be
deliberately chosen as the instrument by which such humiliation was
to be accomplished; it was monstrous and unbelievable. Against such
an outrage his whole nature cried out in revolt. For one moment, in a
larger sense than he dreamed of at the time, he stood at the parting of
the ways. Then the soldier within him prevailed. He made his decision.
He saluted his superior officer, faced about, chose a corporal and two
privates, ordered them to the front, and marched with them to the place
where Donatello was still sitting, a quizzical smile on his lips, a
dangerous light in his eyes.
In the audience there was the stillness of consternation. Women
crouched back into their seats and put their hands to their faces. A
few men rose to their feet and stared expectantly. No one could foresee
just what would happen.
Sergeant McCormack halted his squad in front of the offending visitor.
“I am directed,” he said, “by the officer in charge, to conduct you
from the hall.”
“And if I refuse to go?”
“I shall remove you by force.”
It was all spoken quietly, deliberately, with determination on the one
hand, with repressed indignation on the other. For a moment the young
radical looked into the eyes of the young soldier. What he saw there
evidently determined him in his course.
“So far that you are soldier,” he said, “I defy you. So far that you
are gentleman, whom I respect, I yield myself to your wish that I go.”
He rose, took his place by the side of the sergeant, and, followed by
the detail, they moved down the hall to the big street doors from which
Donatello disappeared into the darkness. Then the squad returned to
the line, the second sergeant directed his men to their places in the
ranks, and, facing his superior officer he saluted and reported:
“Your orders have been obeyed, sir.”
The first sergeant returned the salute and responded concisely:
“Take your post!”