[Illustration: "Let Me Look at That Bolt." _Frontispiece._]
Uncle Sam's Boys
on Field Duty
OR
Winning Corporal's Chevrons
By
H. IRVING HANCOCK
Author of The Motor Boat Club Series, The High School Boys' Series,
The West Point Series, The Annapolis Series, Uncle Sam's Boys
in the Ranks, Uncle Sam's Boys as Sergeants, Etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
HOWARD E. ALTEMUS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A SQUAD-ROOM MISUNDERSTANDING 7
II. ON THE GREAT SUMMER HIKE 29
III. SOLDIER HAL MARCHES AS A PRISONER 47
IV. THE JOKING SCOUT 54
V. THE CORPORAL WITH THE SHEEPISH GRIN 65
VI. RAYNES FINDS A PATRIOTIC ALLY 77
VII. BEARS AND OTHER TROUBLES 90
VIII. IN THE MIDST OF THE "HOSTILES" 97
IX. PLANNING FOR THE NIGHT ATTACK 103
X. TRAPPERS AND TRAPPED 113
XI. THAT C COMPANY CORPORAL EATS CROW 119
XII. THE CALL TO DEADLY WORK 130
XIII. THE APPOINTMENT WITH SUPREME DANGER 138
XIV. MEETING BLICK IN EARNEST 145
XV. THE BATTLE OF THEIR LIVES 155
XVI. CAPTAIN CORTLAND "MAKES A SPEECH" 162
XVII. ROUNDING UP THE MISSING LEAVE MEN 171
XVIII. DOWLEY EGGS ON A CATSPAW 184
XIX. A DISPUTE IN THE GUARD HOUSE 192
XX. PROMOTION FLIES IN THE AIR 202
XXI. THE PRICE OF BEING A MAN 211
XXII. TWO YOUNG CORPORALS SEND OUT THE "C. Q. D." 227
XXIII. THE WIND CHANGES ITS COURSE AND BLOWS 235
XXIV. CONCLUSION 246
Uncle Sam's Boys on Field Duty
CHAPTER I
A SQUAD-ROOM MISUNDERSTANDING
"I see by the paper----" began Private Green, looking up.
Instantly the doughboys in the squad room turned loose on him.
"You can never believe what you read in the papers," broke in Private
Hyman.
"Cut it and study your guard manual!" yelled another.
"Is it going to rain to-night, rookie?"
"Let him alone. He wants to prove that he can read," jeered another,
which witticism brought a swift flush to the face of Private Green.
For Green was as verdant as his name. He was a new recruit, just in
after his probationary period at a northwestern recruit rendezvous. He
was so green, in fact, that the men in the squad room, and throughout
B Company of the Thirty-fourth United States Infantry accused the
young fellow of having joined the Army so that he could get a wall of
bayonets between his own inexperienced self and the bunco men.
The young recruit's mistake lay in pretending to know a lot more than
he really did know. He had been put through the unmerciful hazing that
always awaits a very "fresh" rookie, or recruit, but even that had
taught him little. Private Green was always looking for the chance to
prove to his new comrades among the regulars of the Thirty-fourth that
he knew something after all. This afternoon his trouble had taken the
form of trying to find something in a two-days' old newspaper on which
he could discourse for the enlightenment of the other men.
"I see by the paper," continued Private William Green, as soon as his
tormentors would let him proceed, "that we of the United States are now
manufacturing the biggest and finest guns in the world."
"Meaning cannon?" quizzed Private Hyman innocently.
"Sure," nodded Private William Green.
"Take that over to the red sheds," jeered one soldier.
"What do we of the infantry care about the red legs and their
troubles?" demanded Hyman, as though affronted.
For the "doughboys," or infantrymen, of the regular Army, affect
supreme scorn for all other arms of the service. In especial do they
profess contempt for the artillerymen, or red legs, this latter epithet
being derived from the fact that red is the artillery color, and that
the officers and non-commissioned officers of the artillery wear red
side stripes on their trousers.
"But think what it means to this country," insisted Private William
Green, "when we manufacture the biggest guns in the world."
"And we have also the loudest-mouthed and noisiest members in the peace
societies," remarked Private Hal Overton, laughingly.
"What have peace-spouters got to do with big guns?" demanded Private
William Green rather stiffly.
"Why, you see," explained Hal, "the peace advocates look for the
millennium."
"The mill--what kind of mill?" inquired Green, with unlooked-for
interest, for Private Willie had been employed in a grist mill before
enlisting.
"The mil-len-nium," explained Private Overton patiently, though with a
twinkle in his eyes.
"Never heard of that mill," replied Private Green rather disdainfully.
"What's it for?"
"Why, you see, Greenie--pardon me, I mean Willie," continued Hal
Overton, while the other soldiers in the squad room, scenting fun,
remained silent, "it's like this: The millennium is the age that may
come some time. The peace-spouters tell us that the millennium is
coming in two weeks from autumn. That millennium is the age when all
war will be abolished and soldiers will have to go to work."
"What's all that got to do with what I was talking about?" demanded
Private Green, bewildered and half offended.
"Wait, and Overton will tell you," warned Hal's chum, Noll Terry, who
stood by looking decidedly trim and handsome in his spotless khaki
uniform.
"Of course you know all about Armageddon?" resumed Hal.
"Never heard of him," retorted Green suspiciously, for he saw the
amused looks in the faces of some of the soldiers standing about.
"Say--hold on! Is Army-gid-ap----"
"Armageddon," corrected Hal quietly.
"Is that the name of the new breakfast food that the rainmaker (Army
surgeon) was trying to have sprung on the bill of fare of our company
mess?"
"Oh, no," Hal assured him. "Nothing as bad as that. You see,
Greenie--Willie, I mean--while the peace-howlers lay all of their bets
on the millennium being just over the fence, there's another crowd of
high-brow thinkers who look forward to the great battle when all the
armies of the world will be present. That battle is going to be the one
grand fight of all history, and the armies of one half of the world
are going to get a sure thrashing from the armies of the other half.
Any way you look at it, it's surely going to be a big scrap, Willie,
and after that maybe all soldiers will be too tired to fight any more.
Now, for that great battle the high-brows have invented the name of
Armageddon. Don't forget the name, Willie--Armageddon. It's going to be
the biggest fight the world ever saw--the only real fight in history,
as we'll look back at it afterwards."
"But what has all this got to do with what I was reading from the
paper?" insisted Private Green.
"Why, don't you see, if we're making the biggest and finest guns, and
Armageddon comes on, it'll be just like robbing a baker's wagon for us
to win Armageddon. On the other hand, if millennium runs in first, and
we don't need the guns, then we win, too. We've got the biggest guns
for Armageddon, and the noisiest peace-howlers for the millennium.
Armageddon or millennium, it's just as good a bet either way, for the
United States is bound to win, going or coming."
Private William Green didn't see more than a tenth part of the point,
but the laugh that followed got on his nerves.
"You fellows are nothing but a lot of horse-play idiots," he growled,
rising and stalking away.
As he made his way through the little fringe of soldiers something
happened to Private William Green, but Hal Overton was the only
disinterested person who happened to see it.
William had joined the Army after toiling and saving for some four
years. Green had saved his money, and hoped to save a lot more. He was
known to have about four hundred dollars in cash, which he had so far
declined to deposit with the Army pay-master. Where he kept this money
was not known, beyond the fact that he sometimes carried it on his
person.
Just as William was passing through the group of soldiers a hand ran
expertly up under the loose hem of Private Green's blouse. A wallet
left Green's right-hand hip pocket, coming away with the intruding
hand. Then Private Dowley slipped the wallet into his own trousers'
pocket.
Hal saw and acted with his usual quickness.
"Don't do that, Dowley," Hal advised, moving forward and resting a hand
on Private Dowley's shoulder.
"Don't do what?" demanded Dowley, turning scowling eyes on Hal.
"Give him back his wallet, Dowley. That's carrying a joke too far."
"I haven't----" was as far as Private Dowley got when Private William
Green, who was twenty-two years old, tall, raw-boned, freckled and
sandy haired, heard the word and clapped a hand to his own hip pocket.
"I've been touched--robbed--right in the heart of United States
forces!" yelled Private Green, turning and staggering back.
"Give it back to him, Dowley," urged Hal.
"What do you mean? To say that I----" sputtered Dowley, clenching his
fists as though he meant to hurl himself at Hal Overton.
But Private William himself settled the problem by hurling himself
weakly at Dowley and running his hands over his comrade's clothing.
"There it is," yelled William. "My wallet--right in Dowley's trousers'
pocket."
"Of course," nodded Private Hal. "Dowley did it as a joke, but it looks
like carrying a joke too far."
Dowley, seeing that further denial was useless, broke into a guffaw.
Then he thrust a hand into his pocket, producing the wallet. William
Green pounced upon it with an exclamation of joy.
"I wanted to string Greenie," explained Dowley hoarsely, "but Overton
had to go to work and spoil it all."
"The joke was in bad taste," observed Private Hyman quietly. "We don't
want any work of that sort here, even for fun."
"What I marvel at," remarked Hal innocently, "is how you did the thing
in such a smooth, light-fingered way, Dowley."
"Light fingered? You hound!" raged Dowley, his eyes blazing. "Do you
mean that I did the trick with the skill of a crook?"
He placed himself squarely before the young soldier, crowding him back
and glaring into Overton's eyes.
The other soldiers in the room found suddenly a new interest in the
scene. Young Overton wasn't quarrelsome; he was the soul of good
nature, in fact, but he knew how to fight when he had to do it.
"Stop walking on my feet," counseled Hal, giving Dowley a slight push
that sent him backward a step.
"What did you mean?" insisted Dowley, who was working himself into a
greater rage with every second.
"It's time to ask what you mean," retorted Hal.
"You called me a light-fingered crook, because I played a joke on
Greenie," roared Dowley. "And I'm going to make you eat talk like
that."
"You're putting a wrong construction on my words," returned Hal quietly.
"You called me a light-fingered crook, didn't you?" demanded Dowley
hotly.
"I spoke of your performance as a light-fingered trick."
"That's the same thing," raged the older man.
"Is it?"
"Don't play baby, and don't crawfish," sneered Dowley, scowling. "You
know what you meant."
"And you seem to think you know, too."
"We must break this up," whispered Private Hyman to Noll Terry, Hal
Overton's soldier chum. "I don't want to see him get hurt."
"What do you care about Dowley?" asked Noll, shrugging his shoulders.
"Dowley be hanged!" retorted Hyman. "It's your kid friend I'm thinking
about."
"Oh, he won't get hurt," retorted Noll with cheery assurance.
"Your friend is pretty handy with his fists, I know, but Dowley is a
big fellow, an older man, with more fighting judgment; and I miss my
guess if Dowley hasn't had a big lot of practice in rough-and-tumble in
all the bad spots of life."
"Will you take back and apologize for what you said?" insisted Dowley.
"If I said anything I shouldn't have said," replied Hal quietly.
"You're a liar, a cur and----"
"Stop that!" objected Hal Overton, yet without raising his voice.
"Apologize, then! Do it handsomely, too."
"You've said too much to be entitled to any apology now," Hal assured
the scowling soldier.
"Apologize, or I'll----"
"Going to start now?" Hal queried smilingly.
"Yes, you----"
Dowley made a rush, with both fists clenched. Hal nimbly sidestepped,
putting up his own guard at the same time.
"Attention!" shouted a soldier.
Instantly both prospective combatants dropped their hands. The door
of the squad-room had opened, and now there entered a young officer,
handsome and resplendent in his new fatigue uniform. Unlike the
khaki-clad enlisted men, this officer was attired in the blue uniform.
Down the outer side of either leg of his trousers ran the broad white
stripe of the commissioned officer of infantry. On his shoulders lay
the plain shoulder strap, without bars or other device, proclaiming the
young man to be a second lieutenant. He was a handsome young fellow
of twenty-two, erect, fine of bearing and every inch of him an intense
soldier.
"Where is Sergeant Hupner?" asked Lieutenant Prescott. His glance, as
he made the inquiry, appeared to be directed to Private Hal Overton.
"I don't know, sir," Hal answered respectfully.
"And neither of the corporals berthed in this squad room are present,
either?"
"No, sir."
No displeasure was apparent in the young lieutenant's tone. There was
no reason why the corporals, as well as the sergeant, should not be
absent at this moment, if they chose. The officer's query was made only
for the purpose of securing information.
"You are Private Overton?"
"Yes, sir."
"When Sergeant Hupner returns be good enough to say to him that I wish
to see him at my quarters. Any time before the call for parade will do."
"Very good, sir."
"If Private Overton is not here when Sergeant Hupner returns, any other
man may deliver my message," continued Lieutenant Prescott. "That is
all. Good afternoon, men."
The young lieutenant turned and strode from the squad room.
"Somehow," mused Private Hyman, "it takes West Point to turn out a real
soldier, doesn't it? No matter how good a man is, or how long he spends
in learning the soldier trade, he's never quite the same unless he has
the West Point brand on him."
"That's nothing to do with my affair," growled Private Dowley. "Now,
Kid Overton, I'll attend to your case."
"Oh, cut it, Dowley," grumbled Private Hyman. "Get out and keep out, or
we'll find a blanket and give you a little excitement. Eh, boys?"
"I'm going to polish off this kid for his insults to me," insisted
Dowley sulkily.
"Bring the blanket, boys," muttered Hyman wearily.
From several of the men came a gleeful whoop as they started in various
directions. It looked like business of a different sort now, and Dowley
was not too blind to see it.
"Oh, all right, if you're all going to butt in to save this kid
doughbaby from his just deserts. But he'll get his later on," snarled
Private Dowley.
"I'm all ready now. There's no time like the present," smiled Hal.
But two of the soldiers were coming back with blankets. There's not an
atom of fun--for the victim--in being tossed in a blanket, so Dowley
started for the door.
It banged behind him. Two minutes later it banged again, this time
closing on big Private Bill Hooper.
"Birds of a feather--you all know the rest," chuckled Private Hyman,
winking at some of his comrades in B Company. A general laugh answered.
"Why didn't you let Dowley have his fun?" asked Private Hal Overton
good-humoredly.
"Because, Hal," replied Hyman, "Dowley is a big, ugly, dangerous man.
You're spunky; you're all grit, and I don't know any kid who can handle
himself as well as you do. But Dowley is in another class."
* * * * *
"You'll do well, after this, Hal," murmured Noll Terry, when the chums
were by themselves at one end of the room, "to keep your eyes open. I
shall do the same."
"Why?" Overton wanted to know.
"Well, you've made an enemy of Dowley."
"Perhaps."
"Don't treat it as lightly as that," warned Noll Terry with great
earnestness. "Dowley isn't a man to forget even a fancied injury. You
noticed that Bill Hooper went out soon after Dowley, didn't you?"
"Yes; but what of it?"
"Hooper hates you; he has hated you for a long time, and Dowley has
just learned to hate you. Now, you may be sure those two birds of a
feather will flock together."
"Let 'em," laughed Hal indifferently.
"For what purpose will they flock together?" persisted Noll. "They now
have a common interest in making life miserable for you."
"Just for my one remark to Dowley?" smiled Hal.
"I tell you Dowley is the kind of man who takes offense easily, and
then can't make himself forget. Look there, quick!"
Noll, who had been half facing one of the end windows of the squad
room, suddenly nudged Hal, then pointed.
"Do you see that pair over yonder, just going through under the trees?"
queried Noll Terry dryly.
"Hooper and Dowley," nodded Hal.
"What do you suppose has brought that pair together so quickly after
the scene here? They're drawn together by a common interest--in you."
"Let 'em talk about me, if they like," proposed Hal coolly.
"Do you imagine they're getting together just to talk about you?"
demanded Private Terry half indignantly. "Wake up, Hal; keep your eyes
open, and I'll do the same. They're two, but we are two, also. If
you don't go to sleep, Hal, I think we can prove ourselves equal to
anything that that pair may try to do. But you don't want to forget
that they are certainly plotting to do something to get you into
trouble. Whatever gets you into trouble also puts a bad mark on your
record as a soldier and threatens to interfere with your promotion."
"If Hooper and Dowley get busy along those lines," muttered Hal, his
eyes blazing, "they'll find that they have a sure fight on their hands."
"That's the way to talk, old fellow," approved Noll Terry, his eyes
shining eagerly. "And don't think I'm foolish, either, in the warning
that I'm giving you."
"Thank you, Noll; I guess it will be as well to be ordinarily alert,
where that pair are concerned. It never does any fellow harm to have
his eyes open at all times."
Readers of the previous volume in this series, "UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN
THE RANKS," will need no introduction to Privates Hal Overton and
Noll Terry, of the Thirty-fourth United States Infantry, stationed at
Fort Clowdry, in the lower Rockies of Colorado.
Hal and Noll were bright, typical American boys when, at the age of
eighteen, back in their New Jersey home town, they decided that their
careers in life were to be found through enlisting in the Army.
It was in April that they enlisted, after which they were sent to a
recruit rendezvous near New York City. At the recruit rendezvous the
two young "rookies," as recruits are commonly termed in the service,
were whipped very thoroughly into shape.
While at the recruit rendezvous the two rookies distinguished
themselves by preventing the desertion of a corporal who was in arrest.
For this service they were commended in orders.
On the way to their regiment in Colorado the boys were present
when an attempt was made to hold up the United States mail train.
An Army officer, Major Davis, of the Seventeenth Cavalry, ordered
them to assist him in resisting an attack on the mail car. In the
encounter that followed some of the train robbers were shot, others
then surrendering to Major Davis. That same night Major Davis wired
the colonel of the Thirty-fourth, speaking of the young recruits in
high terms for their prompt obedience and their grit under trying
circumstances. So Overton and Terry, on joining their regiment the next
morning, found themselves in high favor.
Of course the young soldiers had to endure the usual amount of "hazing"
when they took up their new life in the squad room. But this they
did with a combination of grit and good humor that soon won them the
respect of the older soldiers.
Then came a period of great excitement on the post. Despite the fact
that an entire battalion of the Thirty-fourth was stationed at Fort
Clowdry, a gang of burglars visited the quarters of married officers on
dark nights, and invariably succeeded in getting away with substantial
booty.
It was young Private Overton who, when on sentry duty up in officers'
row, was first to detect the burglars as they were leaving a house
that they had robbed. Before the guard arrived Private Hal Overton had
a spirited battle with the decamping thieves. One of them turned out
to be Tip Branders, a young bully who had once lived in the home town
of Hal and Noll. Branders had robbed his own mother and had drifted
west, falling in with bad company. Hal and Noll then remembered a
rock-strewn, distant part of the post where they had once met Tip,
and there they led a squad of soldiers, under an officer. Here, after
another brief but spirited battle, the escaped burglars had been
caught; and here also all the booty stolen from the quarters along
officers' row was recovered.
Both young soldiers had now received great credit for their daring
and clever work. Moreover, both had gone on rapidly in the thorough
learning of their new work as soldiers of the regular Army.
And now the month of August had come around. Both young soldiers were
now on the high road to efficiency and success in their strenuous new
life.
Readers of the "HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' SERIES" and the "WEST
POINT SERIES" will be quick to recognize another young man
who has been briefly introduced in the opening of this present
volume--Lieutenant Dick Prescott, a graduate of the United States
Military Academy at West Point, and just recently appointed to his
regiment, the Thirty-fourth. With Lieutenant Prescott was Lieutenant
Greg Holmes, who will be remembered as Prescott's close chum in the
High School and West Point days.
Prescott we now find as second lieutenant of B Company; Holmes was
now second lieutenant of C Company of the same battalion of the
Thirty-fourth.
Both were splendid young officers, and manly to the core. In the few
days that Lieutenants Prescott and Holmes had been at Fort Clowdry they
had made a fine impression on the enlisted men. Soldiers are quick to
judge and estimate the worth of their officers.
Sergeant Hupner soon entered the squad room. The first sergeant being
absent for a couple of days, Hupner was acting first sergeant. To him
Hal gave Lieutenant Prescott's message.
"I'll go up to the lieutenant's quarters at once," nodded Hupner. "He's
a fine young officer, isn't he?"
"Yes," agreed Private Overton. "But I haven't yet met any but mighty
fine officers in the service, so the lieutenant isn't any cause of
surprise to me."
Hupner was back within twenty minutes.
"Attention," he called. "Men, in the absence of the captain and first
lieutenant until Wednesday, Lieutenant Prescott is company commander.
He has just notified me, as acting first sergeant, to inform the men
that B and C Companies march from the post on Friday for a two weeks'
period of training in field duty. Every man will promptly see to it
that all his field outfit is in proper order. Any man wishing further
instruction or advice will apply to me at any time up to our departure."
Then Sergeant Hupner hurried forth to acquaint the men in the other
squad rooms of B Company with the news.
"Field work? Hurrah!" shouted Private Terry, always eager to experience
new phases of the soldier's life.
"You've never been off on field work, have you?" asked Hyman dryly.
"No; that's why I'm so pleased about it," Noll answered.
"And that's the only reason," added Hyman. "Take it from me that it's a
period of hard work, tedious marching, blistered feet, aching muscles
and all but crumbling bones. It's nothing but a big, torturesome hike
through the mountains."
"I'll enjoy it," insisted Private Terry.
"Wait," advised Hyman.
Soon after the buglers of the post were sounding first call to
afternoon parade. It was not until the men were falling in ranks that
Bill Hooper and the morose Dowley heard about the coming tour of field
duty.
"That will be our chance," muttered Hooper to Dowley, after the men
had been dismissed at the conclusion of parade. The two were again by
themselves, their scheming heads together.
"I don't believe the chance will be as good off in the field as it will
be here at barracks," grunted Dowley.
"That's because you haven't been in the Army long enough to know,"
retorted big Bill Hooper.
"Blast the Army!" snarled Dowley.
"However did you come to enlist, anyway?" asked Hooper curiously.
"I had reasons of my own," replied Dowley shortly.
"Did the sheriff have anything to do with those reasons?" grinned
Hooper darkly.
"Don't get too curious!" warned the other.
"Oh, I'm not nosey," laughed Hooper. "And we can't afford to quarrel.
We're both pledged to getting Overton kicked out of the service."
"Are you sure that he and Terry really expect to work their way up to
becoming commissioned officers?"
"I have it on the best of authority," declared Private Hooper.
"Whose?"
"Their own."
"Did they tell you so?"
"Not they! Those kids are too close-mouthed for that. At least, they
didn't tell me direct, and I don't believe they've told any other
enlisted men on the post. But I heard them talking it over, one day
when they didn't know I was around. They expect to be made corporals
before their first year is out. In three years they hope to be
sergeants, and then they scheme to take the enlisted men's examination
for commissions as second lieutenants."
"Lieutenants? Shave-tails?" guffawed Dowley. "Hooper, they'll never
even be corporals. It's a bob-tail discharge for theirs!"
Second lieutenants, when their commissions are very new, are often
referred to as "shave-tails." A "bob-tail" is a dishonorable discharge,
after court-martial. To a real soldier a "bob-tail" means unspeakable
disgrace.
"A bob-tail for theirs--yes, sir," repeated Private Dowley. "And I'm
genius enough to bring it about!"
"Perhaps you won't need my help, for you sure are some smart,"
suggested Bill Hooper in a tone of pretended admiration.
"I'm smart enough to see that you'd drop out and use me as the
catspaw," growled Private Dowley. "None of that, Bill! You'll stand
right by and do half of the dirty work in exchange for half of the
satisfaction. Between us we'll give that fool Overton a new middle
name, and that middle name will be 'Bob-tail'!"