SOLDIERS IN THE MAKING
The first thing we did after our arrival was to go to the doctor for
final examination. Again my heart dropped when I saw what seemed to
be a physically splendid man rejected, and I felt that my case was
hopeless. I stripped, and, with my heart pounding like a
trip-hammer, presented myself. I was reassured almost instantly by
his kindly manner. He gave me a most rigid looking over and
pronounced me fit, but shook his head dubiously at my height. An
inspiration seized me: "Doctor, I may be small, but it is
concentrated stuff."
He laughed and told me to dress. Trembling with delight and relief I
fell into line to take my first "shot in the arm," as we called our
inoculation against typhoid, and when the surgeon jabbed me with the
needle I promptly fainted for the first time in my life.
Life now began in earnest; day succeeded day of hard training. The
weather was ideal, our only trouble being the dust-clouds raised from
the sandy ground by marching troops.
Uniforms were issued, and in two weeks' time one would not have
recognized us. Many laughable incidents occurred in connection with
our uniforms; nearly every man got something that was too big or too
small. The quartermaster gave me a hat that was two or three sizes
too large. I asked him what I should do and he told me to come back
in the morning, which I did.
"You told me to come back and see you, sir, about my cap; it is too
big."
"Well, I can tell by your bothering nerve that you've got the swelled
head and it won't be long before it fits you. Get to blazes out of
here."
I did not think it prudent to pursue the matter further. I was
wondering what I would do with the cap when I espied a fellow with a
head like a bull and a cap resting just on the crown. "Here's my
chance," thought I, and I was after him in a jiffy. He was a Scot.
"Matey, how would you like to swop caps?"
"Wha's the matter wi' yours?"
"Mine's too large." He took mine and examined it critically, feeling
the quality and the texture.
"It's no as gude as mine; I wudna swop."
"Why, yours doesn't fit you and mine would."
"Ay, but the quality, lad, look at the quality o' mine."
"It's just exactly the same as mine."
"Naething o' the kind," he said, "the quartermaster is a particular
friend o' mine and he gie me one especially."
"He did, like ducks."
"O vera weel. Besides, I dinna mind a little thing like that; it's
the quality. But I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "if you want
the cap an' will gie me an extra shillin' on account o' the quality,
I'll maybe let ye hae it."
I spent no further time arguing with him; I realized at once he was
the original one hundred per cent efficiency man who bought something
from a Jew and sold it to another Jew at a profit. I gave him the
quarter. He took it, but before giving me his cap, he took mine,
tried it on carefully (they were identical in every particular except
the size), then handed me his, gave me a wink and walked off. I felt
I had really gotten my twenty-five cents' worth.
The happiest people in Valcartier that time were the tailors; they
reaped a harvest from our repairs and alterations. An old political
campaigner in the battalion suggested that the tailors should get
busy with the administration and arrange to throw their support to
the government if the chief of staff would agree to retain the
services of the quartermasters who were such marvelously strange
guessers at the size of the average man. We laughed ourselves to
sleep that night.
The growth of Valcartier during our stay was like a chapter in
Aladdin. Like mushrooms in the night there sprang up stores, houses
and amusement places of every description, and they did a thriving
business, because the men rapidly acquired the spending habits of the
soldier.
An attempt by one of the moving-picture proprietors to extort money
from the soldiers turned out rather badly for him. He advertised the
same picture for a number of nights under a different title each
night, and a hard-headed Scotch soldier, upon inquiring if it were
not the same film they had seen the previous night, was told to go to
hell.
"I'm running this show," said the proprietor.
"Weel, ye'll no be runnin' it long, I'm thinkin'," said Jock. "Hey,
lad," he yelled to me as I happened along, "run like the deil to
Company B, Third Battalion, over yonder, and tell them Red Stuart
wants to clean up a crook over here. Hurry, noo."
I shot across in the direction indicated and found a bunch of
Highlanders sprawled on the ground, smoking their pipes. I delivered
the message and in a twinkling fully fifty brawny sons of the heather
sprang from the ground and were dashing toward Red Stuart. I ran
after them and awaited developments a short distance off. Red
quickly told them what had happened and their Scotch sense of justice
wronged was thoroughly aroused.
"Wha'll ye be wantin' us tae do, Red?"
"MacDonald, take thirty men to the rear and up-end the damned show;
I'll take care o' the front."
MacDonald and his thirty men circled to the back of the house and
inside of a minute it commenced to quiver and slant forward. The
soldier-patrons came tumbling out in a hurry, some of them head
foremost, and soon were admiring spectators when they learned the
cause of the trouble. The other Scotties, under Red Stuart, were
lined up in front to catch the theater when it came down. Just then
the proprietor came tumbling out.
"Who in hell's doing this?" he demanded of Red. Red's answer was a
blow on the jaw that put him to sleep. Then the money from the till
came rolling out over the floor and Red yelled.
"Quick, Sandy and Alec, pick it up an' we'll divide it after."
Sandy and Alec let go of the building and gathered up the money in
their caps, and Red shouted.
"All together, lads, let her go."
The men at the back gave a heave, the men in front let go, and down
crashed the frail building, splitting in two. A streak of flame shot
up from the middle and soon a bright blaze lit up the scene, and by
its light the Sons of St. Andrew religiously divided the spoils of
war.
But the trouble did not end here. A fire-call was turned in by the
nearest bugler, was caught up by each successive bugler in turn, and
in two minutes the entire camp was in a turmoil. The men fell into
line, yelling like wild Indians; it was pandemonium let loose. The
roar of noise traveled clear down to the end of the lines, where it
reached the artillery, the horses stampeded, made a mad rush for the
river, and forty valuable animals were drowned.