CAMP STANTON
Jack had no further intercourse with either “Señor Gonzales” or
his brother officer while the journey lasted. Some two hours later
the Mexican left the train at the junction and presumably traveled
westward. His leave-taking of Jack consisted of a bow and a flashing
glimpse of small and very white teeth. Jack’s response was decidedly
stiff. They were now close to the border, and the platform of the
station held many dark-skinned men in picturesque attire. With one of
these, Jack thought, he saw “Señor Gonzales” in conversation in the lee
of the station as the train crawled on once more.
As for the haughty ensign, that young gentleman seemed to have
completely forgotten Jack’s existence again. He read, dozed, stared
from his window and was as thoroughly bored as was Jack. The latter
tried hard to peruse his book on aërial navigation, but southern Texas
in August isn’t just the place in which to combine railway travel
and study. To be sure, as the shadows grew long a refreshing breeze
blew through the car and brought a degree of animation to the dozen
or so occupants. Once, for a brief instant, Jack caught sight of the
sparkling waters of the Gulf, but for the most part sun-baked earth
and cloudless blue sky met his gaze. After awhile the sky changed
its hue to saffron, purple shadows crept over the land and a white
star twinkled in the heavens. And then, quite suddenly, as it seemed
to Jack, it was evening. The other navy chap began to gather his
belongings together, as did several others in the car, and so Jack
followed their example, and he had scarcely closed his bag before the
end of his journey arrived.
A confused impression of twinkling lights and voices and chugging
motors and a soft, cool breeze was his as he stood for a moment on the
platform and peered about him in the gloom. Then, his gaze led by the
noise of an automobile engine, he descried the darker bulk of a motor
vehicle of some sort and made his way to it.
“I want to get to Camp Stanton,” he told the dim form of the driver.
“Can you tell me――――”
“Jump in,” was the cheerful reply. “Any more coming, do you think?”
“There was another officer on the train――――”
“Got him.” The horn squawked loudly as Jack fumbled up a step at
the rear and, feeling his way along the dark interior, tripped over
something that might have been a bag and went sprawling to a seat.
“I beg pardon,” he gasped.
“All right,” answered his unseen companion. Jack recognized the voice.
He could have kicked himself for his clumsiness then. The driver was
speaking, his head turned toward the gloomy recess of the auto. “Any
baggage to go?” he asked. “There’s plenty of room to-night and I can
take another trunk or two.”
Jack found his check and the driver disappeared. Silence reigned in
the auto. It was a covered vehicle with a cushioned seat running along
each side. Two headlights bored white paths into the darkness in front,
but the interior was as black as a pocket. Jack could make out dimly,
as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, the form of the ensign
nearer the door. He wondered if the latter had purposely tripped him
up with his feet or deliberately placed his bag in the way. His face
grew warm as he imagined the other’s delight at his clumsiness. Then
a trunk thumped to the driver’s seat and the vehicle rocked, the horn
blew startlingly, there was a swift grinding of gears and they were
off. After a moment they were careening through the town, a place of
wide, rutted streets and one-story stores from which the light streamed
as they passed. Then, with a sudden turn that almost threw Jack from
his seat, the auto leaped forward at higher speed over a hard, smooth
roadway and the yellow glow of the little town fell farther and farther
behind. Through the back of the auto Jack could see a star-sprinkled
sky like blue-black velvet and nothing more. Under his feet the auto
shook and vibrated and from ahead came the steady hum of the motor.
There was no way of knowing, but he told himself that if that wild
driver out there wasn’t hitting it up to fifty he missed his guess!
But the ride was brief and presently the auto was slowing down and,
without seeing, Jack knew that they had reached Camp Stanton. Through
the canvas sides lights filtered as they passed and now and then a
voice reached him. The auto stopped.
“B Barracks!” announced the driver. “Headquarters opposite. Hey, Gus!
Give me a lift with these trunks!”
Jack followed the other passenger out and found himself confronted
by a doorway which led from a low veranda into a long, many-windowed
building. Khaki-clad forms graced the veranda’s edge and the wide
street gave back the sound of passing footsteps. From somewhere
overhead came the droning of an airplane. Jack set his bag down and
looked for Headquarters. The haughty ensign had disappeared.
“Right across there, friend, if it’s H. Q. you’re wanting,” volunteered
a tall chap who was leaning against a nearby post. “Ask for Lieutenant
Greenlee.”
“Thanks.” Jack took up his bag again and crossed to the smaller
building opposite. At the door a guard passed him on to an orderly and
a moment later he was facing an elderly, bronzed-faced man across a
wide desk.
“‘Sterling, John L., Ensign,’” corroborated the lieutenant, referring
to a card in his hand. “Had any aviation experience, Sterling?”
“No, sir.”
The lieutenant’s brows arose and he sighed. “Don’t understand why they
send us your sort,” he complained. “Ever been up at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course not! If you had they’d have assigned you to the submarine
service! What did you think you were going to do here, Sterling?”
“I didn’t know, sir. I supposed I’d get duty on one of the ships.”
“Ships? We haven’t any ships here! Well, not your fault, I suppose.
Report to Lieutenant Badger, B Barracks. That’s all.”
On the way out Jack passed his traveling companion in the corridor. The
latter nodded, a quizzical look on his face. Jack nodded in return, and
then wished he hadn’t.
Half an hour later he was settled. He had a bunk in the long building,
his trunk was set beside it, he had had his fill of sandwiches,
doughnuts and coffee――all there was to be had at the time of
night,――and he was sitting outside on the veranda with the soft
Gulf breeze ruffling his bare head. Before him in the darkness the
twinkling electric lights marched away toward the shore between rows
of buildings. Right and left they marched as well, diminishing to mere
pin-points in the distance. Not far off, above the story-high barracks,
a larger shape loomed against the starlit sky, monstrous, mysterious,
a great black bulk in the darkness. The drone of the night fliers had
ceased. From further along the veranda came the tinkling of a guitar
and voices singing softly. Perhaps if the songs had been more cheerful
they would not have affected Jack as they did, but “Suwanee River” and
“Old Black Joe” and other more recent but no more cheerful ditties
sent his spirits down and down until, before long, he was thoroughly
homesick. Before taps had sounded he was lying in his bunk feeling
very miserable. The thought of having to “go up” filled him with
apprehension. He was quite sure that he would disgrace himself by being
very sick or fainting or doing something equally horrible. And if he
did, it was dollars to doughnuts that that insufferable ensign would be
on hand to see it!
Gradually the barracks filled and jests and laughter sounded about him.
Outside, a bugle called taps and was echoed farther away. The long
room became dark save for a single light at one end. Silence reigned
at last. Jack was sure he would never go to sleep. But the little soft
breeze came in through the open windows and blew gently over his tired
eyes, and presently they closed.
The next thing he knew it was morning and reveille was sounding. A
babel of sound came from the barracks. And through a window across the
room, down a long street, lay the blue waters of the Gulf, sparkling
in the pale sunlight of early morning. And Jack, homesickness all
forgotten, leaped forth, happy, hungry and eager for life.
Roll-call, and then breakfast at a long table in the big building
across the way. It was Jack’s first opportunity to view his comrades
and he found them a fine-looking lot. Young men were much in the
majority, and to Jack “young” meant under twenty-two or three. There
was little talk at breakfast, for every one seemed too busy for
conversation. But later, out in the sunlit street and along the
knee-high verandas, there was much conjecture as to what was going
to happen, and wild rumors were rife. Discovering that Jack had just
arrived from the north, a neighbor on the veranda’s edge asked if it
was true that the marines had landed at Vera Cruz. Jack had to confess
that he had neither heard nor read of it.
“Well, if it wasn’t in the papers,” replied the other disappointedly,
“I guess there’s nothing in it. You hear all sorts of wild yarns down
here. We don’t get any papers until they’re ’most a week old, it seems.
A couple of days ago we heard that the Eighth Cavalry was off to round
up that guy Roza and his gang. I guess that was a lie too, eh?”
“I think so. I believe our troops have crossed the border several
times, but only a little ways.”
“Well, they’ll be crossing it all right before long,” said the other.
“And so’ll we. All those French and British ships down at Tampico ain’t
there just to see the view, either, I’ll tell the world. Oh, we’ll get
into it this time, buddy!”
“You’re in the marines, aren’t you?” Jack tried to get a view of the
insignia on the chap’s buttons.
“Yeah, and I wish I was back with the gang, wherever they are. This
aërial business gets my goat!”
“Are you a flyer?” asked Jack interestedly.
“Me? Not on your life! I’m a perfectly good gunner, and I’m here trying
to show a lot of dubs how to take a gun apart and put it together again
without leaving out more’n half the parts. You won’t see any flyers
around these diggings. They’re sort of special. Have a barracks all to
themselves over beyond the balloon sheds.”
“Balloon sheds? Oh, is that what the big building over there is? I
didn’t know there were any balloons here.”
“Yeah, and there are five or six more of ’em over by the water.
Balloons? Gee, we got a bunch o’ the crazy things. Every time one goes
up we get ready to duck. Last week one of ’em came down square on the
Q. M. building and busted the roof in. Airplanes and flying boats are
bad enough, but these here dirigibles are just plumb loony! I wouldn’t
go up in one of ’em for two stars on my straps!”
“I should think they’d be safer than aëroplanes,” mused Jack.
“Not them! Why, when you go up in an airplane you know where you’re
going, see? And you go there, and when you want to come back, why, you
just push a rod and come. But, gee, these dirigibles――say, when one of
those starts off it don’t know where it’s going or when it’s going to
get there! One of ’em started off the other day for Fort Worth, and the
next day a destroyer picked her up about three hundred miles out in the
Gulf and towed her in――or what was left of her, which wasn’t much!”
“But they’ve flown over the ocean several times,” objected Jack. “And
all over Europe, too. Why, just last week one went from England to some
place in India.”
“Yeah, well, they weren’t this kind, friend. Those were whopping big
fellows; rigid, too. And they didn’t buck against these here Gulf
winds. They say when you get up a couple of hundred feet around here
the wind blows four ways at once. These scouts of ours, as they call
’em, are too small, I guess. And they ain’t rigid. Semi-rigid is what
they are. Alongside those British dirigibles of the S Class they’d look
like a kid’s toy balloon. Still and all, they tell me that they’re
expecting big things from ’em. I dunno. Maybe they’ll get onto their
curves after awhile and make ’em behave. There’s drill call. Let’s go.”