When B Company marched out of the camp for the morning skirmish
practice, Tom Kennedy of squad five was feeling depressed. His corporal,
John Wheeler, had just given him a scolding, and now wore a stern
expression on his youthful yet somehow granite-like countenance.
Kennedy, glancing out of the corner of his eye, saw and interpreted the
expression.
He was a thin, pale youth, who had gone from high school into the bank,
where he was employed in a humble capacity as clerk. His lack of
physical strength had prevented him from taking part in school
athletics; the impecuniosity of his family had kept him from a share in
many healthful, boyish activities. He had been a bookish boy and had
shown himself quick at figures; many of his classmates envied him when,
after graduation, a subordinate place in the First National Bank had
been given him. In his second year of service there he was promoted to a
clerkship; and when the bank announced its willingness to let some of
its employees attend the military training camp, Kennedy had presented
himself as a volunteer.
Without experience in the handling of arms, without natural dexterity
and without the self-confidence that a boy derives from participation in
sports or from a life outdoors, Kennedy was not the most promising of
"rookies." He would have made a better showing in the early drills
perhaps had he been less concerned with the dread of being regarded as a
"dub." What made him especially self-conscious was the fact that his
corporal was the son of the president of the First National Bank. It
seemed to Kennedy, inexperienced youth that he was, that his whole
future might depend on the impression he made on the president's son.
He had long known John Wheeler by reputation. Wheeler had been halfback
on his college football team; he was a yachtsman of more than local
renown. As corporal, he was alert, industrious and energetic; his
efficiency caused Kennedy to be only the more keenly aware of his own
incompetence. The other men in the tent were all older than he, all
better educated than he, and without in the least intending to make him
feel inferior they did make him feel so. As a matter of fact, they
thought he was an unassuming and obliging person, who had, as one of
them expressed it, not much small change in conversation.
Now, after a week at the camp, Kennedy had begun to make himself a
nuisance to his companions--the thing that he had most dreaded being. He
had caught cold, and had coughed at frequent intervals throughout the
night; he had buried his head under his blankets and tried to suppress
the coughs, and he had blown his nose with as little reverberation as
possible, but he had, nevertheless, received intimations that he was
disturbing the sleep of his tent mates. In the morning one of them,
Morrison, a student in a medical school, offered him some quinine pills
and advised him to report at sick call. But Kennedy had resolved not to
be knocked out by sickness; he thanked Morrison for the pills and said
he thought he should get through all right. His feelings were hurt,
however, when after breakfast Wheeler said:
"Come, fellows, let's roll up the tent; if we don't give the sun and air
a chance in here, we'll all of us be sniffling."
The corporal started in to undo the guy ropes and then exclaimed
wrathfully. "Who's the man that tied these ropes in hard knots? He's a
landlubber, all right."
"I should say!" remarked Morrison, who was at work on the other side of
the tent. "I'm not guilty."
"I'm afraid I am." Kennedy's admission was the more rueful because so
croaking.
"A man who can only tie a hard knot or a granny has no business ever to
touch a rope." Wheeler snapped out the words while his fingers worked
busily. "I should think before coming to a camp a fellow would learn to
tie a few knots."
Kennedy accepted the reproof in silence--if a sudden access of coughing
can be termed silence. He was finding it hard work to disengage one of
the knots of his own making; presently Wheeler, having freed the other
ropes, came up and unceremoniously took possession of that at which
Kennedy was picking.
"Undo your pack, take the rope that's fastened to your shelter half and
I'll give you a lesson," commanded Wheeler.
To the object lesson in tying hitches, half hitches, slipknots and other
useful knots Kennedy gave close attention; but when he tried to do what
he had just seen his instructor do he became confused.
"Are you as slow as that counting bills in the bank?" Wheeler asked. "I
wonder that they keep you. You don't seem to have learned to use your
hands."
He snatched the rope and then began another demonstration for the
mortified youth; Kennedy could not have been more hurt if he had been
lashed with it. The whistle blew; the order, "Fall in!" was shouted at
the head of the street.
"Quick, now! Do up your pack!" Wheeler tossed back the rope, and Kennedy
made a dive into the tent where his equipment lay scattered. Hastily
cramming things together, he discovered when he had his pack rolled up
and fastened that he had left out the rubber poncho. In the street the
men were all lined up at attention; he alone was unready. The first
sergeant was calling the roll; the corporals were reporting: "Squad
one?" "All present." "Squad two?" "All present." Kennedy flung on his
pack and crammed his poncho under his mattress, where it would not be
visible. "Squad five?" "Private Kennedy absent." "Squad six?" "All
present."
Kennedy fastened his canteen to his belt, caught up his rifle and took
his place in the rear rank.
He heard the corporals far down the line reporting, "All present." He
alone had been delinquent. Wheeler's face seemed more forbidding than
ever.
And that was why, as the company marched out for the day's work, Kennedy
felt depressed. He was making a poor showing; he had won the outspoken
disapproval of the man whose good opinion he most heartily desired.
Besides, he was miserable in body; nose, eyes and throat were all
inflamed, the pack seemed heavier than it ought to be, and there was no
early-morning enthusiasm in his legs. A glance at Wheeler's face still
further depressed his spirits. He had never seen the corporal look so
black, and he knew it was all on account of having such a "dub" in the
squad!
It was really not on that account at all. What was troubling the
corporal was a sense of his severity toward a subordinate who seemed to
be doing the best he could. He was chagrined that he had been so
sharp-tongued with the little fellow; he had got into the habit of
thinking of Kennedy rather pityingly as "the little fellow."
All the long morning B Company was put through skirmish drill; the sun
was hot, the air heavy; with all too brief intermissions the men were
kept at work; running, leaping, casting themselves on their faces, and
pulling the trigger and throwing the bolt of their rifles. Lying prone,
with neck and shoulder muscles aching under the weight of the pack,
Kennedy experienced the greatest discomfort, for then his nose became an
abomination to him. And at those times, snuffling, coughing and gasping,
he was painfully aware that to the other members of the squad, and
particularly to the corporal, he must seem nothing less than a curse.
The luncheon hour afforded him a little rest. But all the afternoon
there was drill on the parade ground; and at supper Kennedy was almost
too tired to eat. His cold was no better, his cough was more frequent
and racking, and he feared that he should be a greater nuisance to his
tent mates than on the preceding night. After supper he thought he
should go into the town and get some cough drops; but that was a mile
walk, and before undertaking it he decided to stretch himself out on his
bed for a few minutes' rest. Wheeler came up and asked him how he was
feeling.
"All right, if only I don't keep you fellows awake," Kennedy croaked,
grateful for the question.
"You don't sound all right. I should think you'd better see the doctor."
"Oh, I sound worse than I am."
Wheeler walked away, with a good-natured laugh that made Kennedy feel
better than a cough drop could have done. It showed him that the
corporal did not have an unfriendly attitude toward him, and it
stimulated his resolve to let the corporal see that he did not lack
staying power.
For a few minutes he had been reclining on his bed, when he was
horrified to hear the B Company whistle, followed by the shout, "Fall
in, B Company!" When he emerged from the tent, he heard the second order
that was being relayed down the street, "Fall in with the rifle and the
full pack!" For a dismal moment Kennedy thought of going up to the
captain and pleading unfitness for further duty. Then he gritted his
teeth, slung his pack, which he had not yet unrolled, on his aching
shoulders and took up his rifle. The other occupants of the tent made
their appearance on the run, uttering maledictions and cries of grief
and wonderment. Had not they been worked hard enough for one day! This
kind of thing was an outrage!
When the company was lined up, Captain Hughes said, "B Company is
ordered out to hold a section of trench against an expected night
attack. Squads right!"
While the men proceeded at route step, they lamented facetiously the
ordeal ahead of them. Kennedy snuffled and shuffled along, trying to
keep his head up and his shoulders from drooping. He looked
apprehensively at the western sky; the sun had gone down in a black
cloud wrack, which was swarming higher and heavier. The sultry air was
suddenly fanned by a cool wind, lightning flashed in the mass of clouds,
and thunder pealed.
"Going to have a little real war this evening, I guess," observed
Morrison.
"The storm may not hit us," said Wheeler.
"Everything that can will hit us to-day," replied Morrison.
By the time the company had reached the trenches, which were dug on the
edge of a wide field, it was growing dark. The wind was blowing hard and
flung splashes of rain into the men's faces.
Captain Hughes halted his command and called the members round him.
"This is the section that you are to defend," he said. "You see it
consists of four separate front-line trenches, each just long enough and
wide enough to accommodate eight men. Each front trench is connected
with the second line of trenches by a short runway. Behind the second
line is the shelter, or dugout, for those who are not on duty in the
trenches. You will take turns in holding the front line; each squad will
be relieved every fifteen minutes. The rest of you will keep under cover
in the shelter--under cover from the enemy, that is." There was an
uncertain ripple of laughter; the rain was beginning now to pour down.
"At what hour the attack may develop I can't tell you," continued the
captain, "but it will no doubt be sometime between now and sunrise."
In the shelter, which was a large rectangular pit six feet deep, the men
opened their packs and got out their ponchos--all except Kennedy, who
stood looking on while his comrades proceeded to protect themselves
against the now pelting rain.
Wheeler, poking his head through the opening in his poncho, saw Kennedy
standing thus.
"Why don't you get out your poncho?" he asked.
"I forgot to put it in my pack."
"That's the limit, a night like this. You've got a frightful cold, too."
Wheeler pulled off the poncho that he had just put on. "Get into this
and keep yourself as dry as you can."
"No, I wouldn't think of taking your----"
"You're under orders now, and you'll take what your corporal tells you."
Wheeler thrust the rubber garment over his subordinate's head. "There
you are; I don't want to feel responsible for your having pneumonia."
Then, as Captain Hughes called, "Squad leaders, gather round!" Wheeler
moved away to receive instructions.
Seating himself cross-legged, Kennedy arranged the poncho as well as he
could over his rifle. The rain came down in sheets, poured from the
brims of hats, formed puddles on the ground, oozed through trousers and
boots and leggings. By the occasional lightning flashes Kennedy could
see the group of corporals holding conference with the captain near by;
he could see the huddled forms of the privates like himself, the ponchos
shining on their shoulders, the pools glistening at their feet.
In a few moments the conference broke up; then Captain Hughes raised his
voice sharply.
"Mr. Wheeler, where is your poncho?"
"I haven't got it, sir."
"A man who is careless about himself is not likely to look after his
men, and that is an officer's first duty. You set a bad example to the
members of your squad, Mr. Wheeler."
"Yes, sir."
Wheeler saluted and the captain turned away just as Kennedy came
forward. The corporal gripped Kennedy's wrist and held him fast, then
led him in silence back to his place.
"That's all right," he whispered in Kennedy's ear. "Don't you butt in.
You'd only get it in the neck if you did."
Kennedy, believing that a soldier's first duty is to obey, did not
persist; he saw the captain leave the shelter and join a group of
officers on the bank.
"It isn't fair, though, for you to take the blame," he began.
"It's of no importance," Wheeler answered.
A few moments later Kennedy was convinced that the corporal was
mistaken. While Wheeler was talking to another member of the squad,
Morrison said to Kennedy in a low voice:
"I guess Wheeler's chance for promotion is gone now. They're going to
make some new sergeants tomorrow, and I thought Wheeler would surely be
one; but I guess that forgetting his poncho has queered him with the
captain. He's a stickler about little things."
"It doesn't seem fair," repeated Kennedy, as if speaking to himself.
Night had settled down, the blackest kind of night, when the first
platoon was ordered into the advance trenches. From ambush among the
trees behind the shelter searchlights began to play against the woods
five hundred yards away, out of which the attack was expected to come.
The watchers in the shelter and the trenches remained in utter darkness
while the streaming lines of rain and the distant trees emerged into
view under the sweeping rays. Back and forth the searchlights plied,
raking the whole sector of forest that bounded the field. The men in the
shelter, who had stood up to see what the searchlights might disclose,
soon sat down again and wrapped their ponchos about themselves more
snugly. The minutes passed; there was no sound except that made by the
determined, trampling rain.
Wheeler, who had been peering over the top of the embankment, came and
seated himself between Kennedy and Morrison.
"There's one thing," he murmured. "The enemy are getting it same as we
are."
Morrison grunted. "How do you know? They're regulars, and maybe they
haven't left their barracks yet. Maybe they won't till about 2 A. M."
"Don't be always taking the joy out of life," Wheeler entreated.
At last came the turn of the second platoon. They filed out through the
runways into the second-line trench, where they waited until the squads
of the first platoon returned from the sections that they had been
holding.
"Second platoon, load!"
In the pitch blackness it was not an easy thing to do. Kennedy got his
clip jammed in the magazine and for a few moments could not shove it
down or pull it out. Then, when he gave a final desperate wrench, out it
came with a jump, slipped through his fingers and fell somewhere in the
mud.
"Lock your pieces. Forward!"
Kennedy had to straighten up and move on without having found his
cartridges. When he was in his place between Wheeler and Morrison, he
took another clip out of his belt and, working carefully and slowly,
inserted it in the magazine. The sound of others working with their
rifles let him know that he had not been the only one to get into
difficulty.
From somewhere behind, Captain Hughes gave instructions:
"Keep your eyes on that strip of woods. Squad on the right, take the
sector from the ravine to the top of the knoll. Next squad, the sector
from the top of the knoll to that tree that stands out in front of the
woods. Next squad, the sector from that tree to the big rock. Fourth
squad, the sector from the big rock to the road. If anyone comes out of
the woods in your sector, fire on him."
"No one will come," murmured Morrison. "Not for five or six hours yet."
But they all stood peering intently over the low ridge of earth that
protected the top of the trench and on which their rifles rested.
Without cessation the searchlights swept back and forth along the belt
of woods; for only the briefest interval was any section left in
darkness. Time passed, and still the only sound was the steady drumming
of the rain.
Then suddenly out of the belt of woods broke a line of men and charged
forward. Instantly all along the advance trenches burst jets of flame
and the vicious crackle and bang of the rifles. After the wearisome and
uncomfortable vigil, Kennedy felt warmed into excitement; he got off
three shots before the enemy dropped to the ground and began shooting in
their turn. Then an enemy platoon on the right made a short rush forward
and dropped, and immediately resumed firing. By platoon rushes the line
advanced, and its fire seemed to grow steadier and stronger as it drew
nearer. In contrast, the fire of the defenders of the trenches weakened.
Only three men in Wheeler's squad were maintaining a steady fire; the
other squads displayed a corresponding feebleness of resistance.
"Fire faster, men!" cried Captain Hughes.
But fire faster they did not--and could not. More than half of them were
now having the trouble in loading their rifles that Kennedy had
experienced--and was having again. Fumbling in the darkness with the
wet, slippery mechanism, trying hurriedly to slide the cartridge clips
into place, man after man had jammed his magazine, and with clumsy
fingers was frantically trying to adjust it. Meanwhile, the fire of the
enemy became more intense; they drew nearer and nearer by platoon
rushes; and at last Captain Hughes gave the order to the defenders of
the trenches, "Cease firing!"
Then, a few yards away, up sprang the enemy and, with bayonets fixed and
a wild yell that at the last fizzled out into laughter, charged down on
the trenches. They stopped on the edge and greeted the defenders
derisively: "Well, boys, all dead, ain't you?" "Fired as if you were,
anyway." "How'd you have liked it if this had been a real attack?" "Any
of you boys want to have a little bayonet practice?"
Captain Hughes gave the command to unload. After "inspection arms" had
been ordered, the captain pointed the moral of the evening's experience:
"You see, it's not enough to be good daylight soldiers--important though
that is. You have got to be able to use your rifles as well in the
dark."
B Company marched back to camp; Kennedy sought an audience with Captain
Hughes. He could only say in a husky whisper:
"I want to explain about Corporal Wheeler's poncho." He had to stop for
a fit of coughing; the captain bent down and looked at him sharply. "He
took off his poncho and made me put it on--I'd forgotten mine. I hope it
won't count against him."
"What do you mean by staying on duty in this condition?" demanded the
captain.
"I sound worse than I am."
The captain grunted. "Report at sick call tomorrow. I'll remember what
you say about Wheeler. Goodnight!"
The next morning, when Kennedy returned from the hospital tent, having
been pronounced fit to continue on active duty, he found the members of
squad five congratulating Wheeler on his promotion to the rank of
sergeant.
"Here's the fellow that saved the job for me." Wheeler clapped Kennedy's
shoulder. "Captain Hughes said you went to him and told tales out of
school."
Kennedy looked pleased. "I heard the captain tell you that you mightn't
be good at looking after your men," he answered. "I thought I'd show
him."
"Business, just business," said Wheeler with a twinkle in his eyes. "Dad
would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. I feel just as
responsible for the bank, having you up here, as he does. Now come and
I'll give you another lesson in how to tie a knot."
--Arthur Stanwood Pier.