before morning drill, I go on._)
"Because," said Knudsen, "I didn't want to be corporal. I came here tired
to death from a long hard worrying year in getting that factory of mine
in good running order. I don't want to have anything more to do, for the
whole of this month, with managing a stupid gang of men." "Thanks!" said
Corder and I together, and we bowed as if we had been drilled to do it,
exactly together. Knudsen was rather taken aback, but he laughed and
apologized. "You ought to be corporal of a squad," said Corder. "Do you
want to get me out of this one?" demanded Knudsen. "Bannister is all
right. I tell you I'm here for a rest, and I want to escape the captain's
notice." We promised (_Bugle!_) to help him keep in his obscurity. Lucy
stood silent, but full of admiration.
(_Sergeant's whistle, and Pickle comes running in. "Make up the packs
without the ponchos!" Good by for the present._)
(_Four hours later, after skirmish practice in the roughest kind of low
underbrush, in which I nearly lost a legging, and wished for a pair of
wooden elbows._)
The company was split in two this morning, those men who had used
high-power rifles being taken away by the captain, whose specialty is
shooting, while the rest of us went with the lieutenant up the Peru road,
and turned into an old overgrown blueberry pasture. Luckily there were no
blueberries, for whenever we threw ourselves flat we should have squashed
more on our clothes than we should have had time to eat. Bannister being
with the shooters, we (such as remained of our squad) were put with a
neighboring corporal who did not know his business, and
(_Forty minutes for mess. After a cigarette, I am trying to snatch a few
minutes now_)
and speedily had the lieutenant "bawling us out." So very quietly, but
very firmly, with Corder again winking at me in perfect delight, Knudsen
took over corporal and squad, and managed us in an undertone from his
position of number two. He kept the squad together, told the corporal
when to spread it out, and that innocent person willingly gave himself
into Knudsen's hands. We had plenty to do in a series of
(_Bugle and whistle. Off for afternoon drill.--Now at 3.24 P.M. after
learning to pitch shelter tents_)
imaginary attacks, sometimes in showers, and we steaming in our ponchos
or shivering without them, ploughing through the wet bushes or throwing
ourselves flat in them. Then, from whatever positions we found ourselves
in, we had to "simulate firing" at an enemy until my neck was lame from
trying to hold my head up, and my elbows were sore from their rough
lodgings. The corporal was perfectly docile, and Knudsen even hooked his
fingers in the back of the man's belt and pulled him here and there.
(_Sergeant's whistle, and again Pickle comes diving into the tent.
"Undershirts only, for the sun's out hot. Take your towel if you want to
swim." That means calisthenics.--After forty minutes._)
Out we went to the drill field, took off (most of us) our remaining
shirts, and were put through nine hundred exercises till we dripped,
while ladies in their automobiles watched us from the top of the slope.
Hope they enjoyed it. When it was over we were dismissed where we stood
and streamed yelling to the beach, where we found Champlain, at the hot
end of this changeable day, able to repay us for all our sufferings.
Well, to finish the corporal story. The squad were perfect lambs in
Knudsen's hands, none daring to bleat, while all around us the other
squads were disputing in undertones and going wrong amid storms of
discontent. When we had got back to the tent, and had lost our emergency
non-com., Knudsen began to praise him for an excellent corporal. "He was
good so long as you had him in charge," said Corder. "Especially good on
that last deployment when you yanked him into place. If you don't want to
be promoted, man, let your superiors blunder, and don't correct them."
"The lieutenant wasn't looking," answered Knudsen meekly.
Now about (_call for supper_) about that telegram (_call for regimental
conference. I am now at the company tent waiting for the captain's
conference._) about that telegram of mine. _Where is Vera Wadsworth?_ For
when we were on the parade ground at the post this afternoon, learning to
pitch our shelter tents (which is another complicated affair, the
explanation of which I will reserve) we found ourselves deserted for a
while by our mentor the lieutenant, and were at the mercy of green
sergeants, who knew something, to be sure, but in whom we had no
confidence. Someone discovered him,--Pickle. "Gee," said that exponent of
classic English, "spot the lieutenant with a skirt." And there he was at
a distance, in talk with a tall girl, handsome, unless I miss my guess,
and Vera herself, if I have any knowledge of her figure, and of a certain
hat and parasol she lately affected. Quite at home there too, without a
chaperon, on the walk in front of the officers' houses, and without a
waiting automobile that brought her or would carry her away. What could
bring her here? Were her military relatives at this post? At any rate, I
thought they were now at the border. I hope it wasn't she; but the
lieutenant, as he returned to us, smiled as men usually do as they think
of Vera. Look up her whereabouts and let me know.
I see the captain coming to conference. Good night,
DICK.
TELEGRAM FROM MRS. RICHARD GODWIN, SENIOR,
TO HER SON AT PLATTSBURG, DATED THURSDAY,
SEPTEMBER 14, 1916
she is taking charge of her cousins children at the plattsburg post am
writing mother.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER
Thursday, Sept. 14, 1916.
DEAR MOTHER:--
Your telegram, reaching me, made me uncomfortable at first. However, I
don't suppose I shall meet Vera, so I shall put the matter out of my
mind.
Last night there was a rain, which wakened me as it came down pretty
heavily. Knudsen, with a groan, got out of bed and put on his poncho.
"What is up?" I asked, whispering; and he, likewise trying not to wake
the others, answered, "Rain is coming in. Must fix the tent-cap." So I
got up and helped him. I did not tell you, I think, that the tent is open
at the top like a wigwam, providing perfect ventilation; but when the
rain comes in it wets the clothes hung around the poles, and also the
rifles. But a canvas cap, which in fair weather is laid back, may be
dragged over the opening by ropes hauled from below, and Knudsen and I
managed to close it. Maybe you think it was fun, falling over the
tent-ropes in the windy dark.
By daylight it was raining still, and we were ordered out in our ponchos
for the assembly. Poor Lucy has so far always been helped into his, and
stood looking at it hopelessly. "Which side is front?" As usual, Knudsen
came to his help. "The long side. No, that's inside out. Don't you see
the collar? Button it under your chin. Now button the sides of the lower
part round behind you. Fix the two remaining corners to hang down over
your hands. Now you're good for anything that may happen all day."
"All day?" demanded poor Lucy. "Do you mean to say we'll drill in the
rain?" "Shall we sit and suck our thumbs here?" demanded amused Pickle.
Knudsen, more subtle, merely remarked, "Oh, damn the weather!" and Lucy
stiffened as he got the idea that the rain wouldn't hurt him.
He is really improving. Daily he manfully shaves himself for practice
(every other day would be enough) and his early wounds are healing
nicely, while he has none of recent date. The poor lad's hands are pretty
sore from handling his gun. The captain halted before him the other day
as we were doing the manual, and fixed him with a cold eye. "Hit that gun
harder," he said. "You can't hurt it with your hands." David faintly
smiled, and now he is trying to callous his palms.
We ate our breakfasts in our ponchos: there is no place to hang them up,
and they make very good bibs. And in our ponchos we marched; they covered
the packs, making us look like pedlers, or as Knudsen said, like camels.
We kept our rifles dry under them, but were not long dry ourselves, for
these service ponchos not being exactly waterproof, soon wet through at
the knees, or wherever else we rubbed as we marched. I am therefore
rather envious of David's fine new poncho, of best rubber. If I come
again I shall have one of my own--a poncho, remember, and not the
civilian rubber coat with which some have supplied themselves.
They marched us this morning first to the post gymnasium, and there we
sat in a great half-circle while Major Stewart explained to us the
history of army packs, and some facts about the one that bears his name.
Our men in other wars have abandoned their packs on entering battle, they
were such encumbrances in skirmishing. In the battle of San Juan
thousands of packs were dropped by the roadside, and the men finished
their fighting without rations. But the new pack may be worn both in
marching and in shooting; further, on expecting battle the rolls may be
made short, and then are strapped to the lower part of the haversack.
This part, on drawing out a leather strap, falls to the ground, and the
men go forward lightened of the heaviest part of their burden, but yet
carrying food enough for the day's work. At its worst the Stewart pack
is, compared to the old blanket roll, many pounds to the good.
And yet, mother, though wise Mr. Bryan has bragged of our ability to put
an army of a million men into the field overnight, of the few thousands
at the border a fair half are still equipped with the old pack. Is the
rest of the million to be proportionately well fitted out?
In order to show that the pack will fit anyone, the Major called for the
tallest man in the regiment. A strapping big fellow of perhaps
thirty-five got up and stepped confidently onto the platform, amid the
cheers of the crowd, and the Major prepared to strap the pack onto him.
But I heard from behind me various urgent cries of "Go on up!" and a fine
young fellow, straight as a lance, walked round the seated men, and also
stepped upon the platform. Though much slenderer than the other, the
newcomer was a good inch taller. A roar of applause came from the
regiment, and the first man, understanding, laughed and stepped down.
Then he turned back and spoke to the younger man, evidently asking his
height. "How tall? How tall?" demanded the crowd, and the young fellow
held up six fingers, indicating six feet six. A similar scene occurred
for the shortest man, a thin little fellow getting the honor; then a
third aspirant, being evidently taller, was laughed back. But what struck
me was the reception given a head-headed, round-headed, roly-poly little
mustached fellow, who hesitated near at hand. The crowd instantly
nicknamed him. "Come on, Cupid, and measure yourself." But Cupid had his
doubts, and so retired.
The lecture being over, luckily so was the rain; but the captain took us
out on that rolling country that flanks the Peru road, and gave us a
fight with an imaginary enemy, through wet bushes, across a dump, over
and among little sand and gravel pits, finally ambushing with great care
an innocent Catholic cemetery. As we did this badly, on our advance
exposing ourselves to the fire from the ornamental statuary, we had to do
it over again. It was difficult practice, keeping in line; but it was
fairly exciting to throw yourself, at command, flat on your face wherever
you happened to be. I thus gained intimate acquaintance with a pile of
tin cans, a scrub hard pine, and a big hill of black ants. As the proper
method of moving sideways, when in skirmish line, is to roll, I rolled
away from the latter position, not to the betterment of my poncho.
This afternoon, again in rain, we marched to the gymnasium once more, and
the building not having been ventilated, found the air very oppressive
after our hearty dinner. The captain talked to us of the rifle and its
use in target shooting; but conditions were against him, for it was a
very sleepy crowd that listened. I found myself drowsy, men were nodding
all about me, and Corder declared that he had 247 distinct and separate
naps. But it was necessary to rouse when we were required to adjust our
slings and take position for snapping at a mark. The sling is the strap
of the gun, which when fitted to the upper arm, and the arms and body
braced against the pull of it, in some mysterious way gives steadiness.
Our calisthenics were partly devised, I am sure, to help us take the
contortionists' attitudes necessary for this graceful exercise. But
nothing, not even our skirmishing, prepared my elbows for our final stunt
of throwing ourselves prone on the hard floor, and in approved
target-shooting posture snapping ten shots at the third button of the
captain's shirt, while the lieutenant counted ninety seconds by his
watch.
Returning, we found that rifle-inspection was scheduled, with a special
warning that the captain was not satisfied with the way we kept the guns.
So we got out our single cleaning-rod and passed it from cot to cot, with
the nitro-solvent and the oil, and such few patches as yet remained to
us. For no amount of them will satisfy one company, or even one squad,
and we are always short. The rifles cleaned, we policed the tent, making
it absolutely neat. Now such are the acoustic properties of these canvas
dwellings that we can hear what goes on in our neighbors', and so it
happened that we heard, from tent 6, Randall's controversy with the rest
of his squad. It is seldom that one man will talk down seven, but we
heard the whole of his obstinate defense, how that he hadn't known that
he was tent-policeman for the day, that no one had policed the tent
yesterday, or eke the day before, that it was a sin and a shame to make
him do other men's work, that especially in the matter of the smoky
lantern, which no one had cleaned since the opening of camp, it was wrong
to make him bear the burden of accumulated neglect. Some of us chuckled
at all this, but at such a clamor raised for the purpose of escaping duty
David listened soberly. "He works very hard to avoid work," said the boy,
whose good manners will not let him evade any duty which he clearly
perceives--though I will admit that his perceptions are still rather
dull.
The row died down, we heard the rattle of the lantern, and then Randall's
voice. "I was only jollying you." No answer, but still the lantern
rattled. "I'm willing to do my share of the work." Still no answer. "Oh,
well," said Randall finally, "if you feel that way about it, give me the
lantern. I'll clean it." We heard the corporal's voice. "I've got it
nearly cleaned. And you can squeak out of your work, Randall; but just
the same, we've got our opinion of you."
I thought the corporal had the best of it. It is no small penalty to
carry around the squad's opinion of one's shortcomings.
At inspection time the rain was heavy, and word was passed to wait for
the captain in our tents. For this we blessed him, seeing no fun in
standing in line in the street; and Lucy found that after all the weather
is considered in the army. When it was the turn of tent 8 we lined up
facing each other, and the captain, stooping to get his hat safely
through the door, came in between our two lines. He said "Just give me
your guns as I'm ready for them," a deceptively mild beginning, we
feared, knowing how sharp he could be. But at the fourth gun he said,
"The rifles are not so bad." I handed him mine, breech open, hoping that
it was up to the average. He tried to look down the barrel; then when he
snorted I declare I felt like a boy before his schoolmaster. But to my
relief he laughed, took from the muzzle the plug that I had put there in
expectation of a long wait in the rain, looked through the barrel, and
passed it. When he left he told us to turn out for Retreat with ponchos
only--for which again we blessed him.
As the absence of conference, on account of rain, gives me extra time, I
shall write a dissertation, not on roast pig, but just on pig, in other
words on table manners. Our company has a corner of one of the mess
shacks, into which we are marched. When first we came our method was to
stand, hats on, by our places, where our cups and plates were waiting
upside down. At the command "H Company, take seats!" (and much merriment
a sergeant once made when he commanded "Be seated!") we took off our hats
very decorously, hung them up (whether behind us on the walls or in front
of us under the tables) sat down, turned over our plates, and reached for
the dishes. Now some tables, or sections of tables, still maintain this
lofty standard of good breeding, by the sheer fact that the most of the
men are well bred and the rest are ashamed not to be. But where the
proportion is reversed degeneration is rapid. The men furtively hang up
their hats and turn over their plates before the order, and if a bunch of
them take to doing this, there appears to be no remedy for it. "It's up
to you," said a sergeant to us on the first day. "You can be gentlemen,
or you can be the other thing."
So it is after we are seated. Certain actions are natural, as determined
by the fact that while there is plenty of food, there is never on the
table at one time enough of any one thing. (A few more dishes and
platters would apparently remedy this.) Further, we haven't time to wait.
So we begin on what happens to be in front of us, cereal first at one end
of the table, fruit first in the middle (if there is any!), eggs and
bacon further along; thus by degrees we work through the bill of fare.
And this is not improper.
But when the fellows take to laying in supplies of whatever is within
reach, and surrounding themselves with plates heaped with the substance
of future courses, it is first unfair and next demoralizing. If one man
hogs the available supply for merely later use, he teaches his neighbor
to do the same in self-defense. And so you can watch the proof of the old
copy-book motto concerning evil communications.
A word concerning reaching at table, for your guidance, my dear mother,
when next you find yourself at a table d'hote. I calculate that for this
method of helping one's self there is a wrong way and a right. Imagine
yourself beside a busy person beyond whom lies the wished-for dish. If
you reach with the arm nearest the dish, your arm goes across your
neighbor's plate, a fact which my neighbors have frequently proved to me.
But if you reach with the arm furthest from the dish you will not cross
his plate, your body swinging your arm in over the table. I come to this
interesting social discovery rather late in life, on account of the
excellent table service to which you have accustomed me.
There goes the warning bugle. If I am not safely tucked up in my little
bed at taps, the sergeant will say "Tut! Tut!" So good night.
DICK.
MRS. GODWIN TO HER SON RICHARD, IN A LETTER
DATED SEPTEMBER 14, 1916
Your telegram, my dear, dear Dick, I have just replied to, and will now
add such facts as I know concerning Vera's going to Plattsburg. What I
can tell you comes through her sister Frances, with whom I have always
been more intimate than Vera, even when you two were engaged. And Frances
has come several times to the house, now that you are gone. I asked her
to.
If the breaking of your engagement was a blow to your pride, my dear boy,
think what it was to Vera's. I don't know anyone prouder than she. And to
publish the fact that you two had changed your minds--! She wanted to go
away, but the Wadsworths are nearly as poor as they are proud, and she
didn't feel justified. Then there came a letter from her cousin Dolly,
who married that handsome Captain Marsh and was stationed at Plattsburg.
Dolly's husband is now on the border, and Dolly could stand the
separation no longer. She was going to Texas, and one of the cousins must
come to Plattsburg and take charge of her house. The children wouldn't be
a burden, because there was the very capable nurse who had taken care of
them since they were born. And old Colonel Marsh wouldn't be a bother,
having a certain routine which got him through his days very well. Of
course it would be very dull with all the officers away from the post,
and those at the instruction camp constantly busy. But one of the sisters
must come and relieve her, or Dolly would go mad. She is all bound up in
that husband of hers.
It was plain that she expected Frances to come, being so domestic, and so
old-fashioned-womanly. But Vera, you know, in spite of her suffragism and
her feminism has always been kept by her father from having anything to
do, and so she had nothing to occupy herself with just when she needed
occupation most. So she declared that she must go, and of course Frances
let her. "But you know," said Frances to me, looking up from her sewing
with a little twinkle, "I know Vera will be in hot water with the old
Colonel from the first, she is so out of sympathy with war, and the
military life, and all it has (or hasn't) to offer women." That's her sex
independence, you see.
Vera can't know that you're there. She went just before you so suddenly
made up your mind to go, and Frances hasn't written her of your going. I
told her I shouldn't tell you, and begged her not to write Vera. And
unless Vera recognizes you, which isn't likely, she will know nothing of
your whereabouts.
It is odd that David Farnham is in your squad, and amusing that I should
have seen his mother only yesterday. She never was so proud of anything
in her life as of the fact that he is at Plattsburg. So she has become a
perfect nuisance to her friends, talking of him so. I met her at a
Bridge, and she was crazy to see me, David having written her that you
two are together. So she got herself put at my table, and our two
partners were furious, because the game dwindled away to nothing, she
talking of David all the time. You would have thought that he was the
whole army and navy of these United States. I was at first quite
frightened that she would ask me your opinion of his fitness. But not at
all; that was quite settled in her mind. She talked about his deciding to
go, and how he made her see that it was the best thing for him and for
the country--and there is a story to that, because it was her husband
that insisted on her letting David go, when she would have kept him. And
she talked of his equipment, how horrid it was that he couldn't dress
like the officers, especially his legs, they are so handsome; but he
wasn't allowed to wear puttees or leather leggings, but must wear those
canvas things. And she gave him everything new; she even mentioned those
French silk pajamas that so amuse you. And then she was indignant that he
was not at once made a lieutenant, or something. And the men in his tent,
except you, Dick, are of no social standing whatever. Of course she
hadn't heard of his being called Lucy. She was so satisfied that I wanted
to tell her. Do write me more of him.
Lovingly MOTHER.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER
Before morning drill, Friday, Sep. 15, 1916.
DEAR MOTHER:--
Our good Lucy is a different lad from the one that landed here a week
ago. Did I tell you that he has come to the heroic resolution to clean
his own gun? I suppose the strongest factor in that is his detestation of
Randall. It's quite common here for fellows to get the regulars to clean
their guns, and there's more to be said for that than for many other
indulgences: at least it's better for the rifles. The regulars drive a
good little trade of this kind, and David has twice sent out his piece to
be laundered, as it were. But I know that he perceived that the sentiment
of the squad is against it, and I think he's sensitive enough to
understand the reasons. We're all here to learn to be soldiers, and
taking care of his gun is a pretty important part of a soldier's job. And
then we're an economical crowd. David and I are the only ones in the
squad that didn't have to pinch a little in order to get here; even
Corder spoke recently of the expense as something unwelcome. So it's
really rather bad form to pay for outside service. Yet for all that,
David couldn't quite bring himself to do the dirty work.