it is wise to have poles for our tents, and so they have mysteriously
appeared from the neighboring woods. They will travel in the blanket
rolls from camp to camp. Should I come again to Plattsburg I shall get a
broom-stick for the hike, provided with conveniences for hanging socks,
tooth-brush, and candle-socket. Fellows are tying candles to their poles
with string, convenient enough till the string burns and the candle
tumbles down into the straw.
I can imagine difficulty in pitching tents under other circumstances than
are provided by this ideal afternoon. In the rain we shan't care to have
the tents face the wind, nor shall we enjoy setting up tents in a gale,
when we shall also hope for better holding ground for the short tent-pins
than we find here in this gravel. As it is, we have piled stones on the
pins today. Some fellows have ditched their tents, but Bann and I don't
see the need of that except with more of a threat of rain than is given
by this cloudless sky.
Now if you can imagine in a field, sloping gently to the west, some four
hundred and fifty or more of these pup-tents, with a thousand men or less
swarming around and in them, some coming back from a bath in the brook,
some cleaning guns, some making fireplaces for an evening fire, some
napping, some writing; if you can hear much talk and laughter, the
chopping of axes at the cook tents, the call "Corporals, come and get
your mail for your squads!" then you can understand what a lively, busy
place this is. Just across the fence is a camp of cavalry; there is a
squadron in our field also. Running across the heads of the streets are
the big cook tents; close by are the tents of the Y. M. C. A. and the
Exchange and the photographer; elsewhere are the officer's big conical
tents, each with the luxury of a stove; and in still another spot is the
doctor's tent, not far from the shelter-tents of the band. Men are idling
everywhere, and working everywhere also. The long line of trucks is drawn
up not far from the field entrance, and the drivers are tinkering them
for tomorrow.
But outside the sacred enclosure of the camp, yet as near as they can
squeeze, are the buzzards, each with his little outfit for following the
hike. A scrawny horse, a little tent, a board on two barrels, a big
sign--these with indigestibles constitute their outfits. In the camp
wander men with baskets, or boys with boxes, selling fruit, tobacco, and
chocolate. There are the farmer folk, too, gawking about at the show.
--And now, sitting on the ground near the bright lamp of the telegraph
table outside the Y. M. C. A. tent, while a dozen others crouch in the
radius of its rays, I am writing these last words. Night has fallen.
Inside the tent men are almost solidly crowded together on the floor as
they sit to write letters, while yet men in a steady stream step over and
among them, to get at the table stamps, pen and ink, and paper.
The day of course has been crowded pretty full. This morning at
Plattsburg the confusion in the company street was great. As we had to
make up our blanket rolls before breakfast we had to put our sweaters in
and shiver in our shirts. Packs were made up, tents were policed, cots
and mattresses handed in, and then we were off, as the advance guard of
an army camped at the post. But today's problem, though explained by map
to us at conference this afternoon, did not affect H company. Our
battalion was only the support; the first battalion carried on the
necessary skirmish that cleared the road of the cavalry, our opponents.
While they were chasing them far from the line of march, we plodded
safely along the macadam, and pitched tents before the others.
Concerning the hike, these facts. My feet are unblistered, though at one
rest, being panic-stricken, I hastily filled stockings and shoes with
foot-powder. At another time I found the pace telling on me, and was
sadly thinking that I was still too soft, when I heard grumbling all
about me. The step had been quickened, and all were feeling it. At the
grumbling Corder turned to me a face of relief. "Thank Heaven!" he said
piously. "I thought I was growing old." Our route was through the edge of
Plattsburg, along some miles of highway, and then by gravel roads to this
camp near Ryan's Grove, which is a fine sugar bush on the hillside below
us. After only eight miles of road, there were very few of us that were
not glad to get here.
Our system of serving food is curious. Each man has knife, fork, spoon,
canteen cup, and meat can. Falling into line at the bugle call (in no
order, every man for himself) the knife, fork and spoon are stuck into a
legging, and perhaps, until we reach the serving places, the canteen cup
is also carried there, by the handle. The meat-can is an oval sauce-pan
with a shallow top, over which shuts down its folding handle. Opening
this, one carries in one hand the can and cover, in the other the cup,
and filing past the cooks, who stand in line, one receives from each some
part of the ration. Then we retire to the most convenient spot to eat, if
we are hungry come for a second helping, and if we are lucky, get it.
Of the dish-washing, since I know your passion for cleanliness and
absolute sanitation, I spare you the details, except this significant
one. The cooks having retired for their own meal, I saw one fellow wash
his meat-can in the abandoned coffee barrel, mistaking its fine rich
contents for the dishwater.
You should have seen our field at the coming of the dusk: the dying
sunset, the silhouetting of the upper tents against the sky, the coming
out of the many fires, and in the light of their flames, reflected in the
drifting smoke, the lively picturesqueness of the camp. This is all
accentuated by the dark. Such coming and going, such talking and
greeting, such stumbling in the shadows and peering against the
fires--well, I never could have imagined it.
I must turn in, though with regret at not being able to buy myself a
knitted cap for the night, against this sharp cold. The felt hat will
suffer by such use, and besides will serve badly. Love from
DICK.
_Postscript._ A rumor is running through the camp (we are specially
warned not to believe rumors, but this one is borne out by the behavior
of the officers) that someone in the regiment has a clip of ball
cartridges, "swiped" from the range. The officers went down the line at
Retreat, and besides inspecting the guns, made every man turn out all the
pockets of his cartridge belt. Nothing found.
PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER
West Beekmantown. Tues, Sept. 26.
(The first section of the letter is a mere scrawl.)
DEAR MOTHER:--
It is early dawn on Tuesday, and I have slept better, on "my pallet of
straw," than many a time in my bed at home. The cooks have for some time
been stirring, as I have known by the sound of their axes, the crackling
of their fires, the glow reflected on their tents, and their occasional
voices. In the cavalry camp the horses stamp, I hear a distant train and
a dog's bark, and nearer at hand, from among the pup-tents, come little
morning coughs. My writing is practically invisible to me on the paper. I
can just see that I trace a line.
There are thistles in this straw!
Last night I saw a lost soul. Rousing, as I often do, at one o'clock, I
stood at the door of the tent, admiring Orion in the east and the
constellations overhead. I heard a little murmur of complaint, and saw a
man come stumbling down the street, his bare feet softly thudding on the
stones, and drawing from him this sad sound as he came shivering along in
pajamas. He was stooping at each tent and peering in to discover his lost
place. So he passed out of my sight, but when I once more turned to
admire Orion I saw the same unhappy phantom wandering along the next
company street, still stumbling, still shivering, still silently
searching for his couch. As for me, I turned in again and slept.
(Later, and more legible.)
We have broken camp, all the tents being struck; and next we have been
given a lesson in military neatness. Each company has had to police its
street, to fill all tent-ditches and fireplaces, and to pick up each bit
of rubbish and scrap of paper. Our squad having had a meeting upon the
subject, has agreed that immediately upon making up our packs we shall
police our own ground, either bury the rubbish in the ditches or burn it
in the fire, using if necessary a little of our hay, and pile the rest of
the latter as quickly as possible, to get the work over with. This is in
response to the captain's latest, for finding a single scrap of paper as
big as a postage stamp in the street, he turned out a whole squad to pick
it up. Next time, he says, it will be a platoon. We know Kirby too well
by this time to suppose he doesn't mean what he says.
I am writing as I loll on a pile of hay, while my neighbors are
vigorously resenting the demand of the farmer who sold us the hay last
night, that we rise and relinquish it to him--in order that he may sell
it again tonight. Much angry computation as to his profits per ton, and a
warning that, as on account of our ignorance he raised the tariff on us
yesterday, we should never again pay more than ten cents per tent.
(As we stand waiting in rank.)
Orders for today have been issued. The enemy cavalry and machine guns are
at Sciota, some miles north of us. We are to go against them, with our
battalion as advance guard, Company I in the lead, our company supporting
them four hundred yards behind.
(Resting on the road.)
We have been marching at hot speed, having no one to set the pace for
Kirby, now that at last we have passed I company. For a while we had to
wait on them while they drove the enemy, hearing their firing, and at
every halt sending out patrols. At last we drew near the firing line,
which had been pretty hard at work, but which drew aside by the roadside
(being either dead or out of ammunition) to let us go by, while we
acclaimed them as having died heroically in our defense. Then came urgent
work on our part, till now, as we halt, the platoon leader is telling us
that we are to go forward over a wire fence, deploy behind a stone wall,
and wait for the field battery to shell the enemy.
--And now we have crawled through the wire, and are comfortably watching
the lieutenant of artillery while, with his instruments all fixed, he is
getting the range of the enemy, these, you know, being the cavalry, who
every day, I suppose, will precede us out of camp and try to make it
lively for us during the morning. A voice asks, "Where are the cavalry?"
and someone answers "Intrenched," which is not so foolish as it sounds,
they being equipped for the purpose, and being drilled to fight
dismounted. But intrenching should not be necessary in a country
provided, as this one is, with stone walls. Other companies are deploying
on our left, and we wait before that most dangerous of all attempts, a
direct frontal attack. The enemy, the captain has just explained, is a
half mile away across a slight depression. At Bunker Hill our men waited
till they could see the whites of the red-coats' eyes. At Fredericksburg
our attacking men were helpless at a hundred yards. But here as soon as
we have crossed the wall we shall be exposed to a deadly fire, not only
of rifles, but of machine guns. Of these the enemy have two on motor
tricycles, and it is understood that the call of their sirens is a signal
that they are in action.
(And again resting.)
We have the machine guns, mother dear. The cavalry got away, all but
three or four of them. This was how it went.
When the field artillery had sufficiently pounded the enemy (and having
but few rounds this did not last very long) we were given the order to
advance. First we went over the wall,--and you must remember that every
fence in this country, stone, snake, or otherwise, is decorated with
barbed wire--and formed our line, lying flat, a couple of rods beyond it.
Now we put in practice for the whole battalion the tactics we had studied
by platoons, sending men forward from the right by squads in rushes,
making a new line by degrees, always keeping a constant fire on the
enemy--for we had a hundred rounds today, so that if we were decently
accurate we should make him too nervous to be very dangerous in return.
We went about fifty yards at a time, our sergeants and platoon leaders in
the rear, behind them the captain and his orderlies and behind all the
major and his aides. Certain officers with white bands on their arms, who
ventured unconcernedly into the line of fire, I made out to be umpires
judging this game of war. For I find, mother dear, that this is earnest
for the officers as well as ourselves--we and the enemy have maps, we
know the general conditions, and then each acts as in time of war, trying
to get the better of the opponent. So that if an officer has properly
trained his men, and if in addition he shows good judgment, then he can
feel that he is advancing in his profession. The major, working for the
first time today with a battalion under him (for last camp he was but a
captain) was as keen at the work as if real bullets had been flying
across the little valley. Meanwhile the umpires, studying the strategy of
both sides, are themselves learning.
Well, we got forward rush by rush, firing as we lay waiting, getting
ready at the word, and then following Bannister as he quartered forward
to the right or left to join the new line. As we neared the stone wall
behind which the enemy was firing we could see his white hat-bands, when
to my disgust along came an umpire and ruled out the rear rank. Wanting
to be in at the death, I changed places with Corder, who was "all in,"
and so I finished out the final charge, when the captain came through the
line with a rush and we up and followed him yelling. The enemy very
obligingly vacated the wall as we approached, and all we saw of the
cavalry was their dust as they departed, except a squad whom the umpires
called back.
One machine gun I did not see, nor have I heard how it was captured. But
one was stalled a little distance behind the wall, and I followed the
captain as he made for it. The two men on it were swearing wonderfully,
being regulars; the captain snapped his pistol in the air as he ran, and
I likewise fired my gun upwards, it being the rule of this campaign
neither to fire nor to present the bayonet at close quarters. Seeing they
could not get away, the men were actually ready to fight, and I think had
we been rookies we might have had to scrap for it; but seeing an officer
they saluted and sullenly submitted.
(In camp near Crossroads 75, south of Sciota, N. Y., Tuesday evening.)
I am sitting on a piece of canvas, being one among a dozen or more men
outside the Y. M. C. A. tent, all writing. Men constantly come between
me and the light or step on my outlying portions; there is much cheerful
talking and laughing, and all about is the usual bustle of the camp.
We arrived at camp late, as battle-scarred warriors, and found the
peaceful first battalion already encamped. At once we pitched tents and
then hastily fed; at home, after hours of such exertion, I should have
had a half hour's rest before eating. But the food was ready and hot; if
I did not take it at once I could not get it at all; so my stomach took
the risk, and I had my meal first and my rest afterward. Then a wash in
oh! such a soft-bottomed sluggish brook, where many shaved, and others to
my amazement cleaned their teeth. For that ceremony I keep my canteen
water, which is served out to us at the head of the company street in
proper dippers by orderlies; it is all I shall have, I foresee, both for
drink and for absolutely necessary washing. We have better holding-ground
for our tent-pins tonight, but the sky is cloudless and again we have not
trenched. There are northern lights--a change in weather? The hay today
cost but ten cents, and the adjutant assures us of that tariff in future.
Imagine the camp as yesterday, and me well. Love from
DICK.
EXTRACT FROM THE LETTER OF ERASMUS CORDER,
ASSISTANT-PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, HIGH
PRIVATE IN COMPANY H, 10TH TRAINING
REGIMENT, TO HIS WIFE. SAME DATE
... Instead of yesterday's steady marching, with the first battalion
driving the enemy away for our convenience, duties were today reversed,
and our battalion took the advance-guard work, ending in a very bloody
skirmish, in which, I regret to report, one dear to you was slain. We
marched--and it was marching!--at a good pace after the first few miles,
having no one ahead to hold us back except when we had to duck into the
roadside ditches to avoid machine-gun fire. Our advance guard had died
gallantly and cheered (jeered?) us as we went forward to dislodge the
enemy. The problem was explained to us: the enemy was 800 yards ahead,
having command of a shallow valley, which we must cross. This we did by
rushes, squads or platoons at a time, three companies abreast no sooner
achieving a new line than they sent forward more feelers. In this action
it was very interesting for a time to simulate real firing, shooting with
blank cartridges at an enemy behind a stone wall.
And yet shooting from behind hard heaps of stone, or lying on rough
ground, through grass and leaves that obscured the sights, all the time
troubled by a heavy pack that burdened the shoulders, poked the hat over
the eyes, and hampered the free action of the arms, began to wear on me.
Try as I may, I cannot master the little sidewise shift of the pack which
the captain showed us, and which Godwin says makes shooting prone "just
as easy!" Looking at the other men, I often saw them flop on their faces
to rest; they were working as hard as on the range. The pretense of
firing, when our cartridges were gone, took away some of the excitement.
Then at about the fifth dash, which the others took with some briskness
but which I had to finish at a slow jog, I began to get pumped. When the
first sergeant asked me how I was I told him that I was shot through both
lungs. Nevertheless, I finished (though at a walk) the next to last
charge, but our dash had been so exposed that, by the time I had thrown
myself panting on some particularly jagged stones, an umpire came along
and announced that all rear-rank men were to fall out, of course as being
dead. Godwin was disgusted, and evidently seeing my envy in my face,
swapped places with me. Never was anyone so willing to be killed. Quite
at my leisure I watched the spirited advance of the thin line of o. d.
men to storm the enemy's position. And I was perfectly willing not to be
killed twice.
Our little club of middle-aged men still holds its impromptu sessions,
members comparing experiences and solicitously inquiring as to each
other's condition. So far as I can see we are keeping up pretty well,
except for the ability to make such awful repeated dashes as today's work
required. And even then a few minutes' rest sets us on our feet again.
Pitching the tents, making camp, etc., is now routine work. The
encampment is as picturesque as before. Tomorrow night we also spend
here; whether or not we shall mercifully be permitted to leave the tents
pitched, the morning will decide. But I am well, and blisterless, and
refreshed, and tomorrow shall be ready to die again.
Lovingly,
ERASMUS.
FROM PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER
Sciota, Wednesday the 27th.
DEAR MOTHER:--
You need not worry about my sleeping warm. When I go to bed I take off my
shoes and leggings, put on an extra pair of socks, and crawl into the bag
which each afternoon I make up afresh by pinning the folded blankets
together with the biggest safety pins you ever saw, and buttoning my
poncho around them. Over me thus there is the poncho, and as many layers
of blankets as I please, up to five. Besides I have two sweaters, if I
need them. So I sleep snug.
This morning it is pleasant and windless, as I wait for the order to
start.
An instance of the change of orders under which we labor. (As I recall
the Civil War memoirs that I have read, it seems to me that conditions
are much the same.) We were assembled in line at 5.25, reported, stacked
arms, and were ordered (remember that we are to camp on this same ground
tonight) "Strike tents and make packs. Make up blanket rolls and squad
bags, and bring them to the head of the street." Oh, the disgust! The
orders were proper for the first battalion, which marches on to Altona
today; but for us it seemed needless. But the promptest fell to work,
took down their tents, and began to make up the packs. Then the word came
travelling down the street, "Leave tents standing!" Luckily Bann and I
had not got to the work of striking the tent, and so we jubilated while
some others cussed. But we went on with making up the rolls and bags.
Then the order was transmitted, "Leave blankets and extra kits in tents!"
Perhaps someone blundered in the first place, and we got the order
intended for the first battalion. And I do not complain, for today we
travel light, with many things not in our packs.
The call has come, "Squad leaders to the head of the street." That means
a talk preparatory to setting out. So I have put on my pack, so as to
wait without worry. Having marched very dry yesterday, and a pebble which
I hastily scooped up proving large and rough, I have provided myself (per
one buzzard) with a package of chewing gum. Oh for the old-fashioned
spruce, with no sweetness or artificial flavor!--The first battalion,
having packed entirely, is assembling for the march. My map is buttoned
in my shirt, for consultation at halts. The day is warm, with the wind
from the west; but there are gathering clouds, and I am going to use the
time which is left in digging with my bayonet a ditch around the tent.
(In West Sciota? At any rate, an inhabited crossroads.) I am lying on my
back in the wet grass, while the captain explains that the sound at a
little distance, as of a lot of carpenters nailing at the boarding of a
new house, is our patrols firing at a party of cavalry that is opposing
our advance.
We left our tents buttoned, and started out in gray weather. I was glad
that I had, with bayonet and fingers, dug a shallow ditch along the upper
side of our pup and across the front, when this light rain began. It is
not bad, and so long as I have my pack between me and the ground I cannot
get chilled. Again and again I have used it so, and have seen fellows at
halts napping all around me. Truly the pack is a life saver.--"Fall in!"
(North of Sciota, on the road to Mooers, near crossroads 79, the weather
now dry.) We are resting after a skirmish, and as my position is somewhat
more comfortable, since I am lolling in a ditch instead of lying on my
back, perhaps these jottings will be more legible than the last. The
skirmish went thus.
We left our resting-place at crossroads 72, and followed the popping of
our advance guard, I company, while at the same time we heard at a
greater distance the heavy firing of the first battalion as it fought its
way westward toward Altona, we ourselves going north. As we advanced
beyond a corner, suddenly fire from the left broke out upon the column
behind us. At once we were halted, and Captain Kirby, ranging down the
line of the company, picked out our squad and sent us at the double over
the fence and into the field north of the road that we had passed, our
enemy being in a thick wood to the south of it. Here we streamed along,
poor Corder as usual soon being pumped and dropping behind, while eager
David was only kept from outdistancing the rest by a sharp word from
Knudsen. We scrambled through a wire fence, then in a pasture with
scattered heavy cedars we assembled behind a tree to survey the ground,
all of us pouring out our advice upon poor Bann--to go to the road, to go
further west, to plunge into the woods and attack the enemy by ourselves.
This last from David, who is keen at every fight. Someone urging to send
a message back to the captain, Bann got out the brand-new despatch book
and pencil which since the conference this morning had been sticking out
of his pocket, but put them up again for lack of something definite to
say. So he took us across the road and into the field behind the enemy's
wood, where it being evident that the foe had no reserves, Bann began
once more to write.