volunteer, while able with surprising quickness to master the manual and
the drill, with the rudiments of skirmish work, and all because of his
trained mind, nevertheless does not readily give up his independence of
thought except in the presence of men whom he recognizes as his
unquestionable professional superiors. Hence, when deprived of such
guidance, each man has his own theory and his own advice, which he voices
without modesty.
Secondly, while in the regular army such situations are readily
controlled by the--(To be continued. We are going to move on.)
(In camp at Altona, after swim and retreat and supper,
writing while crouched in the pup tent for shelter from
a shower that has just spoiled the afternoon's conference.
Bann is luckily absent; I don't know what two could
do in this confined space, except when asleep.)
by the non-commissioned officers, it was very evident today that ours had
not sufficient control over us because they had not sufficient control
over themselves. They were new to their responsibility, and did not
understand how to handle the particular problem. And if we had needed
another example of what was lacking, it was at hand in a few minutes when
on our way to camp, and seeing the tents in plain view across a stream,
the captain decided to save us a half-hour by fording. So he led the way
down into the water, the lieutenant at his side discussing, tramped
across the shallow river, and marched on, whether forgetting us or
testing us I do not know. The first squad or two followed gamely, the
next faltered, and all the rest spread out in confusion and tried to
cross dry-shod. I am glad to say that Squad 8 hung together, hopped over
quickly, formed and went on. After a hundred yards we came up with the
captain, who was just sending back a sergeant with the message, "Help all
the girls across." When once we were assembled he gave us his solemn
promise never to try to save us work again.
What would prevent such blunders in future? I will admit that in each
such case non-coms from the regular army would have steadied us and kept
us right. Yet I am convinced that what will best control the Plattsburg
rookie is the Plattsburg non-com. All we need is to develop a body of
them. The regular may serve at a pinch, but in the cases where moral
control is more needed than a little knowledge or habitual steadiness,
the appeal comes strongest from a man of our own kind.
I suppose that only the shower saved us from an awful roasting at the
conference.
The camp is rather picturesquely situated in a broad field that stretches
down to swamps and woods, the cavalry at a slight distance across a
little swale. Our squad was on police duty for a while, and I was orderly
for an hour. The lady buzzards of the town have spread a chicken dinner,
at a dollar a head, in the town hall, and many of our fellows have
slipped away to it. Yet at dinner-time I saw poor Pickle sitting by the
water-barrel, a plate of beans in his lap. I asked innocently, "Why
aren't you at the chicken dinner?" "Don't ask foolish questions," he
snapped. "Can't you see I'm tied here to serve out water?"
I went for my bath down to our little river, which bears the imposing
name of the Great Chazy; it wanders idle from pool to pool along its half
dry bed. In one of the natural bath-tubs I had a fine wash, finding a
pool up to my knees, clear cold water where minnows swam trustingly
about, and where crawfish, the first I have ever seen, came like little
pink lobsters to investigate my toes. After the stagnant brooks at our
last two camps, it was delightful to find this clear water and actually
get _under_ it.
I was so trustful of the weather that I washed a pair of socks, but I had
not got into my clothes before a shower started. I took refuge, with
another man, in a cavalry officer's tent. We had a pleasant little chat
with him; he did not resent the intrusion of a couple of rookies, and we
talked of camp matters. Intermittently it has been raining ever since.
Written by the light of a great bonfire at the Y. M. C. A. tent.
Men are trying to dry themselves on one side while they get wet on the
other. Word has come which puts the company in mourning--Loretta is
detained by business, and will not rejoin us. David says in my ear, "Damn
him, I meant to get even with him!" This for Reardon's sake, who laughs
at David's energy, yet I think is rather touched by it. We have had our
usual talk with the captain at the company fire, and rather gently he has
pointed out to us our shortcomings, especially our platoon's in giving
the major such trouble.
But some men of our platoon came to him with a grievance. In getting us
into our column of squads someone swore at the men, and they attributed
the profanity to the major's aide, a volunteer like ourselves. This
roused the captain. "No one shall swear at my men!" he declared, his
gentleness all gone. "I will talk with that aide." That obliged me to
speak. "Captain," said I, "I'm sorry to disagree with the others, but as
I happened to have admired the coolness of the aide, it doesn't seem to
me that he was in a state of mind to swear." One of our sergeants spoke
up. "I might have done it, sir. I was a little excited." The man has
sworn at us before, and Knudsen has resented it. The captain was
mollified by the admission, but he read the man a little lecture. "Never
swear at your men, sir. Apart from the fact that it does no good, it's
most unsoldierlike. I never swore at an enlisted man but once, when I was
a very young officer, and I never will again."
I must stop because of the damp and the discomfort, writing in this
flickering light, my legs, as usual, cramped. I despair of ever conveying
a proper idea of this rainy evening, the indifference of the hardy ones,
the dejection of the sensitive, crowding together wherever there is
cover, trying to keep dry at fires, or in final surrender crawling into
their beds, to wait the hours through. It is not raining at this moment,
but I am curious to know what the night will bring. The tent is pretty
well ditched, but the pin at my shoulder is very loose in this sandy
soil, and if it showers--! Good night.
DICK.
_P. S._ Overheard in I company street, loud language. One disputant: "I
keep my feet as clean as yours!" The other. "You do? I have washed mine
twice since the beginning of the hike." The first: "So have I, Monday and
yesterday. You take care of your person and I'll look after mine."
PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER
Altona Camp, Friday, Sep. 29.
Waiting for the start.
DEAR MOTHER:--
The night, in spite of its possibilities, was not bad. I went to bed in
the rain, Bann already snoozing by my side, and was put to sleep by the
sounds of men's voices murmuring. Roused by a smart shower, I heard Taps
blown, and the top sergeant going up and down the street. "Cut out that
talking, men!" Waking in the night I found the sky clear, the wind
blowing, and two pins out at my side, with the tent flapping. I put the
pins in, but when next I was waked by the rain in my face the side of the
tent was flapping heavily, and nothing but the fact that instead of a
rifle for the tent pole we used a stake, driven about six inches into the
ground, had saved us from a collapse. I held down the corner through the
shower, then opening my meat-can, used its long handle for a tent-peg. If
our little pins were a couple of inches longer this nuisance could be
prevented. The new peg held till morning, the clouds then gradually
breaking for a glorious sunrise.
On a hillside, near Ellenburg Depot.
We rolled our moist blankets, made up our damp packs, ate our hasty
breakfasts, and with I company were hustled into motor trucks, two squads
to a truck. For forty-five minutes we jolted and squashed over bad roads,
and finally bowled along over macadam. After eight or ten miles we were
turned out, and marched in the cloudy, windy morning three miles to
Ellenburg Depot. Here we left a man on each bridge, to notify pursuers
that it was destroyed, and turned into the fields, at last climbing a
ridge from which, to the left, we saw at a distance a high hill, its
wooded sides beginning to show the mottled reds of autumn, while just
below our steep slope lay a wide flat bottom, perfect green, with a brook
wandering through it. Here we rested, delighting in the view but
shivering in the wind, while the company officers and the major looked
over the ground. Then the orders were, "Off with the equipment, get out
your tools, and dig a trench." The front rank is working like beavers
now, and as our turn is nearly here, I must stop this scribbling.
In camp near Ellenburg Depot, Friday afternoon.
Again I sit in the tent while outside it rains. We have as yet been able
to get no straw, for though I have twice hurried at the first glimpse of
a wagon, the fellows nearer got it all. The ground is wet from this
morning's rain, my pen has splashed everything with ink, and I am afraid
that this rain is no mere shower. But thank Heaven! the soil is better
for the pins to hold in, the tents have all been faced away from the
wind, we have had a most interesting morning, and I have a full stomach.
To resume my story:
Considerably below the crest of the hill, and perhaps seventy feet uphill
from a railway cutting, a line was marked, and the men fell to at the
digging with enthusiasm. The ground was sandy, and we quickly threw out
the soil, and heaved out the occasional big rocks. "We" scarcely includes
poor Corder, who complained bitterly that his appearance of age made the
fellows keep the tools from him; but when we were ordered to bring stones
and turf, he joyfully carried burdens. The trench was dug about four feet
deep, with an eighteen inch parapet outside. Inside this was a shelf for
an elbow rest; the parapet was lined (revetted, the captain said) with
flat stones, and finally the whole outside was turfed, so that the raw
earth did not show. The turf was from ground opened in a long line higher
up the hill, and left open to look like a trench and draw the enemy's
fire. Our trench being finished, another--a mere rifle pit, higher up the
slope--was made for the captain's observation post, and still another for
a northerly outpost. Having turfed the outside of these, we picked the
milkweed stalks that stood in great numbers, and set them at proper
intervals with artistic irregularity, while for the captain was provided
a little bush. I company's trenches were further to the south.
We were finishing, and Corder had just said "We need a shower to clean
this dirty turf," when the shower came. The captain ordered us into our
packs and ponchos, and then into the trench. Though the shower was short
the wind was increasingly cold, and I was glad of the protection of my
poncho. For in that trench we remained for an hour and three quarters,
before anything really happened.
I had time to study a good many things. The depth to which grass roots
will go in sandy soil: at least two feet. The amount of sand that gets
into the lock of one's rifle. The continual discomfort of sand blowing
into one's eyes. The cold that strikes up through the stone, or the sand,
on which one sits. The personality of my neighbor of Squad Nine, who
seemed much less interested in his life as a banker than I was. The
incalculable value of the pack as a life-saver, for having to lean
against the wall of the narrow trench, nothing but the roll on my back
kept me from the deadly chill of pneumonia. But most interesting of all
was the behavior of the men.
As we worked at digging the trench we naturally, being intelligent
volunteers, had many sub-directors, and much grumbling at so much
unofficial ordering. Randall, during one of his rests, delivered himself
with much disgust. "There never was an American," said he, "who could
take orders. Each man thinks he knows best. We need to learn to obey."
Well, once we were down in the trench, it was Randall's head that was
continually popping up, and continually being ordered down; and it was
Randall who would light cigarettes, though ordered not to. An hour and
three quarters is a long time to wait, and the cramped space was very
tiring. Further, we were excited by the sound of firing, I suppose from
the driving in of the detachment which the lieutenant had taken off to
the east, so of course everyone wanted to see. In addition, our two
sergeants, who have none too much authority, were together at one end of
the platoon, away from the most impatient of the men, and so were quite
unable to control Randall and other restless spirits. Randall, arguing
that no one could see _him_, would pop up his head, others imitated, and
so on the whole a fine example of discipline our platoon made. But David,
lost in wonder at such wilfulness, never raised his head above the
parapet.
Well, at last we heard the captain's whistle, and steadied. His voice
came: "Range, eight hundred and fifty yards." We set our sights. "At one
o'clock, to the right of the cemetery, fire at will!" We stood upright
(it was a relief to straighten out!) and I saw, across the valley, beside
a little cemetery on the top of the further hill, some moving figures, at
which I fired a couple of clips. Then "Cease firing!" We locked our
pieces; the men had disappeared. "Down, men!" And we crouched again. But
next we heard "Battle sight--at four o'clock--fire at will," and when we
stood up there was a line of skirmishers advancing out of the woods
beyond the railway cutting, about where the figure four would be on a
great clock-face if spread before us on the landscape, we ourselves being
at the six. But while I was popping contentedly away at these men our
platoon was ordered first to cease firing, and then to leave the trench
and rush to the top of the hill, which we did helter-skelter, none, not
even our leader, knowing why.
At the very ridge we were met, slap in the face, by a fierce wind of
which we in the trench had as yet got no inkling, which blew our ponchos
all about, and savagely drove heavy drops of rain in our eyes. In the
midst of this surprise we were confronted by an orderly, who pointing
along the ridge, told us that we were to form in column of squads. In
which direction we should face, and which squad first, 7 or 10, he did
not say. It is easy enough now to see what our leader should have done.
He should have said: "Men, get down out of the line of the enemy's
(highly imaginary) fire. Now, my good messenger, what are my orders? And
meanwhile, my wise privates, keep silence." But nothing of the sort.
There we stayed on the ridge, and there we finally formed in column of
squads, all the time in full view of the enemy, who might have potted the
last man of us. The major at last came to the rescue, got us down from
the ridge, and in the hearing of us all roasted poor Jones quite as well
as the lieutenant did yesterday. "If you have a brain, sir, don't use it.
Stay in sight of the enemy and be shot." Then he sent us by a way I never
should have chosen in cold blood, across the top of a steep slope, with
sliding sand and loose stones underfoot, while all the time the same wind
and rain whipped and beat us unmercifully. At last we were halted behind
another hill, put in skirmish line, and told what we were to do. We were
to rush the ridge, then to run down to a trench made and occupied by our
engineers, while they, being worn out by many days of fighting in it,
were to vacate it. We executed the order smartly, dashing down to the
trench, the engineers, at sight of us, scrambling out and running for
cover. I found myself jumping down into a trench as deep as my shoulder,
very finely made. Different from our trench, which was protected from
enfilading only by cross walls at intervals, this trench zigzagged;
moreover, its parapet was wattled. The engineers must have worked at it
from early dawn, unless they brought their hurdles with them.
(There, I have at last got my hay!)
Well, there was but little more. A man emerging on a distant slope,
commanding a ridge along which any successful attack must come, I hit him
squarely in the middle, only to discover when too late that he was an
umpire. Two of our fellows claimed to have shot a buzzard, and contended
for the honor. When at last we saw real enemies, two platoons coming into
full view below us, we shot them all to pieces. An umpire told them that
they were dead, whereupon they formed in line and went through the manual
of arms, to get themselves warm. Then we were collected and marched back,
triumphant. It seems that we were told that if we held our line till one
o'clock, we won. It was past the hour, and our victory was complete. We
marched to camp in good spirits, being especially pleased to hear the
major (the opposing major!) compliment Captain Kirby on the excellence of
his trench. _Our_ trench! We finished two hundred and fifty feet in an
hour and twenty minutes. We are told that the trench was quite invisible,
even after we had begun firing, and that we were betrayed only by the
white bands on our hats.
I have talked with one of the men who was left at a bridge to tell any
pursuers that it was blown up. He said that it gave him great pleasure to
loll on the railing and watch a platoon ford the cold stream up to their
waists.
With great relief I left the ground. We have so carefully policed each
camping place that I had awful visions of having to fill in the trenches
and replace the sod. But by some arrangement with the owner of the land
we left the trenches as memorials of our great fight. How many cows will
they trap, I wonder.
Our breakfast was at six, and we had no lunch till two o'clock. Whether
we were hungry? In spite of this settled cold rain, which curiously is
from the west, the men are in good spirits, though they show it by
yowling at every bugle call that summons them out.
This letter is written up to date, and so I'll close it. Love from
DICK.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER
Cherubusco, Saturday the 30th, evening.
In a farmhouse kitchen, where some of my things are
drying, and where I, sitting in a CHAIR, am writing
at a TABLE!
DEAR MOTHER:--
Yesterday I said to Knudsen, while David listened, "The trouble with our
platoon is that we don't particularly care for our sergeants, and have
got into the way of _knocking_ them. I've done more or less of it myself.
Now it may be no more than they deserve, but it's bad for our discipline
and our work. Don't you suppose we could turn about and help the
sergeants more? If you should lead in it, it would make a difference in
the whole platoon, for I notice that everyone wants to know your
opinion." David's face showed that he approved, so Knudsen agreed, and we
three talking to our squad and Squad Nine, have started a little Good
Government Association. I think today it did good.
Last night was a long one for me. I am still unable to get myself a
woollen cap, and though I used the felt hat for both the cold and the
rain, it rolled away at every excuse. To keep out the rain, I had laid my
poncho on the windward side of the tent, buttoning it along the
ridgepole; but it slapped a good deal of the time. The entrance-flaps,
which some of the fellows always button, I had open for the air, and they
thrashed all night. Beside me Bann slept like a child; but I was pretty
damp when I went to bed, the rain and the wind came through, and every
little thing waked me. Twice a peg pulled out, but the tent stood, and I
was able to put it in again. So the night was long. Yet I got some sleep,
and we were surely better off than our opposite neighbors, whose tent
blew down soon after midnight, so that they had to crawl out and set it
up in the dark and the driving rain.
There are camp tales of all kinds of hardships. Some stayed round the
fires all night to keep warm; some, their tents collapsing, took refuge
on a nearby piazza; some talk of washing their faces this morning in hoar
frost. But I _saw_ none of this.
The yowlings which usually greet the bugler on any unwelcome occasion
were absent this morning, for most of us were ready to rise, or already
risen. There was at first only a drizzle, in which I ate breakfast; it
surely was better than last night, with the steady rain running from my
hat into my stew as I bent over it, and cooling as well as diluting it,
besides searching out vulnerable parts of my person, which a poncho does
not truly protect. Yesterday I set my things down on a wet board; today I
stood at the high running-board of an auto-truck, a very desirable
position. Yet I thought my hands have seldom been colder than when I
stood in line this morning, unable to give them the protection of gloves
or pockets.
In the same drizzle we broke camp, packed our squad-bags and
blanket-rolls, and made our packs. It rained as we started, and the whole
outlook was bad--for to march ten miles in the wet, and then to make camp
under these same conditions, was soldiering indeed.
Yet ten minutes after we had left camp, the advance guard of the
battalion, we were staring at each other in new dismay. For pop-pop! Our
point had found the enemy. Now for comfort a skirmish ought to be fought
near the new camping ground: anticipation keeps us going till the fight
begins, and then at the end, weary, we have but a short way to march.
This was the deuce! In a moment we were turned aside into a field, and
saw the white hat-bands beyond a fence in front. First deployment, then
"Down, men!" and flat I threw myself into a six inch bed of clover, as
wet as a sponge. From this couch I fired for a while, was ordered up,
hurried with the squad forward to a new line, flopped again, fired, and
then dashed once more.
For two hours, mother, this sort of thing continued. In a long line our
company spread over the fields, now one part advancing, then the rest.
Sometimes we were flat, sometimes we might squat on cold stones behind a
wall, sometimes we were climbing walls and running forward. Discovering
that it was wetter below me than above, I hung my poncho at my hip, and
when we flopped, fell on it. We struck soft ground and formed in squad
columns, then came to a place where the enemy was visible in a
sugar-bush, across a ravine. Down into the gully I plunged among the
rest, and in a confusion of men each seeking in a hurry the best way
across, got through two wire fences, forced my way among a growth of
alders, and splashed through a brook, luckily no deeper than my ankles.
Then up the steep slope, and as soon as the platoon was gathered at the
top Jones cried "Follow me,"--and those whose wind was poor began to lag.
The enemy was driven from this position, then as we followed him he fired
at us again from behind a stone wall, for there were plenty here, with
others of all kinds. We drove him again, our laggards helping where they
could, coming up to us as we paused to fire and falling down to pant.
Poor Corder! Part of the charges he was in, part he had to plod after,
out of breath. A minute's rest would freshen him, and then he would keep
up for a while. But the pace was hot, until suddenly the enemy vanished.
In pursuit, we crossed a wide space with broad flat weatherworn ledges,
then came upon soft ground, and were bogged.
The part that confronted our squad was a hog-wallow below a pig pen and
nicely full of water from the rain. Light-footed David slipped across,
but I, being heavier, plunged in up to my shin. Then came a barbed wire
fence, with the wires so taut that they would not separate to let us
through, nor sag to let us easily over. We were helping each other, as is
the rule, and the sergeant was hurrying us, as was his duty, when he was
answered back by a corporal--not of our platoon, but one who with his
squad had become annexed in the confusion. A little back-talk with an
audience of silent men; our fellows remembered the new agreement. Then on
we went again, stormed another position, and at last, every cartridge
spent (my head was ringing with the firing, and rings yet!) we were
assembled in the muddy road.
A little interview, then while we rested, between the sergeant, the
corporal, and the captain, who demanded the reason for our platoon's
delay. The corporal was explanatory; the captain had to silence him. Then
the captain praised the company. (He also sent a message to us at
Retreat, where the lieutenant commanded--we had done well; he would try
to keep us out of brooks hereafter. I like these laconic statements; they
mean much.) Then I company, with full cartridge belts, took up the
advance-guard work along the road, and we saw them rummage out of a barn
some cavalrymen who had hidden there. But soon, the day's manoeuvre over,
we began the hike to camp. I wish you could have seen it.