strong. The road was a mass of mud; there was no walking in it. We made
two long lines, one on each side of it, and took up our brisk walk. Mile
after mile in every footing, through desolate country where the scrub was
low, the land slightly rolling, bleak, uninhabited. The road ran mostly
straight; as it dipped you could see ahead the two lines of men swiftly
plodding on and on.
There was talk at first, and some jokes. "That road looks worse than
this," said one. "I wonder they didn't take us down it." The bushes
looked very wet. "How about squad columns through that brush?" suggested
one. "Try the prone position from the middle of the road," retorted
another, as we passed a great puddle. A later puddle, chocolate brown,
roused another man's regrets. "I'd like to stop and wash my breakfast
kit. I used the water they provided at camp, but this looks better to
me." But gradually all talk died away, and we just drove on and on. There
were questions, of occasional teams that we passed, as to the distance to
Cherubusco. "Three miles," and again after an hour "Three miles!" Well,
it was a long hike, nearly two hours, and I am glad to say without halt,
for in that wind we should have frozen. But we began to dry off. At last
the sight of the trucks and the cook-tents cheered us, and we marched
onto the ground where four companies were already finishing their dinner.
We had driven off their enemy, and they had marched straight through.
The ground here holds the tent-pins well; the tent is secure. But I stood
in line for half an hour in the wind, cold and ever colder in my poncho,
while they let us in driblets into a barn and doled us out hay at high
prices. I felt very cross against the good woman at whose table I now
write, for not devising a quicker system--though she suffered from it
too, for her teeth were chattering as she passed me through. But
everything goes by; even while I shivered the wind dried my clothes; and
I had cold feet for only a couple of hours, by which time I had dried out
a pair of fresh stockings, and put them on with my dry boots. Since then
I have been comfortably warm. We had fires, about which we sat; the sun
at last came out (you should have heard the shout at the first thin
rays!) and we have had a wonderful clear orange sunset, with spruces
silhouetted against it, and the early setting of the young moon. Now it
is clear and cold and quiet outside, with the northern lights flashing
and glowing, violet and white, in cloud-like masses or shifting spires.
Well, such was the day, a hard one in many ways. Says a sergeant sitting
by the stove, "I can describe it in two words, Damn nasty." But I am no
more than ordinarily tired, and am dry. The hardships of such a day are
not to be compared with those of the poor devils in the trenches across
the water.
I must close this letter and leave it at the Y. M. C. A., for the call
to quarters has just sounded. In fact it is welcome, for I am very
sleepy. I am leaving my wet shoes here to dry. We have just learned, to
our sorrow, that we work tomorrow--Sunday! But there is one good piece of
news--our overcoats are coming! Much love from
DICK.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S LETTER HOME
Sunday, at Cherubusco, about 8.30 A. M.
Sitting in the sun, in my overcoat, at the tent door.
DEAR MOTHER:--
After finishing my letter at the farmhouse last night, and getting from
the good woman my second pair of dry stockings, I put on everything warm
that I had, and went to bed. Fires were burning everywhere, with little
groups of talking men around them; but the camp settled down very
quickly. It pleased me to hear the first sergeant rounding up men to help
in unloading the overcoats; but then I slept, and except for periods when
I woke in the night and as usual told time by Orion, I slept sound. The
men are all declaring that they slept well, all but one man, who said he
was miserably cold, and looks it. It _was_ a cold night, with a heavy
frost forming even inside my tent, and ice in my canteen when I tried to
drink from it this morning. But now, warm and full, I am very
comfortable, waiting for the call at 9.45 to go out and inspect the
outposts which the first battalion are now setting. The captain has been
up and down the street, inquiring how we are; he stopped to speak to me,
feeling, I think, less constraint with me than he used.
It was very busy in camp for an hour after breakfast. Men were cleaning
their shoes--and some were mourning over them, not having taken warning
against leaving them too close to the fire, when though the leather may
not be really burned it will lose its life and crack. Others were
spreading blankets and clothes to dry, preparing the short pack (without
the roll) for our tour of inspection, recleaning rifles, shaving, mending
their clothes. Smoke is now drifting from a hundred fires, and towels and
underwear are spread on the tents or flapping from improvised clothes
lines. But the camp is slowly settling down into quiet, for work is done,
the sun keeps us warm, and everybody is quite content.
I have just listened to the story that Newbold, the corporal of Squad
Nine, tells of the fetching of the overcoats. On arriving at camp
yesterday, wet through, he found that the new shoes which he bought at
the camp exchange in Plattsburg just before leaving for the hike, were
too small, and asked the captain's permission to go to the village here
and try to get another pair. The captain, after finding out his need,
said "You can change them in Plattsburg. Be ready in five minutes to
start with the truck." So Newbold found himself in command of a five-ton
truck, wallowing through these roads till they struck the macadam,
forty-five miles in all to Plattsburg. There he presented his written
orders, started the loading of the truck, and went out swinging his shoes
by the strings till he found a shop where he could make a swap, the camp
exchange being closed. Forty-five miles over the road again, he dozing in
a nest he made among the overcoats, and arriving in time to go to bed at
Taps.
The overcoats will keep us safe from now on. But the hard work of the
past two days has knocked out a few more men. Hale, who felt the cold
night so severely, proves to be threatened with bronchitis, and has been
sent in to the hospital. Hageman, with digestion on strike, has to leave
us for good. I may mention men to you for the first time, but you must
understand that I have acquaintance with a great many now, and when in
future I hear their cities mentioned, Kansas City, Cleveland, wherever
else, I shall always remember that I have friends there.
--(_Afternoon._) We finished the morning with some genuine outpost work.
The first battalion, going early, set a circle of outposts to the west,
which our battalion, going later, had to find and relieve. While it was
interesting from a military standpoint, I can scarcely hope to make it
picturesque to you. Supposing an enemy ready to drop on us, we had to
keep out of his sight while watching for him, and also to ferret out
sentry posts which for the same reason had been pretty carefully hidden,
and to which our directions were the vaguest. It was all done with
thoroughness and care; we had the usual bogs to cross and brooks to jump;
we found our men in hollows, thickets, and even in trees; and finally to
our joy (for the day was hot and we were mostly sleepy from yesterday) we
were brought home, fed, and allowed to snooze.
Some of the indefatigables begged for the day and have gone to Canada,
which is but three miles away. But most of us are content to loll in camp
and rest up, especially considering the fact that tomorrow we are again
to be the advance guard. This being for the second time in succession,
seems to us something of a compliment, and H company is proud.
I hear someone coming and saying, "Mr. Godwin is wanted at the head of
the street." The lieutenant!
(_Evening._) Yes, it was Lieutenant Pendleton, of whom, by the way, I
have seen very little for some time. For we go very much by platoons, as
you have noticed; and he having command of the first is out of my ken.
But whenever I have seen him he is always the same, very cool,
inscrutable, accurate, and busy. His men are devoted to him. Well, he
came walking along, scrutinizing the groups, and when he found me,
delivering the summons, returning my salute, and passing on with his
little smile. As he did not come back at all, I see that he took that
method of making his escape.
For when I got to the head of the street there was a big touring car, the
captain standing talking beside it, and in it, besides the old Colonel
and our old neighbors the Chapmans, were Vera and her sister Frances.
Some other officers were likewise there, and when the visitors descended
to walk about, took charge of them. I, a humble private lingering near
because commanded, thought that now I might slip away; but Vera in her
usual way chose her own partner, and chose me.
The camp did not interest her especially; she had seen it at a glance
from the automobile. The way we lived was at once familiar to her; I soon
found that she did not want me to explain anything. Knowing that she
always has her own purposes, and also knowing that I can never guess
them, I waited for her to declare herself. She selected a convenient seat
on a stone wall, where we could see everything; every man who went by
stared at her in admiration, and evidently said to himself, "Isn't that
rookie in luck!"
Her pretence was that she wanted to know about me, so as to write you;
but pretences with Vera are very open. Really she wanted to know about
the captain--what kind of a man, how he treated us, how we liked him. She
couldn't quite bring herself to say, "Dick, tell me about him!" There is
always Vera's pride. But after all, there never need be concealments
between us; she knows we are to be friends all our lives. So she let me
see what she wouldn't plainly say. And I answered quite as plainly: a
fine captain, a fine man, the fellows swore by him.
She objected. "He says they hate him."
"Perhaps you never before," I said, "came across an aggressive man who is
modest. I know he thinks that; it merely shows that he can't work for
popularity. But he was telling us recently of the practice hikes he has
been giving his company in Panama, to show that after all the hardest
work is what we shall look back on with the most pride. It was as plain
as day to us, though not to him, that the men there are like our fellows
here--they will do anything for him."
She dropped the subject; one not knowing Vera would have supposed that
she was not even interested in it, but I knew that she had learned what
she wanted. Idly she looked down the company street. "What are those men
doing?" she asked.
A bunch of the men, growing every minute, had been singing to the tune of
Solomon Levi words that were not clear to us, being too far away. "It
must be the new company song," I said. "I've been told it's good. The
fellows are learning it.--See, they're coming this way. I believe they
mean to sing it to the captain!"
Our other visitors were returning, headed by the captain and Frances. The
men, grouped by the water barrel at the head of the street, waited till
he was near, pushed their leader out in front, and in hoarse whispers
commanded him to begin. You must understand that Vera promptly, but
without hurry, had got me close enough to listen. He sang the solo.
"One night as I lay dreaming,
Underneath the stars,
The buzzard stole between the tents
To sell us chocolate bars.
The captain took him by the scruff
And kicked him in the seat,
And said 'You greedy buzzard,
Get out of the company street!'"
The delighted men roared the chorus.
"Poor old buzzard, get away out of here!
Poor old buzzard, get away out of here
For we are Captain Kirby's men,
We neither drink nor swear,
We never wash our hands or face
Nor change our underwear.
We never do a thing that's wrong,
As you can plainly see,
For we are Captain Kirby's men
Of old H company!"
Then, evidently immensely pleased, and laughing to themselves, the
fellows melted away in all directions.
As for Vera, she was not daunted by the primitive simplicity of the
words. She looked at the captain and noted his confusion, looked at me
and made no answer to my question, "Now don't you see they like him?" But
she gave me a kindly little push toward Frances, and said, "Go and talk
with her. I've brought her all this way to see you." And in another
moment she had the captain as her partner, and was making him tell her
all the little things she would not listen to from me.
It was nice to see Frances. She told me all about you, and asked about
David; and the street being now very neat with the laundry put away, and
my tent not very far, she walked down and looked at it, and met every one
of the squad, yes, and knew all about every one in advance, by which I
see that you have read her all my letters. The boys were greatly struck
with her; when our visitors had gone and I came back to our fire, Clay in
his Southern way paid me the nicest compliments for her, and Pickle swore
that she was a peach. Then when I thought the subject was exhausted
Knudsen came out of a brown study with the remark, "She's almost as
handsome as her sister, and besides she's the real thing."
And truly, mother, stunning as Vera is, there's something about Frances's
eyes and mouth that is particularly pleasing, don't you think?
There next taking place an Episcopal service in the open air, I went to
it. It was under the trees near the farmhouse. A rustic cross was made
and set up, there were a few flowers at a simple altar, and the rail was
just a piece of white birch nailed up between two trees; nothing could be
more appropriate. At least a hundred and fifty men attended; I couldn't
ask to hear a better sermon; and finally, the minister giving such an
invitation to communion as a man of my free beliefs could accept, I
stayed to it. Dusk was falling as we came away, and we were called
together for Retreat.
Troops of the townspeople have visited the town all day, some looking as
if they had come from a distance. They have gawked all about, have
listened to the band concert, and stood about and watched our religious
service as if it had been a show. But the best was at Retreat. The band
had finished the Star Spangled Banner, the captain turned and brought us
to attention, then pivoted about and stood at attention, looking straight
in front of him. A little group of country folk had pressed up very
close, and seeing him look so fixedly at something, they all swung about
and stared too. Failing to find any unusual object nailed to the barn
which was immediately in front, they turned back presently, puzzled or
reproachful. When at the end of the bugle call he turned to dismiss us,
the captain could scarcely maintain his military gravity.
I finish this at the squad fire, with the fellows discussing the revival
of the rumor concerning the ball cartridges. They have not been found;
some fool is still toting them about; they are in A company, B company,
and so on down the list.
Tomorrow we move on again, my cartridge-belt is full, and I have got
everything ready for our early start. The night is clear and cold--but we
are hardened to anything now. Love from
DICK.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER
In camp at Ellenburg Center.
Sitting before the tent, on my blankets.
Monday the 2d October, 1916.
DEAR MOTHER:--
The other companies are cheering in the distance, and I suppose I know
why. For our company has been spared a great affliction, which would have
been very cruel after a hard morning's work. We came into camp a long
hour after everybody else, and had just pitched our tents and had dinner
when our captain called us together in a close bunch, and told us that
the regimental commander had been dissatisfied with the deployments of
the other companies, and was having them out to drill; but that our work
had been satisfactory, and that in consideration of our hard service on
recent days, we were to be excused. You see we have worked hard on Friday
(digging and defending trenches) Saturday (when our skirmish work in the
mud and wet was the severest, he said, that a company on the hike has yet
had) and today, when we started first and finished last. So I imagine
that if it was proposed to include us in this afternoon's drill the
captain fought hard to have us excused. I hope it's also true that our
skirmish work is good. We cheered the announcement and enjoyed our
leisure; and now the other companies are expressing their delight at
being released from their two hours' work in a stubble field.
Last night, after I had mailed my letters, I stood about and watched the
camp with its always varied picturesqueness--the many fires, the drifting
smoke lit up by flames, the groups here and there, the undertones of
talk, the singing. The buzzard song has instantly become popular, and the
lieutenant's platoon have a chant of praise to him--I don't know all the
words as yet.
"He's on the job, boys,
To find some nice wet moss to lie on,
For today we march
Thro' (dum ti dum) to Ellenburg,
Dum, dum, ti dum dum (here memory fails)
Prepare to rush,
Thro' mud and slush,
God help the man that tries to shirk!"
Besides these there have come to us from other companies, and indeed from
earlier camps, other ditties, not vicious but unquotable, horribly
amusing _men's_ songs.
I gave up watching at last, and made my bed, which was not so easy as
usual, since my poncho, being old, has taken to stiffening in its folds
after wetting, and when I shook it out, just plain cracked. Besides, its
intimate acquaintance with barb-wire has resulted in various tears,
notably a long slit and some "barn-doors." So seeing its usefulness
departing, I chiefly made use of my blankets and overcoat, in which
latter I slept, and found myself perfectly warm.
Today we were up earliest, packed in a hurry (which never, however,
allows leaving the ground untidy) and were off as an advance flank guard
to protect the march of the baggage train and main body on the straight
road here, we going on a parallel line over whatever country we found. We
marched out of camp, went a mile to the west, and then turned south--and
a little ripple of joy went through the company. For it was our first
step toward Plattsburg and _home_. The men are all looking forward to the
breaking up of camp--not that they are feeling any hardship, but that
they are anticipating the set end of things, and thinking of home life
again.
Today's work will not make an interesting story. We followed our south
road till it petered out, passed through pretty glades and around
attractive knolls, and finally climbed a steep ascent to where, by a
schoolhouse at a corner, we rested for a while. A platoon was sent north
against a squad of cavalry; the rest went on, deployed here, deployed
there, sent out squads and recalled them, then lay low in ditches and
watched the movements of some of the enemy (horsemen and a machine gun)
cautiously coming forward along a crossroad against the corner toward
which we were heading, and which we knew to be held in strength by our
first platoon. They consulted, came on within range, and then sent out a
man to reconnoitre. Reaching the corner, he wheeled and dashed back,
waving his hat and shouting. A burst of fire from the corner pursued him;
and our Squad Seven, crazy to do something, let off a couple of clips at
the men on the machine gun, who were frantically trying to turn it about.
The cavalry got away, all but their messenger, who was summoned back. As
for the machine gun, it would not reconcile itself to capture till, as
the captain said, an umpire went out and picked it by hand.
We were given another rest, this time by an odd-looking building which
Corder guessed was a creamery. The fact being established, our boys were
greatly excited, and some filled their canteens at wholesale
prices--surreptitiously, for the thing was quite as wrong though not so
reckless as another performance I have seen, the filling of canteens at
wells. If we escape typhoid from such water it will be because of the
inoculation.
Ordered on again, our platoon was detached and sent across country to
come upon the flank or rear of any cavalry that might be lurking for us.
We sent out a squad and lost it; then the three remaining squads went on
and on and on, and grumblings became louder and louder as the men began
to suspect that the leader did not know where he was going, nor what he
was trying to do. Good David, mindful of our pact, tried in vain to cheer
the boys up; but no, they would grumble, and (as inexorably follows) made
their work the harder. It was a long three miles over stiff country, with
a fence, usually barb wire, every hundred yards--and bogs! "What made me
sore," says Knudsen at my side at this moment, "was that first swamp we
came to. It was perfectly visible, with a good dry meadow on either side
to travel in--but Jones had to bring us through it." Fence, bog, fence,
thicket, fence, small pasture with an inquisitive bull (we went across
smartly!) fence, rough climb over rocks: such was the order of our going,
till at last we heard the captain's distant whistle, and found the
remainder of the company resting comfortably by the roadside waiting for
us. But there was no soft place for the second platoon, for on we went at
once, two miles more to camp, where the other companies had long since
pitched their tents, had fed themselves, and now were streaming out
toward town to fill in the chinks in their stomachs. The best ice cream,
I am told, is at the millinery store.
For the first time since Friday I was able today to get a swim--or rather
a dip in an ice-cold stream, below a broken dam. Picturesque, so many
men's naked bodies, undressing, bathing, dressing, with the rushing
stream, the rocky bank, the overhanging trees. Then I cut my toe and had
to have it dressed at the doctor's tent, where I had a glimpse at another
side of camp life.
I met one of our fellows coming away grumbling. "My blisters were dressed
by an artilleryman who disgusted me with his profanity, and who put the
plaster on the wrong spot." But I was tended, having a more important
wound, by one of the doctors. And after my experience I can declare that
all doctors are divided into three kinds.
One was a volunteer, one of our own company, by the way, whose feet
having given out was transferred to the medical corps, and keeps an
especially kindly eye on all H company men. But he being busy, I fell
into the hands of the regulars, and had a chance to judge of the opinion
common among the rookies--"they treat you like a horse." Now regular
officers must be short and sharp with their men, and the doctors among
them are taught to be suspicious by the sojering they necessarily detect.
It must be a struggle to keep sweet the milk of human kindness.
The man who dressed my foot had succeeded in remembering that the
majority of men were neither cowards nor dishonest. He was considerate of
me and of the orderlies under him. But alongside was a scowl. A poor fat
bandsman with a lame foot was not excused from marching the next day. The
orderly who had mislaid the iodine was scalped. The orderly who had
charge of the medicine chest was also scalped. The man whose foot this
doctor was dressing was so certainly a man of character and a person of
civilian consequence that he was not scalped for presuming to turn his
ankle; but I felt the certainty that under actual campaign conditions he
would have fared no better than the others. It was borne in upon me that
a gentleman who is gentlemanly only to gentlemen is not a gentleman at
all.