the cadence is at the rate of one hundred and eighty steps a minute. It
is not a run. I have heard the captain call back a lieutenant and his
platoon: "I didn't say Run; I said Double time!"--"An easy run," says the
little blue book. An easy run! With eighteen pounds on the back, and
eight around the waist, and another nine in the hand--an easy run! Oh, in
that dust, and up that slope, it was pound, pound, pound, till my heart
thumped like the engine of a little Ford at high gear on a stiff grade,
and my knees (how well the ancients knew the importance of those joints!)
were like lead. The breath was failing, failing--till at last in a burst
of relief I got my second wind. But poor Corder! Three times, as I
watched him laboring in front of me, he flagged. Three times he visibly
mustered his powers and pounded on. The fourth time he was spent. He had
already stepped out of the column, to let us pass him, when I heard the
welcome whistle. "Halt!" Corder had strength to take his place again, we
were hustled into the ditch for cover, and I found a grateful position on
the ground. There was no talk; everyone was too busy with a shortness of
breath.
The firing in our front was now more systematic, and was spreading to the
left. It was not long before we were ordered to the right of the road,
and marching in the ditch, went forward. Then double time again, for a
short distance, and the line swung out into the road as it turned to the
right into a field. Suddenly there was the major, ordering us back into
the ditch, and his eye met mine in the midst of one of his remonstrances.
"The road is always unsafe!" Look to yourself, major, I thought, as
obediently I ducked aside and left him in the position of danger. A
ploughed field brought us to a walk; we climbed a stiff ascent, then
found ourselves facing a nasty bit of thick wood, through which we were
ordered in squad columns. Down a slope and across a gully and up again;
then we went through more open country, but still among trees. Finally we
aligned ourselves behind the top of a little rise, where we might
comfortably sit or kneel, having plenty of cover behind logs or stones.
The enemy that tried to cross the ravine below us would have a surprise.
There followed all the confusion of an attack in the woods. We heard the
enemy coming, saw at length the white hat-bands, opened fire, and heard
his heavy answer. The firing slackened on our front, strengthened on our
right, and our platoon was again detached, to take care of this new
danger. As we waited at the edge of a wood, while the major held us for
orders, a half-grown robin, with speckled breast, nervously flew about us
as if he wished to take refuge from the noises that distracted him. Into
the underbrush we plunged again, were posted here, and fired; were sent
there, and fired again; were hurried at the double to the flank, where I,
coming behind the rest, was held by the captain and posted with a
rear-guard, to fire upon the enemy if he appeared across a little
clearing. It was evident that the enemy's intentions could not be guessed
in advance. I heard very rapid firing at my back, and a burst of
cheering. Then the bugle blew, and the whistles sounded everywhere
through the wood. Of the enemy I had had few glimpses, and in general I
realized that the confusion had been extreme.
As I plodded through underbrush to rejoin my company, I came across some
white-banded fellows who, with fixed bayonets and heavy breathing, had
evidently just been charging. Meeting presently a member of our company,
I asked him what had taken place in this part of the encounter. "Oh,
those fellows? You never saw anything so foolish. They wandered out from
the woods and fixed bayonets in the open, and we fired at them for five
minutes, at a hundred and fifty yards, before they began their charge. Of
course they stopped at fifty yards from us, the rule, you know. Then our
lieutenant asked theirs what his men wore to make them bullet-proof, and
we hoped there would be some back talk, for the other fellow was mad.
Pendleton's tongue does cut. But an umpire came and ruled them out, and
we're sure of them, anyway."
Well, fighting in the woods is "impossible," as the major explained to us
later at conference. Apparently if it must be, it must, but there can be
very little science in it. At the conference our officers explained what
had happened at different parts of our line, and we were all sure that we
had won. But I noticed that the two battalions held their conferences
separately, and concluded that the same consoling deduction was being
made at the other discussion. Yet one idea must have fixed itself in the
mind of every thinking man there: we were too green, and some of our
platoon-leaders were too green, for effective work under such
circumstances. Once or twice on our skirmishes we have known that we did
well, and after the wet fight toward Cherubusco our captain ventured the
statement that he could make us soldiers in six months; but today I think
he would have doubled the period, for it was plain that a veteran enemy
determined to push his lines forward would have made short work of us in
our confusion.
One thing I learned which I shall remember to my private advantage. The
next time I find myself firing from behind a snake fence I shall not
crowd forward into one of the corners. For that brings one's ears even
with the muzzles of the rifles to the right and left, and the result is
deafening.
We had delighted the foot-loose population of Dannemora, and perhaps had
tantalized the poor fellows behind the bars; certainly we gave profitable
employment to a score of professional buzzards, who turned up with their
bags to search the woods where we had been firing. As for ourselves, we
were soon on the road again and hiking in the dust, through country which
was still too deserted and unkempt, with its brush pastures and scattered
log houses, for the taste of a New Englander. At dips and turns of the
road we saw the drab column winding before us; we passed through
straggling Cadyville and came at last to the unwelcome macadam. Our feet,
used to the gravel roads, found this unyielding surface tire us more in a
mile than the other could do in five. I admit that I was thoroughly glad
when at last we saw the camping ground, turned aside into the green
grass, and pitched our tents. Some strap of the pack having slipped, the
weight had irked me more in the last hour than it had done in all the
nine days of the hike, and it was with great relief that I swung it from
my shoulders.
Another proof of the mathematical formula that Food Indulgence equals
Indigestion. A gormandizer from a neighboring squad has lately been very
savage on account of dyspepsia. Yesterday he crawled out of bed with the
sourest expression and would scarcely respond to greetings, spoke of his
stomach, and intimated that he would ask to ride with the baggage. Yet he
marched with us, preserving so gloomy a silence that Corder,
experimenting, hailed him four times before he would answer. Then he
vouchsafed, "Every step I take my stomach hurts me," and so he stalked
on, alone amid the jollity of the marching column. We had reached camp,
and were pitching tents, when I heard his bunkie demanding his
whereabouts. He had disappeared, leaving his mate to do his work. But
before long I heard his voice, entirely bright and happy, say "Sixty
cents!" and there he stood in the midst of his squad, triumphantly
holding up a big mince pie.
Today the poor man was down again, wrapped in gloom. Again he threatened
to ask to ride, but again he managed to subdue his pains. Said I, "I
suppose that pie is paying you back." He answered, "You don't understand.
I have to buy those things because they give us so little sweet in our
diet." One has to respect misery, however caused, and I bothered him no
more.
But David has managed to subdue Pickle, who goes no longer to the
buzzards' counters, and though he complains that the struggle is hard, he
admits that the results pay. No more pains for him. So yesterday, though
at the sight of the crisp pie Pickle's eye wandered toward the pastry
booth outside the gate, when he caught David's warning glance he
controlled himself and went on with his work.
It was here at Cadyville that, for the first time since leaving
Plattsburg, we were able to have a real swim, or rather (since the water
was like ice) we found depth enough and room enough for all. Over a
meadow and down a bluff a path led from camp to a big paper mill which
stood above a gorge of the Saranac River. The huge pile of pulp, at which
men were picking and prying with pickaxe and canthook, ought to be a gold
mine in these days of high prices of paper. Beyond was the dam, higher
than a house on its clear side and (so we were told) of equal depth on
the other. Along the sides of the big basin there was room for the whole
regiment; and the dive from the dam--how the men yelled when their heads
came out, and how they swam to get ashore again!
Our last afternoon in camp! We felt that we had earned repose after a
day's hard work--a month's hard work! No more skirmishing among rocks,
stumps, and barbed wire; no more firing of the gun, and no more cleaning
of it. As we wished to hand the guns back in good condition, and as most
of our patches and oil had given out, many of us took the friendly offers
of the regulars (cavalrymen, bandsmen, cooks) who did the best business,
working in pairs, that they had yet done. Even David relaxed the severity
of his self-discipline, and handed out his gun and his quarter-dollar. We
lolled, we talked thoughtfully, we already regretted. Men exchanged
addresses, and made appointments for the distant future. I noticed that
the squad kept pretty close together, as if knowing that soon it must
separate for good. And now, rather seriously, the men are getting ready
for the last Retreat.
(_Evening._)
We have had our final conference, in a little amphitheatre at one side of
the camp. As the dusk fell the General talked to us for the last time. He
took up the subject of preparedness where he left it yesterday--what are
we to do to face an emergency, all our present methods failing, the
emergency, if it comes, sure to be so frightful? The old volunteer system
has broken down in each of our wars--the Revolutionary, the war of 1812,
the Mexican, the Civil. We have seen it, before our eyes, break down in
England now. The volunteer system is unfair--why should one man fight for
another equally fit? It is therefore undemocratic. There is only one
thing left, universal training for all young men, and conscription in war
of all of military age.
Two years ago I should have recoiled from this; a year ago I should have
shaken my head doubtfully. Today I see with relief that there is this
system to save us at need. It will save us whether there is war or, as we
all hope, peace. You know how I have worried over our national future
with this immense immigration, which yearly is less assimilated. The one
thing which will teach the young immigrant American ideals and loyalty to
his new flag, is service with all other young men for the same great
purpose. How can they stand nightly at Retreat before the flag, hear the
"Star Spangled Banner" played, salute the last sight of the colors--how
can they do this for but a single month and not feel pledged forever to
defend the old flag? I tell you, mother, when I realized tonight that
this was our last Retreat something gripped my throat and brought the
water to my eyes. Nor was I the only one, to judge from what I saw about
me.
So when the General asked us, as I suppose he has asked previous
regiments, to vote in favor of universal training, every man of us
shouted Ay!
I have asked some of the squad if they mean to come again next year, in
case the universal training movement does not put the training camps out
of business. The answer is Yes, if they can get away again. Knudsen means
to be in the cavalry; he would have gone with them this year if the
regulations had not required first a period with the infantry. David I
have not asked yet; but Corder will come back in spite of his years. "But
I must go with the quartermaster's department," he said; and when I asked
why: "It's plain enough that if I can't keep up in a charge I ought to go
where I can be of real use. Now nothing is more important than the Q. M.
department, and trained men are needed there as well as anywhere else. So
that's my job in the next camp." It's plain he'd rather march in the
ranks, but he will change rather than leave the preparedness movement to
get along without him.
During the afternoon there had been piled truckload after truckload of
cordwood at the end of the company streets. As the conference broke up
someone lighted the heap, and soon the flames, before the wind, were
leaping forty feet in the air. I took your latest letter from my pocket
and could clearly read it, though at a hundred and fifty yards' distance.
With shouts the crowd hastened to the fire, and company after company,
each in a long line of men cheering for their officers, took its turn in
a snake-dance around the blaze. As the bonfire dwindled to an immense
heap of glowing coals, a deep semi-circle gathered, sitting above it on
the hill, sang the songs of the hike, and called for solos from favorite
singers. Chums walked up and down near the fire, or in the further
darkness lay in front of tents and talked plans. Little groups gathered
here or there, then restlessly broke up and shifted as men sought
acquaintances for a last word that might be impossible tomorrow. In this
shifting kaleidoscope of men I was glad to find Hale, cured of his
bronchitis, and with a tale of how at the hospital they locked up the
men's clothes, as the only way of preventing them from escaping too soon
and rejoining the hike. The camp has been one last buzz of personal
talks, excited, pensive, or regretful.
But all is quieting now, and I am sleepy. Love, much love, from
DICK.
FROM PRIVATE SAMUEL PICKLE TO HIS BROTHER
[Without date, but evidently of the same evening.]
DEAR OLD MAN:--
You'll see me soon, perhaps sooner than you want. But there's no help for
it; I shall be turned out of here. Otherwise I should stay a month
longer. Never had such a good time in my life. Oh, yes, I remember I've
grumbled some; and I've lost six pounds and worn out two pairs of shoes.
Never put your shoes near the fire or on a stove. But for hardening of
the muscles and toughening of the hide, give me Plattsburg. If you have
any complaints to make to me at any time, think well of them beforehand.
Our David that I've told you about, he turns out to be a true sport after
all. Marches with the best of us, lives as dirty as we, enjoys it all.
The young cuss, I've grown fond of him. What do you think his latest is?
He's kept hammering at me till he's made me stop buying pies and things!
Good for the pocket-book, but particularly good for my little insides.
The last three days I haven't even had a hankering for something sweet.
Tell Nelly she needn't bother to make chocolate layer cake when I come
home, like I asked her to.
I swear I feel sorry to leave the squad. I've scarcely enjoyed this last
night at all, and though I've made as much noise as anybody, it was so as
not to show how bad I feel inside. I hate the idea of not seeing the
captain again, and the Professor who bunks with me, and especially David
who marches side of me. So I've come away from all the cheering and
singing to write to you. David has asked me to write to him. And he meant
it, too.
I'm not gloomy at coming home, you know. Really I'm crazy to see you all
again. But if once in a while you see me sitting kind of lonesome, you'll
know why.
SAM.
PRIVATE GODWIN'S LAST LETTER
Plattsburg, Oct. 5, 1916.
Sitting alone, the last one in
the old empty tent.
DEAR MOTHER:--
It will be hard for me to hold myself to the systematic narrative of this
last day, I do so wish to leap to the end and to tell you great news. But
I will be firm.
I was up early this morning, as I so often am. There is always the
distant cavalry bugle to rouse one; it blows first. Seeing the embers of
our great fire still glowing in the dusk, I went there to warm myself,
and stood there listening to the sounds from the still sleepy camp.
Drowsy voices, a footfall here and there, the crackle of fire and the
tinkle of pots at the cook tents. Even when reveille had blown there was
still for several moments this sleep-drugged quiet, in the first light of
dawn.
Then there blared out the music of the full brass band in the opening
crash of "Hail, hail, the gang's on deck!"
Silence no more. Yell upon yell, shout upon shout, cheer upon cheer--and
for a space the brass could not be heard. The noise subsided to singing
and to laughter, the music again held sway, and the camp, springing to
its work in high spirits, was beginning on its last day. The last
packing, the last mess together; then as the companies stood in line for
the last march out, the band marched in and out of the company streets,
playing to us for the last time, preceded by a score of howling
dervishes, and followed by as many others, little Cupid (my second
glimpse of him) struggling along in the rear. Then we were beginning our
march, cheerful though on macadam, and though we had learned that once
more we must skirmish, and so spoil the new spotlessness of our rifles.
It was a lovely morning, hazy, but through the mist showing to the right
a mountain with its lower sides glowing red. Not many miles to go, and we
were glad as we covered each one; but at last we heard behind us the
rifles of the cavalry, and turned to fight with them a rear-guard
engagement.
There was an hour of it, first and last. It had its individual features,
notably the tale of a squad which, after marching for some minutes under
the point blank fire of our whole platoon, tried to outflank and attack
us--but an umpire attended to them. Yet after all there must be sameness
to my descriptions, and I will press on to the important matters.
We were deployed between two highways, one the main road from Cadyville,
one running south of it. On account of our coming, various motorists had
set out to meet us, and on the northern road were a number of cars, full
of fluttering females. On the southern road stood but one. Now we were
supposed to be retiring before a superior force; but their disposition
offering an excellent chance to give them a jolt, our company was sent
through the southern fields against their flank. There was much standing
stubble and high weeds in the field through which we stole silently by
rushes, Kirby behind us and urging us on, using only short blasts of his
whistle as signals, and the vibrant tones of his penetrating voice. We
were less than a hundred yards from the enemy and he had not discovered
us; every man of us kept low to the ground, and never before had the
company worked so like a machine. Our squad was on the outer flank,
coming along the broken roadside wall, when I heard someone say from the
lone car that we were approaching. "Aren't they doing it magnificently?"
I knew the voice. It was the old colonel, standing up in the car to watch
us. With him were Vera, Frances, and their hosts the Chapmans.
The captain came close up and spoke to us. "Corporal, has your flank
guard seen any outposts?"
Bann called across the road to Knudsen. "What have you seen?" He answered
"Nothing."
Said the captain, "After the next rush I shall send your whole squad
across. Forward now to the line of that row of apple trees ahead." And at
Barm's "Follow me!" we slipped ahead not merely to the line of three old
trees, but also to the position of the waiting motor, which was just
abreast of us. While the rest of the company slipped forward to our line,
I took a satisfying look at the girls. Frances saw me, and we smiled.
Vera was absolutely intent on something behind me, of course the captain.
And still not a shot from the flank-guard in front, I think a sleepy
platoon under a sergeant. We chuckled. But then a gun went off in our
line somewhere on the right. We swore. Ahead of us the enemy broke into a
crackle of gunfire, not very heavy.
In it, so few were the guns that were firing, I clearly distinguished,
among the short dull explosions of the blanks we know so well, a sharp
and angry crack, followed by a tearing snap right over my head.
Surprised, I yet recognized the noise of the passage of a bullet. A
second time!--and then, familiar as I am with the legend of the clip of
ball cartridges, I instantly knew it to be true. And again--Crack-snap! I
heard the old colonel crying to the ladies, "Down!"
Then a long blast of the captain's whistle. I knew he was on his feet
behind me, then heard his voice through the sputter of fire that was
beginning from our own line. "Cease firing!" Over my shoulder I looked at
him, a fine manly figure in the attitude of command, one hand stretched
threateningly toward the line in front.
Then, as the roar of our guns burst out on the right, his hat flew
backward, I saw blood start out on his temple, and as if an axe had
struck him, he was down!
Quickly as I was on my feet, someone was quicker. A flash of white went
past me, and there was Vera on her knees, gathering into her lap the head
of the fallen man. I heard her little moaning cry.
In the few moments that followed I stood stupidly helpless. Our fire
stopped suddenly, as the sergeants enforced the captain's command. The
fire stopped in front. In the little circle of the branches of the old
tree we were quiet as--yes, as the grave. Vera, holding the captain's
head fiercely close, looked wildly round for help. It was Frances who
slipped by me and with her handkerchief wiped away the blood that stood
upon the temple.
Oh, the relief! A long red bruise showed where the bullet had passed.
And then he opened his eyes. Vera, looking down on him, said quite
simply, "Are you all right, Allan?"
Was he all right? Was he in heaven? At the look on his face I turned away
with sudden tears in my eyes. The rest, I know, also avoided that solemn
privacy. As it came about, mother, I turned toward Frances, and she,
quite overcome, to me. In such a moment of emotion, things happen. As she
rested on my breast, we found that she belonged there.
It was the trampling of the major's horse that brought us to ourselves.
The captain, though pale and unsteady, was on his feet. Bannister had
drawn the squad quietly out of the shade of the tree. They were looking at
the landscape; as for the major, he was most inscrutable, which happens,
you know, when there is something to scrutinize. Said he very innocently:
"The lieutenant will take the company in, Captain Kirby. I think we'd
better ask your friends here to bring you to the surgeon.--Call your men
together, Mr. Pendleton!"
The lieutenant, pale as the captain, yet looking very resolute, stepped
up to him and wrenched his hand, bowed over Vera's, turned about and blew
his whistle. With his hand he signalled the assembly. And good Bannister,
very apologetic at interrupting my love-making, said diffidently "Hem!
Squad Eight, fall in!"
But I kissed Frances before them all, and helped the captain into the
tonneau, where they established him very comfortably between the two
girls. It was not till I had got a smile from him and a proud look from
Vera that I went to my place in the company. As I went I saw out of the
corner of my eye the major and his staff holding an inquest on the
platoon that had fired on us. I wondered who had had that clip of ball
cartridges.
But they never found out. We rested for a while at the crossroads, and I
can tell you I had to stand some banter from the squad after the motor
had shot by us, with Frances's handkerchief fluttering to me. There was
very excited speculation as to the penalty for shooting the captain; some
were for a military execution when we got to camp, with burial on the
drill field. But the major came and told the lieutenant, and he passed
the word to the company--the men who fired on us had used up all their
cartridges and moved from the ground before they had been accused of the
use of ball; no one knew, apparently not even themselves, who had fired
the dangerous shots. It might happen, you know, that a stupid or excited
man might load with ball and not be aware of it. As for me, I'm not
finding any fault, nor are certain others that I could name.