AT PLATTSBURG

by

ALLEN FRENCH

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BY THE SAME AUTHORTHE HIDING-PLACES . . Net $1. 35

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AT PLATTSBURG

by

ALLEN FRENCH

New YorkCharles Scribner's Sons1917

Copyright, 1917, byCharles Scribner's Sons

Published April, 1917

TOSQUAD EIGHT

MY BOOK THE SQUAD ISN'T AS IT REALLY WAS. SOME OF YOU ARE NOT THERE, AND THE RESTARE ALTERED. BUT WHILE, ON ACCOUNT OF THESTORY THAT I NEEDED AND THE FACTS I WANTEDTO DISPLAY, I COULD NOT DRAW YOUR PORTRAITS, I HOPE I HAVE SUCCEEDED IN SHOWING THATTHING IN PLATTSBURG WHICH MEANT MOST TOME PERSONALLY, THE SPIRIT OF OUR SQUAD

PREFACE

To describe military scenes is always to rouse the keenest scrutiny frommilitary men. I write this foreword not to deprecate criticism, but toremind the professional reader that, while the scenes I have describedare all from experience, the aim in writing them was not for technicalexactness, often confusing to the lay reader, but rather for the purposeof giving a general picture of the fun and work at a training camp. 

Nowadays we are making history so fast that readers may have to bereminded that last summer occurred the mobilization on the Mexican borderof most of the regular army and many regiments of the National Guard, afact which considerably affected conditions at Plattsburg. 

The "Buzzard Song, " which my company used with such satisfaction on thehike, was written by a camp-mate, John A. Straley, who has kindly allowedme to use it, with a few minor changes. 

 Allen French. 

Concord, Massachusetts, April 3, 1917. 

AT PLATTSBURG

RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 On the train, nearing Plattsburg. Friday morning, Sep. 8, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

Though you kissed me good-by with affection, you know there was amusementin the little smile with which you watched me go. I, a modest citizen, accustomed to shrink from publicity, was exposed in broad day in a badlyfitting uniform, in color inconspicuous, to be sure, but in patternevidently military and aggressive. What a guy I felt myself, and howevery smile or laugh upon the street seemed to mean Me! The way to therailroad station had never seemed so long, nor so thronged with curiousfolk. I felt myself very silly. 

Thus it was a relief when I met our good pastor, for I knew at the firstglance of his eye that my errand and my uniform meant to him, as they didto me, something important. So strong was this comforting sense that Ieven forgot what importance he might attach to them. 

But fixing me with his eye as I stopped and greeted him (being withineasy hurrying distance of the station) he said in pained surprise: "Andso you are going to Plattsburg?"

Then I remembered that he was an irreconcilable pacifist. Needing noanswer, he went on: "I am sorry to see that the militarist spirit hasseized you too. "

Now if anything vexes me, it is to be told that I am a militarist. "Notthat, sir, " said I. "War is the last thing that I want. "

"Train a man to wield a weapon, " he rejoined, "and he will itch to useit. " I think we were both a little sententious because of the approach ofthe train. "Your argument is, I suppose, that the country is in danger?"

"Exactly, " I replied. 

He raised both hands. "Madness! No one will attack us. "

I refrained from telling him that with so much at stake I was unwillingto accept even treaty assurances on that point. He went on. "The wholeworld is mad with desire to slay. But I would rather have my son killedthan killing others. "

He is proud of his son, but he is prouder of his daughter. Said I, "Ifwar comes, and we are unprepared for it, you might have not only your sonkilled, but your daughter too. "

Horrified, he had not yet begun to express himself on the impossibilityof invasion, when the train came. So we parted. To tell the truth, I amnot sorry that he feels so: it is very ideal. And I regret no longerhaving my own fine feeling of security. It is only a year or so ago thatI was just such a pacifist as he. 

If I in my new uniform was at home a curiosity, when I reached Boston Ifound myself merely one among many, for the North Station was full ofPlattsburgers. There is great comfort in being like other folk. A thickcrowd it was at our special train, raw recruits with their admiringwomen-folk or fun-poking friends. The departure was not like the leavingof soldiers for the front, such as we saw in July when the boys went toTexas. We should come back not with wounds, but with a healthy tan andmuch useful experience. So every one was jolly, except for a young couplethat were walking up and down in silent communion, and sometimesfurtively touching hands--a young married pair, I thought, before theirfirst separation. 

We were off without much delay, a train-load wholly of men, and allgreenhorns. For all of us had nice fresh crinkly blouses, and olive-drab(properly o. D. ) knees not yet worn white (as I have seen on returningPlattsburgers) while our canvas leggings were still unshaped to our manlycalves. Our hats were new and stiff, and their gaudy cords were bright. And we were inquisitive of the life that was ahead of us, readily makingacquaintance in order to compare our scraps of information. Dismay ranhere and there with the knowledge that the typhoid inoculation requiredthree weekly doses. Thank goodness, that is over with for me. We tried tobe very soldierly in bearing, evidently an effort in other cases thanmine. One fellow had his own gun along; he wanted, he said, to make agood score on the range. So I had my first chance to handle an armyrifle. 

You know that when I left, you had been worrying as to how I should standthe strain of the coming month's work. I will admit that I have beenwondering about it myself. I have worked very hard for the last fewyears, practically without vacation, in order to marry as suited Vera'sideas. And then, two years after she had said Yes, and when my earningsought to satisfy any woman, began the complex strain of the breaking ofthe engagement--the heart burnings, the self-searching, the difficultcoming to an understanding. And now that she and I have parted friends, with both of us quite satisfied, I have been realizing how much run downI am, so that it has seemed quite possible that Plattsburg life might betoo strenuous for me. But a good look at my companions has made it clearthat I can stand up with the average of them. A fair number of them, tobe sure, are brown and seasoned by the summer. But quite as many are paleand stooped from desk work, or pasty from good living. If I fall out, Ishall have plenty of company. 

I write this letter while the train is approaching Plattsburg. When Iwoke this morning we were at a standstill in some railway yard, andbeside us was standing another train, labelled like ours, doubtlesscarrying the New York men. It drew out ahead of us, and I suppose itsinmates are now debarked, and gawking about them as presently mycompanions and I shall gawk. Tonight I shall write again. Affectionately

 DICK. 

DAVID RIDGWAY FARNHAM, 3D, TO HIS MOTHER

 On the Train to Plattsburg. Friday morning, Sept. 8th. 

DEAR MAMA:--

It is unlucky that both of our cars were out of order just when I wasstarting for Plattsburg. For the train has been very hot and stufy, andso crowded. I tried once more to get myself a statroom, but when theagent said I should have to be with three other men, then I just gave up, and got the porter to make up my upper birth early, and climbed into itthough I wasn't sleepy at all. But it was something to get by myself andbe a little privat. 

I spoke to a few of the fellows, but I couldn't make much out of them. One had never been to college, and another knew nothing of automobiles, and another began talking about the drill regulations, but you know Inever even bought the book. The whole train was one big smoking car, andsome fellows near me were very noisy over a game of poker. 

I suppose I shall mannage to get along with these fellows, because I knowI must if I want what father promised me, and if the fellows at theCasino aren't to laugh at me. But so far as I can see, everyone on thetrain isn't at all my kind. Father doesn't understand how I feel aboutfellows who are not in our set. I don't look down on them, you know, forI'm sure most of them are very nice fellows of their sort. But I neverknew anyone of their kind before, and what am I to talk to them about?Its all very well for father to say that I can get something worth whilefrom every man I meet; but he's a business man, and so he's used to them. 

You mustn't think I'm unhappy if I say I shall miss you and shall hate tobe confined by the camp regulations. I'm not going to back out for fatherand cousin Walt have put it up to me to see the thing through and thoughI'm kind of used to disapointing father I don't intend that Walt shallthink I'm sandless. 

But when the camp breaks up you must be sure to be here, with theRolls-Royce, to take me home. I don't think I could stand another triplike this. Love from, DAVID. 

PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Plattsburg Camp. Friday evening, Sept. 8. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

I had scarcely finished my letter of this morning when the train began toslow down, and then drew up alongside a wide and gently sloping field, while on the other side was the lake. With our luggage we poured out intothe field, evidently our training ground, since beyond it were tentedstreets, with some big open-sided buildings that doubtless had somemilitary use, since we saw rookies going in and out. In haste to get ourshare of what was to be had, we consulted the printed slips handed to usin the train. 

"On arriving at camp: First, Carry your hand baggage to the Y. M. C. A. "

Where was the Y. M. C. A. ? There was no building standing near of evenso much as two stories. There were tents and there were shacks, but evenwhen we came to a street busy with electrics, automobiles, motor trucks, and foot passers, nothing of any size was to be seen. But as I followedalong with the rest, noting that almost everybody we met, from the ridersin the autos to the drivers of the trucks, was military, I saw a skeletonstructure, tar-paper-roofed, and bearing the magic letters for which wewere looking. There regulars--artillerymen with red-corded hats--receivedour bags through the open frontage and stored them alphabetically. 

"Second. Go to the mess-shacks for breakfast. "

We went. We breakfasted. The mess shacks were those other open-sidedbuildings on the drill-field which I had already seen; theirconstruction, being merely tarred roofs on posts and walled with mosquitonetting, promised no elegance of fare. Nor was the fare elegant: milk, coffee, cereal, hard boiled eggs, bread, butter, a bruised apple. Themilk was of two kinds, real and canned. Used in the coffee, or with sugaron the cereal, the canned milk was good enough as poured from a holepunched in the container; but a wise man near me prophesied that I shouldnot like to drink it when diluted. Flat, he said. Tasted like chalk. Doubtless it was chemically correct, but (you see how scientific he was)the metabolism of the body despises chemical synthesis, and for realnourishment the palate must be satisfied. 

"Third. At once after breakfast go to the Adjutant's Office and enroll. "

So we stood in line, and when on nearing the window of the office I heardthe Adjutant say to a predecessor, "Where's your thirty dollars?" I gotout my greenbacks and presently paid them in, twenty-five for ourmaintenance at camp, five to be returned if during our stay we had notdamaged any of Uncle Sam's property. And since the adjutant assigned meto a company, I began to feel that I was getting somewhere. 

"Fourth. Exchange your baggage checks for camp claim checks. "

None of that for me. I had known enough to bring but a large suit-case, leaving behind everything that I could persuade myself was unnecessary. There was a memorandum on the printed slip to the effect that trunks andother large pieces of baggage would be stored at the post barracks, whereowners could visit them on Sunday mornings. A sad weekly ceremony for onewho had to choose from an excess of luxuries!

"Fifth. Report to the officer commanding your Company. "

I did not find him. Though again I stood in line, this time with men withwhom I was to associate, those to whom I reported in the Orderly Tent atthe head of H company street were but sergeants and volunteers likemyself, though men of more experience, as I could tell by their weathereduniforms and faded hat-cords. They filled out a card concerning me, ledme to the tent pole, and measuring my height with a crude but effectiveinstrument, announced "Tent Eight. "

"Sixth. Bring your hand baggage to your tent. "

So I brought it from the Y. M. C. A. Now the topography of the camp isthus. Just within the enclosure, and parallel with the street outside, runs the officers' street, their tents along one side of it, each withits little sign bearing the occupant's name. From the other side, towardthe drill ground and the lake, lead away the company streets with doublerows of khaki tents facing each other. All were on a thin and barrensoil, where between the tents some few weeds straggled, while everywhereelse men's feet had killed all growth. No! For in front of one of thetents, under the protection of its ropes, grew a half-dozen thrifty pansyplants, all in bright bloom. But elsewhere all was brown sand that lookedas if it might blow dust in clouds, but which also, I was glad to see, looked as if it might absorb all ordinary rains. The street, about midwayof its length, rose a little, then dropped, and straddling this ridge Ifound Tent 8, in the best possible position should the weather turn wet. As I entered, stooping, I peered about the shadowed interior. 

The dry floor was ploughed into holes and ridges by the feet of the lastoccupants. One man, bearded and grizzled, was sitting on a cot in onecorner, exploring the interior of a big blue canvas bag; a professor ordoctor person, who gave me one keen glance, briefly said "Good day, " andwent on with his occupation. A second bed, already neatly set up andequipped, stood in another corner. Its owner, lithe and keen, a fellow ofabout twenty-five, was watching a third, man-sized but boy-faced, who wasstruggling with a cot in its chrysalis stage, being apparently quiteunable to unfold it. I knew the lad at a glance, young David RidgwayFarnham 3d, whose cousin Walter was in my class, to whom I was best man, as you remember, some five years ago. Now young David has been thelaughing stock of the family, spoiled with riches and an indulgent mamma. Walter told me that many tutors, on princely salaries, just managed toget him through Harvard this year. And here he was at Plattsburg!However, he couldn't know me, so I disposed my things in a corner. 

The lithe and keen person seemed lither and keener at second glance. Hewas of a splendid blond type, with flashing blue eyes; everything abouthim was perfectly straight, his backbone, his nose, his close-croppedfair hair, the thin-lipped mouth, the drop of his chin, and even theprecipitous fall of his high cheek-bones. He had not noticed me at all, so intent was he on the struggles of young Farnham. A very efficientperson he seemed, and immediately proved it. For Farnham, with thatappealing helplessness which I remember in him as a charming child (youknow that with his brown eyes, curly hair, and rosy skin he's as handsomeas a girl) looked up at his watcher. He immediately said: "Bend the legthe other way. Now the next one. Now spread the whole thing out. Nowspring those two cross-pieces into place. " But even then, though the cothad gained a recognizable shape, Farnham was still baffled. His handswere soft, and so were his muscles. "This way, " said the other after amoment. And sitting on the cot, with his feet he forced the cross-bar atone end into position, then swung about and put the other one into place, and the thing was done. 

"Thanks, " said young David, politely but not warmly, in a way that showedhow used he is to being waited on. "Have a cigarette? I suppose weshall--er--room together. My name is Farnham. "

"Mine is Knudsen, " said the other. And then I appreciated the cause ofhis blondness. 

"I'm from Harvard, class of 'sixteen, " said young David. Well-grown as heis, I couldn't help thinking of him as young. 

"I'm from Buffalo, " said Knudsen shortly. "I run a foundry there. " Hisblue eyes were unwavering and quite expressionless as he looked Farnhamover. 

"Farnham? Farnham?" said the man with the short pointed beard. The othersturned and looked at him. "I remember now. You were in my section inEnglish A, your Freshman year. "

"Oh, " said young David. "Professor Corder. Of course. How de do? Iremember that you flunked me. "

"But you got through English D after two tries, " said Corder. "Such iscollege life. "

As none followed up the subject, I asked where they got their equipment. On their direction I went to the store-tent at the head of the street, where on the strength of my signature an obliging regular intrusted to mevarious listed articles, which I lugged to the tent. 

This domicile is in the shape of a pyramid on a three foot wall, aboutsixteen feet on a side, the whole supported by a solid post held by aniron tripod. The tent contains eight beds, the corporal's always to theright of the entrance, the others in a mystic order which I will notbother you with. As yet we did not know how we were to fall in, but I setup my cot modestly among the rear rank, put under it my suit case, laidon the cot a mattress and pillow, properly cased in light duck, andgarnished the whole with three blue blankets which promise comfort inthis September weather. And then I dove into the blue bag. 

First on the list, a sweater, o. D. , like all the outfit, and very heavy. 

A poncho. A rubber oblong with button-holes along three sides, and aslit, provided with a collar, less than halfway down the middle. 

A shelter-half. That was the strangely shaped piece of brown duck, inpattern something like a big old-fashioned kite, with unsymmetricalbutton-holes and loops of rope. 

Five tent-pins. Aluminum, ridged and bent. 

A pack. A queerly outlined piece of canvas, provided with straps ofwebbing, wider or narrower, with buckles, rings, and a big pocket. Itsattachments numerous and incomprehensible. 

A cartridge belt. Easily recognized, with its many pockets and numberlesseyelets. 

A first-aid kit. In a sealed tin box, buttoned in a pocket attached tothe belt. 

A canteen in a cloth case. Not flat and circular, but solid and bulky. 

A bacon tin. Hm--a small box?

A condiment can. A double ended contraption, in one end of which had oncebeen powdered chocolate. 

A meat can. An oval sauce-pan, with a lid over which the hinged handleshuts down. 

A knife, fork, and spoon. 

I stuffed them away again, shed my blouse, as I saw the others weredoing, and was therefore ready when, our squad having filled up, the callcame for us to fall in. Out into the street we tumbled, each of the dozenand a half tents furnishing a squad, the squads falling in according tonumber. The sergeants formed us, got us into column of squads, andmarched us away down the public street, where military persons of allkinds went by, from lone privates to officers driving automobiles, andwhere the only notice taken of us was by civilians in motor-parties, whocame to see our zoo. 

So here I was, for the first time in my life marching in the ranks, likeany private not knowing where or why. For a quarter, a half, threequarters of a mile we went at a quick pace on the macadam, till my softtissues knew what was meant by the "hammer, hammer, hammer on the hardhighway. " And my misery had plenty of company. The man in front of me, abulky person, was wringing wet, and I saw another fellow with the sweatactually dripping off his chin. It was a welcome relief to turn in at abig gate, pass between brick buildings, and come onto a great grass fieldacross which we marched directly toward a building with a long portico, on which the sight of rookies waiting promised us rest. Very willingly webroke ranks at command. We learned from our predecessors that we werethere for physical examination. 

When our turn came at last it was all very brisk and business-like, andsoon I was passed as being sound in body and feet. With most of us theordeal was equally successful; but one poor chap sat melancholy in ablanket, waiting for a second test. Then I straggled back to camp withProfessor Corder, who confessed himself just under the age-limit offorty-five. In spite of his successful examination he acknowledged alittle anxiety as to whether he could stand the work; has coddledhimself, he acknowledges, for years; worries about the effect of woollenstockings: I imagine that most men of his age here have some suchanxiety. 

When enough of us had dribbled back to camp we were again assembled, andwere taken down to the drill-field by the sergeant. And there for thefirst time in my life I saw a West Pointer at his work. He appeared fromsomewhere, and the sergeant handed us over to him. A tall and lithefellow he is, so graceful that not even his military carriage candisguise it. He has an olive-dark skin, hair that curls at the temples, black eyes, nose straight and thin, and lips curving like a woman's. Givehim the drooping mustache of older days, and what a romantic figure hewould make! I knew him at once for a Southerner, from his coloring, hisphysical beauty, and a slight trace of languor, real or affected. 

But he knew his business. There is an uncertainty about the sergeants, asthinking "Am I doing this right?" But though he looked at us out of eyesthat were a little sleepy his tenor was clear as a silver bugle, and (ifyou can excuse the mixture of similes) it snapped like a whip. Nohesitation, nor even any thought as to what he should do next. Westraightened at the first command he flung at us, and in three minutes wewere working to please him. The position of a soldier! Was there theslightest spark of amusement in his eyes as he described it to us, as ifto say "You mob of clerks and manufacturers and professional men can'treally take this position"? I never "lifted and arched" my chest sothoroughly. Did he intimate as he gave his other commands, "You men mayplay at doing this, but really it takes a soldier to succeed"? If thiswas his meaning, certainly it put us on our mettle. What he gave us werethe facings and the steps and marchings, the simple movements by fours, guiding and dressing. When we blundered, there was his little concealedsmile to make us swear to do the thing right next time. As we marched hekept pace with us, and then all his languor was gone. His step wasspringy, his arms swung, his eye roved up and down the line, and hesnapped out his "One, two, three, four!" each like a little pistol shot. Remarked Corder, beside me, "His time is absolutely perfect--do younotice?" I had noticed. The sergeants tried to imitate his counting, butcompared to him they were hoarse and spiritless. 

And he was only our lieutenant! The first sergeant called him such, inanswering a question; and then I noticed the single bar on his collar. What would the captain be like?

The bugle blew Recall, and it was very welcome. We were marched back tothe company street and dismissed. My rear rank man was one Pickle, ahardware clerk from a town in central Pennsylvania, who never in his lifesaw a big league baseball game, and yet can tell you the names andrecords of all the chief players, especially of the Brooklyns, for whichclub he is a rooter. He said of the lieutenant: "One of those wirywonders, Tireless Thomas of the Training-field. Doesn't he never rememberthat we are flesh and blood? Me for my little cot!" Following hisexample, more than half of the squad lay down till roused by the newsthat our rifles were being served out. So we flocked out in haste to getwhat would give us lamed shoulders and tired arms. Being thus roused, Inext went for a swim in the lake, which was stony and cold and altogetherinvigorating. 

The lieutenant had us out again in the afternoon, us and the guns. Consequently we were put through the manual of arms until the anticipatedlameness is now a reality, not only of the arms but of the whole body. Ifind it is not enough to shift your rifle according to prescribedmotions; it must be snappy, and in cadence. "Like a clock-work, " mutteredPickle in despair. And it is a crime to drop a rifle. Its firstcommission roused our lieutenant from his languor. "Who dropped thatpiece?" he thundered. Then he outpoured contempt. "There'll be glue onlittle Willie's fingers next time, sure, " whispered Pickle. 

Tired at the end of the day, I yet feel virtuous, having devoted to mycountry a pound of my flesh. I write by lantern light in the tent, therehaving been no conference tonight on account of rain. Most of the squadare away, exploring the city; but Corder is already abed and sleeping--"as insurance, " he said to me, explaining his middle-aged caution. Ishall follow him soon. Good-night from

 DICK. 

Postscript, written Saturday morning at 5. 30, waiting for breakfast. 

We have in our squad one Randall, a person of recent Yaleextraction--though (having good Yale friends) I don't lay it up againstthe college. Yesterday he established his bed in the corporal's place, which so far the rest of us had modestly avoided; and he fell foul ofyoung David ten minutes after he had come among us. The two are evidentlythe youngest of us, with "college" sticking out all over them, and somight naturally draw together. But there is a still more naturalantagonism between them, of the thoroughbred for the mongrel. For youngFarnham, in spite of his effeminacy, has the instincts of his ancestors;and Randall, in spite of a magnificent physique, carries round with himsomething that says to David, "Don't trust him!" What makes personality?I declare I cannot put my finger on the thing that makes me sure thatRandall is yellow; but David has seen it, and has drawn back from it. Ninety-nine Yale men may slang Harvard, and the Harvard man will take itin good part--and _vice-versa_; but Randall is the hundredth, and he saida few things that made David tremble, not with anger but with disgust. "Have a cigarette?" asked Randall at the end. "No, thanks, " answeredDavid. --"Oh, he doesn't smoke!" cried the other. "I do, " said David, andlit his own cigarette. I'm sorry for it. Probably Randall can make Davidpay for this declaration of war. Yet I'm glad too. And you should haveseen Knudsen's eye flash, and then soften as he looked at the youngfellow. 

War has been continuing these last few minutes. In the most ridiculousway David, after his shower bath, messed round with a shaving brush and apiece of soap, trying to get a lather on his face. Randall saw it first, and with roars of laughter called our attention to him. Corder, whoinstantly understood, quietly twinkled; but Knudsen wrinkled his brow atthe boy. "Have you never done that before?" he demanded. Said innocentDavid, "I forgot to get my man to show me. " "Your _man_?" asked Knudsen. "His valet!" screamed Randall, overcome with the humor of the situation. Knudsen, never having been acquainted with the Harvard Gold Coast, showedin his keenly intelligent face first amazement, then disgust, then to mypleasure a kind of pity. In a moment he had both brush and soap in hishands, and soon plentifully lathered David. The boy then took his razor, one of the old style, and immediately gashed himself. 

With indulgent impatience Knudsen took the razor, sat the boy down, andmuttering to himself that he'd never tried this job before, skilfullyshaved one half of David's face, at each moment explaining the use of theweapon. "Why didn't you get a safety razor?" he demanded. The ladanswered, "My cousin Walter uses this kind. " I remember that he used toidolize Walt, as all the younger fellows did; if he still has some of thefeeling there's hope for him. Knudsen made him shave the other half ofhis face himself--a botched job, but still David finished it. Randallremarked that safety razors were best for girls, and when David finallyemerged fresh, pink, and handsome in spite of his wounds, Randall said, "Now you're yourself again, Miss Lucy. "

The boy's face is very sensitive; I saw that he was more hurt than angry, and he flushed deeply with the pain of it. It was Knudsen who was angry, but he said nothing. Corder still watched quizzically. I know that thetitle will stick. It is not ten minutes since the word was uttered, andwe are already taking it up as David's name. Randall uses it flagrantly, the rest of us as a matter of course, all except Knudsen. "Come on, Lucy, " he said just now when the first call for assembly sounded, andwith his hand on David's shoulder he went with him into the street, protectively, I think. 

I shall close this and send it off. Again love from

 DICK. 

PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Saturday, Sep. 9, 1916. At the Y. M. C. A. Nearing 9 P. M. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

My tremendous postscript of this morning has somewhat led me out of theorder of the day. I found myself awake at reveille, and rolled willinglyout of bed. At the spigot, the one and only article of convenience at thelower end of the company street, I found a helpful comrade who gladlysoused me from a bucket, and the day was begun. Back in the tent I foundthe fellows slowly coming to consciousness, all except that accurate andcareful elder, Corder, who was dressing with great preciseness after ashower bath, and was calmly pleased at having no particular symptoms ofold age to report. He and I have a valuable distinction as the only menin the squad with foresight enough to have been _typhinated_, worth whileon this day when the others must submit to inoculation, if they want torun no risk on the hike. Then David's shaving, as described. It was coldwhen we finally turned out, and our humane lieutenant, placing himself ona table at the head of the street, while we in open formation faced him, put us through setting-up exercises that warmed us sufficiently to bravethe chilly mess-shacks for our breakfast. 

It was there that David found me out. He first got my given name, Richard. Then he made me acknowledge that I was in Harvard, 1910. At thenext pause he said, "My cousin Walter Farnham was in that class. " "Yes, "said I, and talked to the man on my other side. That stumped David, thatanyone should know his cousin Walt and not be eager to talk about him. Hedid not approach the subject again till he and Knudsen and I and Corderwere together in the tent. Then he put it right up to me. "Weren't you mycousin's best man?" "I was, " said I, and Sick Call having just blown, Iwent out, saying that I wanted to see who answered it. I know Knudsen andCorder looked at me hard; as for David, he cried out, "Oh, I beg yourpardon!" I have reasoned out that with his delicate social perceptionsand the stock of gossip that his mother supplies him with, he must haveconcluded that I was not in the mood to talk of weddings; but the realfact is that I don't intend to be enlisted as his nurse. As for the otherside of it, I know I can depend on him not to tell the others about Veraand me. 

When I came back, it being about time for drill, I found him explainingthat while of course he'd not had his "man" at college, he always used abarber there. The man, I'm sure, was with him at all other times. Thenwhen we fell in I heard a fellow from another squad call David Lucy. Thatwas Randall's doing. Presently it will be all up and down the street. ButRandall will be the only one to have any feeling about it. With theothers now it is a matter of course, even with David himself. 

Our morning's work began on the drill-field, with its open drainagetrenches yawning for our feet and its scattered mounds to stumble on. Gaywork, this learning to walk in the right place, stand in the right way, toss your nine pound rifle about as if it were a straw, and all with buta moment or two for thought between the first order and the second. EvenPickle was silent this morning, intent like the rest of us on his job. Weare all so green that, except for the occasional old-timer, no one wasgiving his neighbor any advice. 

Then on a sudden we were tested. "All who have had any previousexperience" were required to step one pace to the front. There were notmany of them. Then "all who wish to be corporal, " or words to thateffect. With about half the company I took the forward pace. Thelieutenant separated these goats from the humbler sheep, sent us under asergeant to another part of the field, and himself took charge of theremainder. The sergeant divided us up into twos and set us by turns todrilling each other, evidently to test our knowledge and our ability togive commands. 

Pickle was my victim, or I was his. We eyed each other doubtfully. "Youbegin, " said I. "No, you, " retorted he. "Gee, what a gink I was to thinkI wanted to be corporal!" So I tackled the job; and of course, not beingused to it, I made long pauses between the commands, gave them wrong, could not assume a proper military accent. It's not so easy. I haveheard, in the armory at Boston, a militia captain (_captain_, mind you!)give the command "Attention!" in three different ways, continuallyexperimenting. So how could I, for the first time in my life, rap out myorders like a veteran? What we had to do was absurdly simple; but poorPickle, when I balked, succeeded no better than I, so finally we fell toconsulting each other about it and became idle, like other groups that wesaw. Then came our way another pair, who being as experienced as we aregreen, speedily took us in charge and manhandled us almost as skilfullyas the lieutenant. I presently saw our West Pointer observing thedrilling groups, and with him another with two bars on his collar, thesame erectness, and the same natural air of knowing his business. The twowere like farmers judging cattle, disposing of each one with swiftness, taking rapid notes, and then herding us together into our original ranksfor a final shaking down. The captain disappeared, but I hoped he was tobe ours, for though I had had but sidewise glimpses of him, there seemeda fine frank openness about him that I liked. 

Sure enough, in the afternoon he appeared in this wise. The company wasassembled and marched out onto the highway, where we stood in double rankwith our hats off, for a final sizing up. I heard a new voice, deep andpowerful, at the further end of the line; then along he came with thelieutenant, rapidly sizing us up, counting us off, thrusting in a new manhere and there, the new men to be our corporals. Randall disappeared intoanother squad, and we have now as corporal one of those two who drilledPickle and me this morning. There are these others of us: Pickle, Corder, Knudsen, Lucy, Clay, a handsome young Southern medical student, andReardon, a grocer's clerk from a little town in Connecticut. Our corporalis Bannister, manager of the routing department, whatever that may be, ofa tool-making establishment near Detroit. For a mixed crowd, of ages fromgrizzled Corder down to the very new graduate, what could be better? Thecaptain, having put us all in place, called us to attention without anyfuss, and stated that the new Number Four men were to be our squadleaders "until such time as other men proved themselves to be better. --Sogo to it, " he added grimly. Then he marched us back to the street, wherethe tents were all freshly numbered with chalk, and dismissed us to putour beds in the proper order. 

Since military regulations cover the positions of beds in the tent, almost every man had to shift his place. A genius discovered that thiswas a good time to begin with a level floor, the idea ran rapidly fromsquad to squad, and presently the street was filled with piled cots andheaped baggage, while from each door came clouds of dust. Our floorlevelled, taking care to preserve the pitch of the ridge that runsthrough it, we moved in again, even before the dust was settled. As I amNumber One of our front rank, I bunk to the left of the door; peer aroundthe opening, and you will see my feet. Our rifles and bayonets we keep ina gun rack that leans against the tripod of the tent-pole; and oursurplus clothes we hang from a square frame that is suspended higher up. These two conveniences are squad property, being bought at a dollar eachfrom a Jewish-looking gentleman who offered them for sale, their evidentusefulness forcing the bargain. As they are most roughly built of lightlumber, and have plainly served in each of the previous camps this year, there is good profit to the speculators who supplied them in the firstplace, and who gather them up when they are abandoned at the breaking upof each camp, only to sell them again. The tax on the squad is not great, but I wonder why the camp management allows outsiders such princelytakings. 

Feeling energetic, I began digging out the old ditch that surrounds ourtent, to make it better able to carry off water in the next storm. Knudsen insisted on doing his share, then Corder took the spade from himfor the next side. When Pickle, who was standing ready, said "_You_ don'tneed to work, " Corder asked plaintively, "Do I seem as old as that?" Sohe was allowed to do his stint. Lucy placidly watched us. 

Then, it being yet early afternoon, the typhoid candidates, more thanhalf the company, were gathered up and taken away to be punctured. Thesmall remainder of us were taken to the drill field and were delivered tothe sergeants, apparently that they might show their mettle in thepresence of the officers. Now you know that every calling has its testsof a man; in this soldier business the first lies in the ability to standup and give your orders with such confidence in yourself that your menshall feel confidence in you. There were two of the sergeants that Inoticed for their difference in this respect. The one was sunburned, tall, and lean; his brows jutted, his eyes under them were steady andsharp, his shoulders were square, and he had a very firm pair ofbow-legs, which in some men is not displeasing. He knew his job; hisvoice rolled like the deep notes of an organ; we knew what he meant forus to do, and we did it. The other man was narrow and chicken-breasted, his long legs weak, his smile a smirk, his pronunciation so affected thatwe disgraced him because we blundered from pure lack of comprehension. Why is it that men's outsides so often correspond to their innards? Andhow did the latter of these two get his job? I suppose he has done someservice to warrant his sergeant's stripes. 

Corder and I went to the lake to swim. He interests me by the carefulstudy of his condition; is afraid that some sign of old age will developto send him away, and is almost boyishly pleased to find himself able todo all the work. "And I hope, " said he, "that I shall learn to standstraighter. One feels a certain pride when in uniform, and I try to fillmine out, if only to escape hearing some youngster say, 'Gee, get ontothat hollow-chested professor chap as a rookie!' But it's hard to keepstraight. " The prime of life, he said to me again, isn't so very prime. 

When we came back the street was full of invalids. Army serum must workquick, for half the arms of the inoculees were lame, and when Ithoughtlessly touched Pickle on the shoulder he howled. "The guy thatcounted out my half billion bugs, " said he, "must have thrown in an extrahundred thousand for good measure. And they're all working overtime. " AtRetreat there was some difficulty in coaxing arms into blouses, and anumber of men asked to be excused from evening duties for the solepurpose of lying upon their couches and staring at the canvas. 

The rest of us marched to our first conference, on the slope of the drillfield below the furthest mess-shacks, where we were massed in asemi-circle. It was an interesting sight, a thousand men in olive-drabslowly blending with their background as the dusk grew, yet with thefaces of most of them showing up in the coming moonlight. Behind thespeaker were the lake and the mountains, with the moon just beginning toglimmer on the little waves. It was the General himself who addressed us, welcoming us, speaking briefly of the purpose of our coming, expressingconfidence that we would work as hard as our predecessors: a fineman-to-man address. I could not help thinking of a German general that Ionce heard speak to _Einjaehriger_--stiff, short, and unapproachable. Wood was stimulating, and made us readier for our duties. 

The moon was brighter when we got back to the company street, and someonehad lighted a fire at its head. Here a hundred of us, including some ofthe invalids, packed together in a circle around our new captain, whilehe spoke to us briefly. I had a good view of him. Shorter than thelieutenant, yet still a tall man, very strongly made, he spoke, like thegeneral, as man to man, and the least thing he appeared to expect was anydifficulty with us. He told us that the work was hard and tiresome; hewould make it as easy as possible, but he knew we were there to work, andwe could depend on him (without a twinkle) to give us everything that wascoming to us. His tent was right at the head of the street; he wanted usto come to him at any time for any question; it was his business (andagain no twinkle) to make our minds as well as our bodies comfortable. Thus I get the impression that he is something of a humorist, yet alsothat his chief trait is aggressiveness. I cannot tell you why, for allwas spoken with a quiet voice, even with a certain gentleness thatdisguises what I am sure is the basic character of the man. Knudsen feltit too, for as we walked away from the conference he said: "The captain'sa scrapper. "

"He's a Southerner, " said Clay with satisfaction. It had been plain inhis accent. 

This letter, begun Saturday night, I finish Sunday morning. Send me, please, a dozen clothes pins, to keep my washing on the tent-ropes. Pickle hung up his wet towel today, and had to chase it into the nextcompany street. As everywhere is the same black sand, you can imagine itscondition, likewise that of a moist cake of soap when you accidentallydrop it--excellent for scouring, but not good for other cleaning purposesuntil its new covering is dissolved away. Send me also some paper napkinsfolded; the supply at the mess-shacks sometimes gives out. 

A bit of character. Lucy was looking this morning rather helplessly athis silk pajamas, and wondering where he could get them washed, whenthere entered the tent a handsome and stalwart regular. "Washing?" heinquired respectfully. "Oh, " asked Lucy hopefully, "are you an agent forsome laundress?" "No, " said the man, "I wash them myself. I guarantee toreturn everything tomorrow, properly done. " The boy was not merelysurprised, but almost shocked. "_You_ do the work?" he asked. Then hisnative kindness came to his aid, and he was about to bundle all hisclothes into the fellow's hands, when Knudsen said, quietly but verypointedly, "When I'm here at camp I wash my own clothes. " David flushedquite pink. "Then I think I'll do the same. "

"It's good for him, " said Knudsen to me afterward. "It's good for him tobe called Lucy. It's good for him to learn to shave himself with thatrazor. I was going to tell him to buy himself a safety razor, but thoughtI'd better not. "

I'm glad I left David to find his own nurse. Knudsen manages him withcertainty. On the other hand the boy likes him immensely, even though thetaciturn Swede does but a small share of the talking when they aretogether. He is a foundryman, had a hard struggle to establish hisgrowing business, and has in consequence a fierce outlook on the world, as one who at any time may have to fight for his own. David, bypersistent but most tactful questioning, has brought out two salientfacts in his biography. Knudsen is first the son of an immigrant, talksSwedish in his home, has none of the American background which to Davidis a man's birthright. And second he is a college man, from Hobart. Overthese two facts the boy is sadly perplexed. Legally, Knudsen is asAmerican as the rest of us--but can he be? Socially he is also all right, since he is a college man--but after all can you call Hobart a college?Don't blame David. It's not his fault if he's narrow-minded. 

I shall close and mail this letter now, and at the first convenientopportunity shall begin the next. I foresee that my letters to you willbe practically a continuous performance. Love from

 DICK. 

FROM PRIVATE SAMUEL PICKLE TO HIS BROTHER

 Plattsburg Training Camp. Sunday, Sept. 10, 1916. 

Say, Tony, what a mutt I was not to get myself jabbed for typhoid beforeI came here! It would have been worth the money. Today my arm feels likea hornet's nest, with roots up into my shoulder and down my ribs. And myhead is light and wavy--that's fever. I saw one guy keel over stiff whenthe doctor stuck him, and the poor corp of our squad says he'd swap jobswith his rear-rank man if he could only feel like a boy again. 

They feed you here with food that's like ourselves, coarse and plentiful. I'll never again call sister's doughnuts sinkers; wish I could see anykind of a doughnut. The table china is delicate French--nit. The waitersare in livery. The man with a long reach will grow fat while othersstarve. Take care not to spill anything; it may fall into your hat thathangs under the table. Iced tea should be iced and should be tea; milkshould be milk. When you see a thing that you want, ask for it; theplatter will get to you even if the food don't. Elbows on the table arecomfort but bad form, same as at home. The men that stay longest at tabletake pains to tell you that they eat slow. Eat first whatever is handiestwhen you sit down; why be idle while your soup is coming?

It's considered impolite to drink at the company spigot, but there's norule against cleaning your teeth there. The best way to rinse yourstocking after soaping is to hold it over the nozzle like a bag, andsqueeze it while the water runs through. It takes so long to get hotwater here that you'd better learn to shave with cold. I never beforemade my toilet out on the sidewalk, but a fellow can get used toanything. 

You may talk of being chambermaid to a cow, but it's worse being groom toa gun. These rifles have been in use all summer, and they're all et upinside. They're like fat men, they sweat. Then they rust. Put in somedope and swab the barrel, then take twenty-five dinky little squares ofcotton flannel and run them through, and the last will be just as dirtyas the first. Let it go at that, and put in some oil, and say Damn. 

It takes three lacings below the knee to get yourself dressed, and threeunlacings to get to bed, unless you want to be a real soldier boy, andsleep in your clothes. And only two hooks in all these lacings--the resteyelets, eyelets. The cartridge belt has ten pockets; I found a clip ofblanks in mine, and am keeping it to celebrate with. The proper way todraw your bayonet is not to cut your ear off. They tell me it's beendone. The outfitter lied to me. He sold me a tight blouse because we woreour sweaters over them, and here it's against the rule and my sweaterwill never go under the blouse and I'll freeze to death. Never believeanybody that says he knows. 

When the horn blows pay no attention. It's the top sergeant's whistleyou've got to jump for. If you want to know what to wear don't ask him;the lieutenant will change the order and the captain will change itagain. Ask the major, unless the general happens by. Always salute unlessyou happen to be smoking; if you have a pipe in your mouth, don't seehim. Fall River!

 SAM. 

PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Sunday evening, Sep. 10th, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:---

I had no sooner closed this morning's addenda than I had to prepare forthe bugaboo of tent inspection. A good bugaboo, of course, as at home italways pays to have visitors, we redd up the house so carefully. Our jobthis morning was not only to have the tent perfectly neat, but also tohave our kits laid out on our beds according to regulations. One blanketwas spread over the cot, the others were folded at the head, and on themthe sweater and pillow. At the foot were folded the poncho and shelterhalf; then all the equipment was spread out. Under the head of the bedwas the blue barrack-bag and the suit-case; under the foot the shoes. Then we stood in line in front of the tent, and watched while thelieutenant, coming from tent to tent, left each squad in a state ofdespair behind him. To cheer us, someone at the sergeants' tent started avictrola, but a snap from the lieutenant ended that diversion. Result ofit all: we were told to inspect a certain bed in Tent One, fold ourblankets and ponchos _right_, and lay out our equipment according to asacredly prescribed order. A meek procession filed in and out of the tentfor the next half hour. 

It appears that blankets must be folded in a certain manner and laid in acertain way, so that the inspector can see at a glance whether the propernumber of them is present--that none are in hock, I suppose. The mannerof folding ingeniously insures that on making the bed at night theblankets must first be entirely shaken out; ditto in the morning. Somesanitary martinet evolved that scheme. We are told that a fourth blanketwill be served out to us. Folded double lengthwise, four will allow seventhicknesses over us and one below, or any other proportion, according tothe temperature. Sleeping as I do with the tent wall looped up, I shallbe glad of the seven thicknesses. 

Cleanliness being next to godliness, many of the men washed clothesinstead of going to church. A little daily washing in this fair weatherkeeps a wardrobe always ready for service. It's simple if you combineyour laundry work with your swim. 

Bannister, our corporal, got us out on the drill field this afternoon forsquad practice. But as even he is new to many of our evolutions, insteadof monarchy we found democracy, so many of us had something to say. Partof the time Knudsen gently but firmly managed the squad; we taught eachother how to stack arms; and finally from one argument we could only berescued by appeal to the drill regulations. We knelt around the littleblue book, while the opponents of two apparently conflicting ideaseagerly debated, until of a sudden each saw the other's point, anddiscovered that they meant the same thing. 

Coming back, we found ourselves heading obliquely toward the companystreet, with a half turn to make in order to enter it properly. Cordersuggested that the command should be "Left half turn, " but Reardoncontended for "Half left, " and at the proper moment the corporal gavethat order. Naturally there ensued at the tent another debate, everyoneputting in his oar, until by the book the Old One proved that while for acompany in column the command should have been "Column half left, " for asquad "Left half turn" was correct. A mixing business, this learning howto fight for one's country. 

Said I to Corder, "You'll take Bannister's job away from him if hedoesn't look out. " He laughed. "No, " said he. "I like to admire thescenery rather than attend to business, and I'm a dreamer anyway. Butwatch Knudsen. He's a soldier type, and unless I'm mistaken he's had sometraining, though he doesn't claim it. "

Word has gone forth that we are to go through the drill regulations atthe rate of some forty paragraphs a day. So there is much study up anddown the street, and that not merely on the part of would-be corporals. 

This letter is finished under difficulties, for the lantern goes outevery few minutes, as four of us cluster around it with our pens andpaper. A puff, a pop, a flicker or two, and it's out. Then laughter, curses, two or three failures to light the wick, and we're off again foranother short spell. Clay promises that we shall have no trouble with thelantern after tonight. Some squads have clubbed together to buy acetylenelanterns, which illuminate the tents most brilliantly; but the cost isseven dollars, and though our squad has mentioned the luxury, it isevident that most of the men wish to avoid the extra expense. Though ofcourse I could buy the thing as a present to the squad, I think it wouldrather mar our present feeling of equality. Moreover, there was a trifleof an explosion in Tent 13 early this evening, after which the newlantern was thrown away as junk. If I should come again, I should bringsome compact lighting contraption. Meanwhile the little flashlight isgood for searching in one's suit case, and there is always a table andelectric light at the company tent, close by the captain's. 

Good-by, with love from

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Monday, Sept. 11, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

I began my day with my usual bucket from the tap; there are always earlybirds to serve me, and my helper this morning said it made him feelvirtuous just to souse me. I prefer this to the shower baths, which aremuch further away. A very few go early to the lake and make parade of it;said one to his corporal yesterday, finding him crawling from his bedinto his clothes, "My God, man, don't you ever bathe?" But the poorcorporal was still shaking with his typhoid. 

Clay, who was up early on mysterious errands in the dusk, has justbrought in boards to lay in front of his cot. Reardon asked, "What areyou going to do on the hike? You'll have to put your feet on the ground. "But Clay evidently likes a bit of luxury, and when he gave me his surplusboards I found I liked it too, for I prefer keeping my feet out of thissand, which has a creeping quality and gets everywhere. Out in front ofthe tent there had appeared a bench. "Hi!" cried Bannister, "where didthat come from?" Clay said nothing, and Bannister, who appreciated thenew convenience, thought it best to ask no more. I, with a mind onfurther conveniences, suggested that we club together for a bucket forour washing. Clay offered to get this without cost, but late in theafternoon reported failure. "I couldn't get one, though I looked in everytent in the other companies. " Then he missed our new bench. "Where has itgone?" he demanded. Corder answered dryly, "Back to its original owners, I suppose. " But the lantern works better tonight, as the fellows allremark, avoiding mention of the fact that it has a somewhat differentshape. 

This morning we had our first drill in calisthenics. We were spaced invery open order, advised to take off our shirts, and Captain Wheeler, amagnificent figure of a man, strong as an oak in spite of his gray hair, stood on a platform and put us through exercises that searched out, sothe boys agreed, muscles that you didn't know you had. You get a new ideaof the "position of a soldier" after he has shown it to you. "Oh, no, no, no!" he cried when first we came to attention at his command, his voicerolling away over the lake into infinite distance. And then he made ustry to show that we were proud of our uniforms. 

This afternoon's platoon drill, under our lieutenant, made me very surethat, though I already feel as if I had been here for weeks, I am not yetmaster of my work. The drill kept me thinking. As it is no pleasure to bepublicly called down, I am all the while trying to make no mistakes. Afellow must instantly--instantly!--know the difference between "Platoonright, " for instance, and "Right by squads, " even though the commands maynot have been given for an hour. And one must know it whether corporal ornot, for half the time the corporals do not yet know it themselves, andeither mumble their commands or are silent, so that they are no help. Andeven if a fellow knows what to do, but lags in the doing of it, then heis likely to put the whole line out. Further, freight trains rumble by atthe bottom of the drill field, the wind whistles in your ears, otherofficers near at hand are shouting commands to other platoons, and so youare likely not to hear a command at all. But on the whole I think I amimproving. 

The short time that we had with the captain was enough to prove that heis, as Clay claimed, a Southerner, if only from his use of the word_like_. As we came down from the right shoulder, he said, "Don't climbyour rifle lahk it was a rope. " And at Present Arms, "That man is holdingup his piece lahk it was a Christmas tree. " "Swing your arms, " said he, "lahk you were proud of yo'selves!" Other little localisms slip in. Whena man had explained a question that the captain at first did notunderstand, he said when he grasped it, "Oh, Ah see; Ah didn't locateyo'. " But it is a pity to misspell so broadly. The differences of accent, though evident, are slight and pleasing, even musical. 

Love from, DICK. 

FROM ERASMUS CORDER, ASSISTANT PROFESSORIN HARVARD UNIVERSITY, TO HIS WIFE

 Plattsburg, Monday, Sept. 11. 

MY DEAR PRISCILLA:--

You will want to know, now that I have shaken down into this life, how onthe whole it suits me. I feel as if I had been here a fortnight, suchbeing the power of routine. You know I am among perfect strangers, forthough Nelson is in my company, I see very little of him. We actuallyhave not looked each other up since Saturday. And though Watson of thePhilosophy department and Jones of the Library staff are both here, theyare in other companies, and the best I have done is to pay each of them ahurried call. The real life is the life of the squad, and I find myselfamong interesting fellows. 

The work is not too hard, for the officers give us periods of rest, andwe are gradually hardening up. I live very cautiously, always change mystockings and rest my feet whenever I come off the drill-field, andwhenever I can I lie down for a nap. But I am getting so lively that Ifind myself tempted to ignore these precautions, and hope that beforelong I can take not only the work but the fun as it comes. The excellentstockings which you knit for me are not too heavy nor too hot; you werewise to mark every thing that I wear, as in this camp articles ofclothing very much resemble one another. My sewing kit, with all itsthreaded needles, called out the wonder of the corporal the other day, and the whole squad stood around and admired it. 

I hope in time to attain a more military carriage, but it is a hard fightwith habit. I wish I were as springy as these boys around me; even as Iwork the fat out of my bacon, I don't find myself perfectly elastic. ForI get a bit stiff in the knees from long standing at the manual; and asthe evening chill comes on I find it gets more into my joints than Ilike. And so I am watching the development of a problem with which I, that is, my mind, can have very little to do. Question: shall I getstiffer as the days grow colder, until on the hike they will discharge meas an old man; or will it all work off as I get used to the exercise, until I am limber? It is really a very serious matter, my dear, thisbeing forty-five years old. One should turn life into a profession, andstudy how to become young. There are a number of men of my age or olderhere at camp, and I find we all have this same preoccupation, and veryeagerly ask each other how we are getting on, and give advice. And thehike--that looms ahead of us all as an ordeal which we are afraid weshan't pass. 

I never tire of the view from our drill field. The mountains are nevertwice the same, and the lake is quite as changeable; they vary theiraspect every hour from morning to evening. We are lucky just now in ourfull moon, to light us about the unaccustomed streets. In contrast arethe ugly tents, which yet have a romantic interest in their possiblewarlike use, and in their perfect uniformity, which is so forbidding thatit becomes interesting. And for one who has come from a skirted sea-sideresort, it is not unpleasant to see around me nothing but men, men, men. 

Your letters make me feel easy about the family. We are very lucky thatMildred did not get a bad fall when the handle of her bicycle broke. TellFlorence to make a proper distinction between _to_ and _too_, and to formher capital Cs more carefully. Little Elinor's letters are much admiredin the whole tent. It must be about time to pick the Gravenstein apples. Tell Robert to handle them as if they were eggs. 

You see I am well. Do not worry about me. Love to all the youngsters. 

 ERASMUS. 

PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Plattsburg, Tuesday, September 12. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

Today we have had something new. We have so far been drilling in closeorder formation, so called because we always maintain our front and rearranks together as such. This order has two purposes, one for parade andreview, the other for quickest marching to any given place. But forfighting, which after all is our real purpose, the close order must bediscarded in favor of extended order, which you will understand better ifI call it skirmish line formation. Here front and rear rank form in onelong line, in order not to do damage to each other in firing. 

Our drill field at the camp distinctly has its drawbacks. Across part ofit are open drainage ditches; and another part, where no ditches are, isa slippery bog after any rain. Drilling on such a field distracts youbetween the natural desire to pick your footing, and the officers'constant command to keep your eyes up. We are told that the city ofPlattsburg is very generous in providing this ground, and doubtless itwas to begin with; yet I wonder if after two very prosperous seasons, dueto our presence and our visitors', the city couldn't afford to put a fewhundred dollars (it would cost no more) into finishing draining the fieldwith tile, and filling the ditches in. That would give us good dry groundand firm footing. 

At any rate, it was a relief to be marched this morning to the militarypost, to practice our new formations on its great smooth field. Theparade-ground is a wide level space by the edge of the lake, and on theinner side is a long row of the married officers' houses, all exactlyalike, yet with shrubs and vines not unhomelike. I saw three children atone place, two at another, plus two nursemaids; but as a whole the houseslook deserted, as they are. For all our regiments of this department areon the Mexican border, and while papa is away it is natural for mamma totake the babies to visit grandpa, if indeed she doesn't go to the bordertoo. As a consequence of this absence of the infantry regiments, we areministered to here by some companies of coast artillery, which areuseless to the government in this crisis, and so are unwillingly servinghere as cooks, waiters, and equipment orderlies. Our officers are scrapedup from everywhere, the captain of my company even coming from Panama. Unless they can persuade themselves that there is to be no more fightingin Mexico, they must hate to settle down here as mere missionaries of thepreparedness movement. 

Well, we were taken onto the field, and were given our first dose ofskirmish drill. The captain explained how the squad should do theexpanding movement on which the whole is based. "Being at a halt, " as theregulations are fond of saying, the corporal takes position three pacesin front of his Number Two man, extends his arms as a signal or gives hisorder, and the men at a run take given positions on a line with him. Acorporal and his squad being ordered to illustrate this for the benefitof the rest of us, the corporal forgot to stand fast, and so away theeight of them went, heading directly for the lake, the captain watchingthem with amusement, the rest of us snickering. Over the edge of thebluff they went, we heard crashes in the bushes, and presently, when therest of us were beginning our demonstration, we saw the sheepish returnof our lost squad. No one in our company will ever now forget that whenwe begin our deployment at a halt, we advance those three paces and nomore. 

You see now the real value of the corporal. He is of use in close orderformation, yet there, with a little drill, the company could get alongwithout him. But in extended order he is in independent command of thesquad, takes his orders from his superior, translates them according tocircumstances, and separately leads his little bunch of men to the placewhere they are to deploy. Moreover, since his problem varies according aswe are marching or at a halt, in line or in column, and according as weare to guide centre, right, or left, the corporal needs (we proved ittoday) to have a cool head and a firm hold of his men. In one case we goforward, in another we march to one side before deploying, in stillanother we make a letter S, going backward and then forward again. Therewas a wonderful confusion this morning, with all of us greenhorns tryingto learn this new work. Moreover, since we are volunteers, and men ofintelligence, and by this time pretty well acquainted, every man of usthought he understood everything, and was bursting to tell the others howit should be done. 

And then began to appear which of our corporals were corporals indeed. Some squads were little Babels, each man uttering forth his voice, withthe poor squad-leader either vainly trying to make himself heard, orsilently trying to make his own ideas square with the contradictions ofthe other seven. Other squads may have been repressed volcanoes, butstill they were repressed, with the corporal making his mistakes in hisown way, but learning by blundering how the thing should be done. As forSquad 8, Knudsen was guarding the corporal's peace of mind. Once whenBannister had mistaken the order, and I burst out with a whispered "Toofar!" Knudsen snapped at me, "No speaking to the corporal!" Now sinceonce or twice he had given advice, that was a touch too much; but Icaught a significant twinkle in Corder's eye, and held my peace. I shan'tsoon forget the puzzled expression on Bannister's round, honest face whenhe found himself many yards out of the way, and his involuntary "Whoa!"Then Knudsen quietly took charge of us, and led us where we belonged. 

"This is going to be interesting, " whispered Corder to me. "Remember whatI told you. "

In the afternoon, among other drill work, we were taught how to make ourpacks. The strangely shaped piece of webbing which I once tried todescribe to you, with all its straps and hooks, is a haversack worked outby a commission headed by a Major Stewart, who evolved this Stewart pack, the lightest by many pounds of any army pack in the world. Now giveattention. On the ground you spread your poncho, rubber side downward. Onit you lay your shelter-half and fold it till it too is an oblong, smaller than the poncho. Next you fold one blanket thrice and lay it withits stripe lengthwise of the poncho. Lay on it your tent-pegs, rope, bacon box and condiment can, a change of underclothes, your soap andrazor, tooth-brush and towel. Lap over it the edges of the poncho and theshelter-half. Now roll this from the blanket end, packing tightly; andwhen you approach the end of the poncho, fold eight inches of it towardyou, and into this pocket work the roll. Thus you have made a tightwaterproof sausage, firmly enough packed to be thrown about withoutcoming open. The first stage of making your pack is now finished. 

The roll is now, by means only to be learned by actual doing, to bestrapped to the haversack, which also carries the bayonet and, in its bigpocket, the meat-can, knife, fork, and spoon. The pack is next, by itscomplicated straps, attached to the belt, and the whole is put on like avest, the arms through its broad straps. These should be so tightenedthat the top of the pack comes well above the level of the shoulders, sothat the straps will not drag and cut. The belt is buckled in front, butshould be loose enough to hang over the hips. Thus the whole weight ofthe pack and belt is carried by the shoulders, which are braced back asby the old-fashioned shoulder brace, leaving the chest free forexpansion, and carrying no weight. 

The pack weighs about eighteen pounds, the belt (with full canteen andcartridge pockets) another eight, the rifle nine. Thirty-five pounds, forlight marching order, is much less than any other army than ours isblessed with. And this outfit is to be, as our captain grimly remarkedtoday, our constant companions. Oh my poor back!

I know it will be hard to read this letter, my hand shakes so. This isbecause all this morning I carried my rifle "at trail, " which means thatI gripped it a foot from the muzzle and carried it with the butt just offthe ground, the butt constantly exercising a heavy leverage on the wrist. Naturally I am lame. 

Your letters come daily, which saves me much anguish. At eachdistribution of the mail there is much quiet disappointment, which lateris very likely to express itself in the tent. Said Reardon today, thesilent man of the squad, "I'm going to write a letter home that willraise hell. " Bannister, whose wife had missed a day, remarked gravely, "I'll have to say something to her. " And Pickle came into the tent mad, savagely remarking, "If I don't get a letter next mail, I'm going home. "Luckily it came. 

But yet the men don't always sympathize with each other. Clay wasbitterly complaining of his luck. Said Knudsen, "But man, you can'texpect an answer to your letter yet. It had to go to Maryland. " ThenBannister, taking his mind from his own disappointment, added, "And greatScott! look at the letter you writ. It was so long that she would needthree whole days to read it in, before she could begin her answer. And asto your writing such an amount to your mother--!" "It was only eightpages, " said handsome Clay, blushing. Bannister had no mercy. "Only eightpages? Man, it was a young novel! To your mother? Your grandmother, morelikely. " Clay was silenced. 

Our fourth blankets are served out, and we sleep very snug. Food is thesame, wholesome but not delicate. David and Pickle, having each a sweettooth, buy rather freely outside, and David occasionally slips away for ahotel meal. As a consequence, they sometimes need doctoring. The rest ofthe squad, whether from economy or on principle, stick to the daily messand are well. Love from

 DICK. 

TELEGRAM FROM PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TOHIS MOTHER AT HOME

 Plattsburg, Wednesday, Sep. 13. 

is you know who at plattsburg and why i thought i saw her here today amwell love

 DICK. 

LETTERS FROM THE SAME

 Postscript, written at the top of the first sheet of the letter

I have just sent you off this telegram: Is You-know-who at Plattsburg, and why? I thought I saw her here today. Am well. Love. 

 Second postscript, written in the margin

I find I have written you a letter that will show you my difficulties ingetting time to write. It is merely typical of my usual day. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

I begin this letter in the tent at about 5. 30 in the morning, expectingthe first assembly, yet trying to snatch a little time while the rest ofthe camp is still dressing. My hand no longer aches, but the wrist isplain stiff from yesterday's exercise at trail. I have just conned overfifty paragraphs of the drill book, getting up early for the purpose. 

Free time is scarce. When the captain yesterday told us to put fifteenminutes a day on our study of the rifle, and especially in learning tosqueeze (a mystery which I will expound to you when I myself havemastered it) the whole company groaned. Our time is so cut up that it is

(_The bugle and the whistle! Five minutes for assembly. _)

hard to find many minutes at a stretch which you can devote to any onething. And yet I think it quite right that yesterday, after returningfrom the open order drill, squad after squad of us should of our ownaccord go down to the drill field and practise the new tricks, especiallyin preserving the squad formation while following the corporal overwhatever ground and through whatever angles. Those fifteen minutes willhelp us today. Bannister tends quietly to his job, an amusing fellow withhis little imitations of a farmer (which some day he means to be), hischuckling Yankee wit, and his interest in telling all about his wife andchildren at home. 

Speaking of corporals, Corder has brought out new facts regardingKnudsen. Yesterday, when the tent was empty but for us three, Corderstopped Knudsen from going out while at the same time he beckoned to me. Lucy, coming in just then, stopped and listened also. "Knudsen, " saidCorder, "you've drilled before. " "Not infantry drill, " answered Knudsen. "Recently?" demanded Corder. Knudsen admitted, "All last winter with atroop of cavalry. " "Then why, " demanded Corder, "didn't you say you hadhad experience, and try to be a corporal yourself?" "Because----"

(_Bugle again, and half an hour for breakfast. Having a little timebefore morning drill, I go on. _)

"Because, " said Knudsen, "I didn't want to be corporal. I came here tiredto death from a long hard worrying year in getting that factory of minein good running order. I don't want to have anything more to do, for thewhole of this month, with managing a stupid gang of men. " "Thanks!" saidCorder and I together, and we bowed as if we had been drilled to do it, exactly together. Knudsen was rather taken aback, but he laughed andapologized. "You ought to be corporal of a squad, " said Corder. "Do youwant to get me out of this one?" demanded Knudsen. "Bannister is allright. I tell you I'm here for a rest, and I want to escape the captain'snotice. " We promised (_Bugle!_) to help him keep in his obscurity. Lucystood silent, but full of admiration. 

(_Sergeant's whistle, and Pickle comes running in. "Make up the packswithout the ponchos!" Good by for the present. _)

(_Four hours later, after skirmish practice in the roughest kind of lowunderbrush, in which I nearly lost a legging, and wished for a pair ofwooden elbows. _)

The company was split in two this morning, those men who had usedhigh-power rifles being taken away by the captain, whose specialty isshooting, while the rest of us went with the lieutenant up the Peru road, and turned into an old overgrown blueberry pasture. Luckily there were noblueberries, for whenever we threw ourselves flat we should have squashedmore on our clothes than we should have had time to eat. Bannister beingwith the shooters, we (such as remained of our squad) were put with aneighboring corporal who did not know his business, and

(_Forty minutes for mess. After a cigarette, I am trying to snatch a fewminutes now_)

and speedily had the lieutenant "bawling us out. " So very quietly, butvery firmly, with Corder again winking at me in perfect delight, Knudsentook over corporal and squad, and managed us in an undertone from hisposition of number two. He kept the squad together, told the corporalwhen to spread it out, and that innocent person willingly gave himselfinto Knudsen's hands. We had plenty to do in a series of

(_Bugle and whistle. Off for afternoon drill. --Now at 3. 24 P. M. Afterlearning to pitch shelter tents_)

imaginary attacks, sometimes in showers, and we steaming in our ponchosor shivering without them, ploughing through the wet bushes or throwingourselves flat in them. Then, from whatever positions we found ourselvesin, we had to "simulate firing" at an enemy until my neck was lame fromtrying to hold my head up, and my elbows were sore from their roughlodgings. The corporal was perfectly docile, and Knudsen even hooked hisfingers in the back of the man's belt and pulled him here and there. 

(_Sergeant's whistle, and again Pickle comes diving into the tent. "Undershirts only, for the sun's out hot. Take your towel if you want toswim. " That means calisthenics. --After forty minutes. _)

Out we went to the drill field, took off (most of us) our remainingshirts, and were put through nine hundred exercises till we dripped, while ladies in their automobiles watched us from the top of the slope. Hope they enjoyed it. When it was over we were dismissed where we stoodand streamed yelling to the beach, where we found Champlain, at the hotend of this changeable day, able to repay us for all our sufferings. 

Well, to finish the corporal story. The squad were perfect lambs inKnudsen's hands, none daring to bleat, while all around us the othersquads were disputing in undertones and going wrong amid storms ofdiscontent. When we had got back to the tent, and had lost our emergencynon-com. , Knudsen began to praise him for an excellent corporal. "He wasgood so long as you had him in charge, " said Corder. "Especially good onthat last deployment when you yanked him into place. If you don't want tobe promoted, man, let your superiors blunder, and don't correct them. ""The lieutenant wasn't looking, " answered Knudsen meekly. 

Now about (_call for supper_) about that telegram (_call for regimentalconference. I am now at the company tent waiting for the captain'sconference. _) about that telegram of mine. _Where is Vera Wadsworth?_ Forwhen we were on the parade ground at the post this afternoon, learning topitch our shelter tents (which is another complicated affair, theexplanation of which I will reserve) we found ourselves deserted for awhile by our mentor the lieutenant, and were at the mercy of greensergeants, who knew something, to be sure, but in whom we had noconfidence. Someone discovered him, --Pickle. "Gee, " said that exponent ofclassic English, "spot the lieutenant with a skirt. " And there he was ata distance, in talk with a tall girl, handsome, unless I miss my guess, and Vera herself, if I have any knowledge of her figure, and of a certainhat and parasol she lately affected. Quite at home there too, without achaperon, on the walk in front of the officers' houses, and without awaiting automobile that brought her or would carry her away. What couldbring her here? Were her military relatives at this post? At any rate, Ithought they were now at the border. I hope it wasn't she; but thelieutenant, as he returned to us, smiled as men usually do as they thinkof Vera. Look up her whereabouts and let me know. 

I see the captain coming to conference. Good night, DICK. 

TELEGRAM FROM MRS. RICHARD GODWIN, SENIOR, TO HER SON AT PLATTSBURG, DATED THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1916

she is taking charge of her cousins children at the plattsburg post amwriting mother. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Thursday, Sept. 14, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

Your telegram, reaching me, made me uncomfortable at first. However, Idon't suppose I shall meet Vera, so I shall put the matter out of mymind. 

Last night there was a rain, which wakened me as it came down prettyheavily. Knudsen, with a groan, got out of bed and put on his poncho. "What is up?" I asked, whispering; and he, likewise trying not to wakethe others, answered, "Rain is coming in. Must fix the tent-cap. " So Igot up and helped him. I did not tell you, I think, that the tent is openat the top like a wigwam, providing perfect ventilation; but when therain comes in it wets the clothes hung around the poles, and also therifles. But a canvas cap, which in fair weather is laid back, may bedragged over the opening by ropes hauled from below, and Knudsen and Imanaged to close it. Maybe you think it was fun, falling over thetent-ropes in the windy dark. 

By daylight it was raining still, and we were ordered out in our ponchosfor the assembly. Poor Lucy has so far always been helped into his, andstood looking at it hopelessly. "Which side is front?" As usual, Knudsencame to his help. "The long side. No, that's inside out. Don't you seethe collar? Button it under your chin. Now button the sides of the lowerpart round behind you. Fix the two remaining corners to hang down overyour hands. Now you're good for anything that may happen all day. "

"All day?" demanded poor Lucy. "Do you mean to say we'll drill in therain?" "Shall we sit and suck our thumbs here?" demanded amused Pickle. Knudsen, more subtle, merely remarked, "Oh, damn the weather!" and Lucystiffened as he got the idea that the rain wouldn't hurt him. 

He is really improving. Daily he manfully shaves himself for practice(every other day would be enough) and his early wounds are healingnicely, while he has none of recent date. The poor lad's hands are prettysore from handling his gun. The captain halted before him the other dayas we were doing the manual, and fixed him with a cold eye. "Hit that gunharder, " he said. "You can't hurt it with your hands. " David faintlysmiled, and now he is trying to callous his palms. 

We ate our breakfasts in our ponchos: there is no place to hang them up, and they make very good bibs. And in our ponchos we marched; they coveredthe packs, making us look like pedlers, or as Knudsen said, like camels. We kept our rifles dry under them, but were not long dry ourselves, forthese service ponchos not being exactly waterproof, soon wet through atthe knees, or wherever else we rubbed as we marched. I am thereforerather envious of David's fine new poncho, of best rubber. If I comeagain I shall have one of my own--a poncho, remember, and not thecivilian rubber coat with which some have supplied themselves. 

They marched us this morning first to the post gymnasium, and there wesat in a great half-circle while Major Stewart explained to us thehistory of army packs, and some facts about the one that bears his name. Our men in other wars have abandoned their packs on entering battle, theywere such encumbrances in skirmishing. In the battle of San Juanthousands of packs were dropped by the roadside, and the men finishedtheir fighting without rations. But the new pack may be worn both inmarching and in shooting; further, on expecting battle the rolls may bemade short, and then are strapped to the lower part of the haversack. This part, on drawing out a leather strap, falls to the ground, and themen go forward lightened of the heaviest part of their burden, but yetcarrying food enough for the day's work. At its worst the Stewart packis, compared to the old blanket roll, many pounds to the good. 

And yet, mother, though wise Mr. Bryan has bragged of our ability to putan army of a million men into the field overnight, of the few thousandsat the border a fair half are still equipped with the old pack. Is therest of the million to be proportionately well fitted out?

In order to show that the pack will fit anyone, the Major called for thetallest man in the regiment. A strapping big fellow of perhapsthirty-five got up and stepped confidently onto the platform, amid thecheers of the crowd, and the Major prepared to strap the pack onto him. But I heard from behind me various urgent cries of "Go on up!" and a fineyoung fellow, straight as a lance, walked round the seated men, and alsostepped upon the platform. Though much slenderer than the other, thenewcomer was a good inch taller. A roar of applause came from theregiment, and the first man, understanding, laughed and stepped down. Then he turned back and spoke to the younger man, evidently asking hisheight. "How tall? How tall?" demanded the crowd, and the young fellowheld up six fingers, indicating six feet six. A similar scene occurredfor the shortest man, a thin little fellow getting the honor; then athird aspirant, being evidently taller, was laughed back. But what struckme was the reception given a head-headed, round-headed, roly-poly littlemustached fellow, who hesitated near at hand. The crowd instantlynicknamed him. "Come on, Cupid, and measure yourself. " But Cupid had hisdoubts, and so retired. 

The lecture being over, luckily so was the rain; but the captain took usout on that rolling country that flanks the Peru road, and gave us afight with an imaginary enemy, through wet bushes, across a dump, overand among little sand and gravel pits, finally ambushing with great carean innocent Catholic cemetery. As we did this badly, on our advanceexposing ourselves to the fire from the ornamental statuary, we had to doit over again. It was difficult practice, keeping in line; but it wasfairly exciting to throw yourself, at command, flat on your face whereveryou happened to be. I thus gained intimate acquaintance with a pile oftin cans, a scrub hard pine, and a big hill of black ants. As the propermethod of moving sideways, when in skirmish line, is to roll, I rolledaway from the latter position, not to the betterment of my poncho. 

This afternoon, again in rain, we marched to the gymnasium once more, andthe building not having been ventilated, found the air very oppressiveafter our hearty dinner. The captain talked to us of the rifle and itsuse in target shooting; but conditions were against him, for it was avery sleepy crowd that listened. I found myself drowsy, men were noddingall about me, and Corder declared that he had 247 distinct and separatenaps. But it was necessary to rouse when we were required to adjust ourslings and take position for snapping at a mark. The sling is the strapof the gun, which when fitted to the upper arm, and the arms and bodybraced against the pull of it, in some mysterious way gives steadiness. Our calisthenics were partly devised, I am sure, to help us take thecontortionists' attitudes necessary for this graceful exercise. Butnothing, not even our skirmishing, prepared my elbows for our final stuntof throwing ourselves prone on the hard floor, and in approvedtarget-shooting posture snapping ten shots at the third button of thecaptain's shirt, while the lieutenant counted ninety seconds by hiswatch. 

Returning, we found that rifle-inspection was scheduled, with a specialwarning that the captain was not satisfied with the way we kept the guns. So we got out our single cleaning-rod and passed it from cot to cot, withthe nitro-solvent and the oil, and such few patches as yet remained tous. For no amount of them will satisfy one company, or even one squad, and we are always short. The rifles cleaned, we policed the tent, makingit absolutely neat. Now such are the acoustic properties of these canvasdwellings that we can hear what goes on in our neighbors', and so ithappened that we heard, from tent 6, Randall's controversy with the restof his squad. It is seldom that one man will talk down seven, but weheard the whole of his obstinate defense, how that he hadn't known thathe was tent-policeman for the day, that no one had policed the tentyesterday, or eke the day before, that it was a sin and a shame to makehim do other men's work, that especially in the matter of the smokylantern, which no one had cleaned since the opening of camp, it was wrongto make him bear the burden of accumulated neglect. Some of us chuckledat all this, but at such a clamor raised for the purpose of escaping dutyDavid listened soberly. "He works very hard to avoid work, " said the boy, whose good manners will not let him evade any duty which he clearlyperceives--though I will admit that his perceptions are still ratherdull. 

The row died down, we heard the rattle of the lantern, and then Randall'svoice. "I was only jollying you. " No answer, but still the lanternrattled. "I'm willing to do my share of the work. " Still no answer. "Oh, well, " said Randall finally, "if you feel that way about it, give me thelantern. I'll clean it. " We heard the corporal's voice. "I've got itnearly cleaned. And you can squeak out of your work, Randall; but justthe same, we've got our opinion of you. "

I thought the corporal had the best of it. It is no small penalty tocarry around the squad's opinion of one's shortcomings. 

At inspection time the rain was heavy, and word was passed to wait forthe captain in our tents. For this we blessed him, seeing no fun instanding in line in the street; and Lucy found that after all the weatheris considered in the army. When it was the turn of tent 8 we lined upfacing each other, and the captain, stooping to get his hat safelythrough the door, came in between our two lines. He said "Just give meyour guns as I'm ready for them, " a deceptively mild beginning, wefeared, knowing how sharp he could be. But at the fourth gun he said, "The rifles are not so bad. " I handed him mine, breech open, hoping thatit was up to the average. He tried to look down the barrel; then when hesnorted I declare I felt like a boy before his schoolmaster. But to myrelief he laughed, took from the muzzle the plug that I had put there inexpectation of a long wait in the rain, looked through the barrel, andpassed it. When he left he told us to turn out for Retreat with ponchosonly--for which again we blessed him. 

As the absence of conference, on account of rain, gives me extra time, Ishall write a dissertation, not on roast pig, but just on pig, in otherwords on table manners. Our company has a corner of one of the messshacks, into which we are marched. When first we came our method was tostand, hats on, by our places, where our cups and plates were waitingupside down. At the command "H Company, take seats!" (and much merrimenta sergeant once made when he commanded "Be seated!") we took off our hatsvery decorously, hung them up (whether behind us on the walls or in frontof us under the tables) sat down, turned over our plates, and reached forthe dishes. Now some tables, or sections of tables, still maintain thislofty standard of good breeding, by the sheer fact that the most of themen are well bred and the rest are ashamed not to be. But where theproportion is reversed degeneration is rapid. The men furtively hang uptheir hats and turn over their plates before the order, and if a bunch ofthem take to doing this, there appears to be no remedy for it. "It's upto you, " said a sergeant to us on the first day. "You can be gentlemen, or you can be the other thing. "

So it is after we are seated. Certain actions are natural, as determinedby the fact that while there is plenty of food, there is never on thetable at one time enough of any one thing. (A few more dishes andplatters would apparently remedy this. ) Further, we haven't time to wait. So we begin on what happens to be in front of us, cereal first at one endof the table, fruit first in the middle (if there is any!), eggs andbacon further along; thus by degrees we work through the bill of fare. And this is not improper. 

But when the fellows take to laying in supplies of whatever is withinreach, and surrounding themselves with plates heaped with the substanceof future courses, it is first unfair and next demoralizing. If one manhogs the available supply for merely later use, he teaches his neighborto do the same in self-defense. And so you can watch the proof of the oldcopy-book motto concerning evil communications. 

A word concerning reaching at table, for your guidance, my dear mother, when next you find yourself at a table d'hote. I calculate that for thismethod of helping one's self there is a wrong way and a right. Imagineyourself beside a busy person beyond whom lies the wished-for dish. Ifyou reach with the arm nearest the dish, your arm goes across yourneighbor's plate, a fact which my neighbors have frequently proved to me. But if you reach with the arm furthest from the dish you will not crosshis plate, your body swinging your arm in over the table. I come to thisinteresting social discovery rather late in life, on account of theexcellent table service to which you have accustomed me. 

There goes the warning bugle. If I am not safely tucked up in my littlebed at taps, the sergeant will say "Tut! Tut!" So good night. 

 DICK. 

MRS. GODWIN TO HER SON RICHARD, IN A LETTERDATED SEPTEMBER 14, 1916

Your telegram, my dear, dear Dick, I have just replied to, and will nowadd such facts as I know concerning Vera's going to Plattsburg. What Ican tell you comes through her sister Frances, with whom I have alwaysbeen more intimate than Vera, even when you two were engaged. And Franceshas come several times to the house, now that you are gone. I asked herto. 

If the breaking of your engagement was a blow to your pride, my dear boy, think what it was to Vera's. I don't know anyone prouder than she. And topublish the fact that you two had changed your minds--! She wanted to goaway, but the Wadsworths are nearly as poor as they are proud, and shedidn't feel justified. Then there came a letter from her cousin Dolly, who married that handsome Captain Marsh and was stationed at Plattsburg. Dolly's husband is now on the border, and Dolly could stand theseparation no longer. She was going to Texas, and one of the cousins mustcome to Plattsburg and take charge of her house. The children wouldn't bea burden, because there was the very capable nurse who had taken care ofthem since they were born. And old Colonel Marsh wouldn't be a bother, having a certain routine which got him through his days very well. Ofcourse it would be very dull with all the officers away from the post, and those at the instruction camp constantly busy. But one of the sistersmust come and relieve her, or Dolly would go mad. She is all bound up inthat husband of hers. 

It was plain that she expected Frances to come, being so domestic, and soold-fashioned-womanly. But Vera, you know, in spite of her suffragism andher feminism has always been kept by her father from having anything todo, and so she had nothing to occupy herself with just when she neededoccupation most. So she declared that she must go, and of course Franceslet her. "But you know, " said Frances to me, looking up from her sewingwith a little twinkle, "I know Vera will be in hot water with the oldColonel from the first, she is so out of sympathy with war, and themilitary life, and all it has (or hasn't) to offer women. " That's her sexindependence, you see. 

Vera can't know that you're there. She went just before you so suddenlymade up your mind to go, and Frances hasn't written her of your going. Itold her I shouldn't tell you, and begged her not to write Vera. Andunless Vera recognizes you, which isn't likely, she will know nothing ofyour whereabouts. 

It is odd that David Farnham is in your squad, and amusing that I shouldhave seen his mother only yesterday. She never was so proud of anythingin her life as of the fact that he is at Plattsburg. So she has become aperfect nuisance to her friends, talking of him so. I met her at aBridge, and she was crazy to see me, David having written her that youtwo are together. So she got herself put at my table, and our twopartners were furious, because the game dwindled away to nothing, shetalking of David all the time. You would have thought that he was thewhole army and navy of these United States. I was at first quitefrightened that she would ask me your opinion of his fitness. But not atall; that was quite settled in her mind. She talked about his deciding togo, and how he made her see that it was the best thing for him and forthe country--and there is a story to that, because it was her husbandthat insisted on her letting David go, when she would have kept him. Andshe talked of his equipment, how horrid it was that he couldn't dresslike the officers, especially his legs, they are so handsome; but hewasn't allowed to wear puttees or leather leggings, but must wear thosecanvas things. And she gave him everything new; she even mentioned thoseFrench silk pajamas that so amuse you. And then she was indignant that hewas not at once made a lieutenant, or something. And the men in his tent, except you, Dick, are of no social standing whatever. Of course shehadn't heard of his being called Lucy. She was so satisfied that I wantedto tell her. Do write me more of him. 

 Lovingly MOTHER. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Before morning drill, Friday, Sep. 15, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

Our good Lucy is a different lad from the one that landed here a weekago. Did I tell you that he has come to the heroic resolution to cleanhis own gun? I suppose the strongest factor in that is his detestation ofRandall. It's quite common here for fellows to get the regulars to cleantheir guns, and there's more to be said for that than for many otherindulgences: at least it's better for the rifles. The regulars drive agood little trade of this kind, and David has twice sent out his piece tobe laundered, as it were. But I know that he perceived that the sentimentof the squad is against it, and I think he's sensitive enough tounderstand the reasons. We're all here to learn to be soldiers, andtaking care of his gun is a pretty important part of a soldier's job. Andthen we're an economical crowd. David and I are the only ones in thesquad that didn't have to pinch a little in order to get here; evenCorder spoke recently of the expense as something unwelcome. So it'sreally rather bad form to pay for outside service. Yet for all that, David couldn't quite bring himself to do the dirty work. 

So when a regular came to us yesterday, before inspection, and asked forguns to clean, David began to get his gun out of the rack. He looked alittle uneasily at Knudsen, but the Swede wouldn't see it; he keptsquinting through his own piece. The regular, to make matters sure, said, "Mr. Randall told me you'd give me your gun. I always clean his. " Withthe funniest little set of his jaw, as if he didn't quite know how to doit, David reached for the cleaning rod. "Well, " he said, "Mr. Randall ismistaken. I clean my gun myself. " Then he sat down beside Knudsen, as ifsure that the other would teach him--in which he was right. His dirtyhands at the end were a sad sight to him, and yet I think he was proud ofthem too. 

This morning Randall, who hasn't learned (and I question if he ever will)how unwelcome he is in our tent, came in to brag a little--and of what!There stands to the south of us a big hotel whose bulk is visible fromthe camp, a strong temptation to all our luxurious budding Napoleons. Randall was there last night, and came in to tell us what he had to eat. Particularly he enjoyed, he said, the fresh asparagus tips. Pickle's envyovercame his dislike, and he had nothing to say. But David's eye gleamed. "Fresh asparagus tips?" he asked. "Scarcely that. " "Indeed?" demandedRandall. "I know asparagus when I eat it. " "But not fresh asparagus, "countered David. "It's not to be had in September. Canned tips, Randall, that's all. " And Pickle, in his relief, cackled aloud. 

I have of late told you so little of our officers that I must saysomething about them here, of officers as a class, and ours inparticular. We are at the stage of theoretical conferences--after theregimental meeting each night on the drill-field is a company conferenceat each company tent, where the non-coms are expected to go, and whereall others are invited. Consequently the captain or lieutenant has fortymen there each night, crowded close around the table and packed at theopen side of the tent. We are learning the theory of field skirmish work, with a glance at the method of advancing by road into an enemy's country. 

And I must say that our officers have at their tongues' ends the whole ofthe principle that is embodied in that strange little book, the drillregulations. As soon as you have got beyond the mere parade-ground work(and that is all the civilian ever sees) the book brings you to a regionwhere nothing else is considered than the one thing, attack, attack, attack. There is something very grim and inexorable in this primer ofwar, this A B C of the principles of destruction. And if the innocentlittle pocket manual contains a codification, so condensed as to beamazing, of the ways to slay your enemy, the officers are ready withevery possible amplification of its dry paragraphs. Get forward, alwaysget forward, is their intention. Make your fire effective, make itdestructive, make it overwhelming. With word, with blackboard plan andsection, with theory, with practical illustration, each night they laybefore us some new field of this really awful knowledge. We study iteagerly. Two years ago I should have been horrified at these doctrinesthat they preach. Today I regard knowledge of them, by a sufficientnumber of able-bodied men, as the great need of the country. 

So much, dear mother, of things which to speak of in detail would onlypain your kind heart. As to the men that teach us, I can say that theyimprove upon acquaintance. Each of them, the captain and lieutenant, hashis own way of teaching. In the lieutenant a coolness of statement thatseems to imply a calm unshakableness, as of one who has measured allrisks and sees that they amount to nothing. In the captain equalclearness but more fire. Both see that the only safety is in attack. Theyanswer our questions quite differently, the lieutenant with a crispcompleteness that leaves nothing to inquire but much to ponder on, thecaptain with an illuminating phrase that humanizes everything and bringsinstant understanding. Their men will go wherever they send them in afight, for the lieutenant because they know he must be right, for thecaptain because they feel it. 

We never, I think, can know the lieutenant very well, because of thatquality which I saw in him at his first appearance before us, analoofness that taunts us into the determination to please him. Thecaptain I am sure we know already, a worker, a driver, but one who showsus that he understands our mistakes by the very keenness of his irony. "Ihave found you men to place the hip anywhere between the armpit and theknee. So I will place it for you at the watch pocket. That is yourofficial hip, gentlemen. " "Yes, skirmishers in Europe are now wearingsteel helmets. But if you men don't better learn to keep under cover youwon't need steel helmets, you'll need battleships. " "You can't take toomany precautions in the use of your guns. In this game with me out infront, I'm an advocate of safety first. "

The men like him, but more than that, they respect him. You know, mother, that I can tell something at first hand about learning one's job. Butthese officers put the average civilian to shame. I doubt if there isstronger professional feeling, or a higher standard of professionalachievement, anywhere in the world. If all the other officers are likeour two, West Pointers are a formidable body of men. 

 DICK. 

EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF VERA WADSWORTHTO HER SISTER FRANCES

 Sep. 6, 1916. 

DEAR FRANCES:--

You can't imagine what a relief it is to be where there are no men. Thatmay seem to you a curious statement, for here there are practically nowomen at all, and nothing but men in the landscape from morning tillnight. But there are no men buzzing about. It was disgusting to me thatno sooner was my engagement to Dick broken than the rushing recommenced. I am so glad to be where no one pays me any attention at all. The placewill be flooded in a few days with a thousand new rookies, but they willbe nothing else to me than trees or bushes, and I can still have peace. 

There are ladies here whom I have met, and shall meet again. Only I feelno interest in them just now, except that the two I am likeliest to seemost of are such as always rouse my pity, overburdened with the cares ofchildren and a social position on a small salary. And the money of one ofthem has just stopped coming in because her husband, at the border, allowed an emergency purchase which the auditing department at Washingtonwill not pass. You know that in such a case the officer's pay stops untilthe deficiency is made up or the matter is explained. No one questionshis honesty, but his wife and children suffer. And a man will ask a womanto take that risk with him!

The Colonel is the nicest old gentleman, very courteous. There is nodoubt that army officers have delightful manners; he begs my pardon everytime he lights his pipe. Cannot afford cigars, of course. And threadbare, but very neat. But what is the use of courtesy and self-denial if youbelieve in war, make war your business?

He and I have had it out already. Neither of us made the slightestimpression on the other. His argument is the old one: be prepared, andpeople will let you alone. He cannot be made to see that if a man has agun, or a nation has an army, the temptation to use it will some daybecome too strong. 

I haven't given him my opinion of the army as a profession _for women_. He always ends our discussion with a charming compliment. But I am achingto point out to him the condition of the house we live in, where the newhas all come off of Dolly's wedding presents, the chair covers arewearing out, holes are coming in the napkins, and there is no money forreplacements. How Dolly could pay for her trip to the border, or keepherself there, I can't think. Suppose the children are sick!

Oh, my dear, I am so weary of genteel poverty! Why couldn't I havemarried Dick? He worked so hard, and got himself such a fine position, that we should have been so comfortable! And then we had to conclude thatwe weren't made for each other. I do so regret it, and yet there wasnothing else possible. Perhaps I'm not made for marriage after all. 

 * * * * *

 September 12th. 

The town, as I told you, is flooded with recruits, of the amateurvariety. But our post is a little oasis all by itself, and except thatthey come and drill on the parade ground, they do not come near us. Did Itell you that out in front of the house, merely across a driveway, isthis great field where the training companies manoeuvre morning andafternoon, and where they occasionally have regimental or battaliondrill? Luckily our small piazza is all grown over with vines, so that Ican sit outside for the air and yet not myself be seen. The old Colonelwatches it all with the keenest interest, tells me what they do and whatthey fail to do, and I am even learning the meaning of a few militaryterms. He approves of the way in which the new men learn, and is veryproud of what they are achieving. But it has got so with me that I pay nomore attention to the drilling men than to automobiles going by. And whentheir hours are over the place is almost as deserted as before. 

 * * * * *

 Sept. 13. 

I am rather annoyed by the fact that now that the training camp issettling into its routine, its officers--the unmarried ones--find time tocome calling on the Colonel. Of course the dear old man is delighted tosee them, and doesn't tell me that he has helped to spread the reportthat an eligible young woman is staying with him. I wish he hadn't. For Ihave found out that military men are twice as bad as civilians. They areaggressive by nature, or they wouldn't have chosen the profession; theyare aggressive by education; three minutes after they are introduced theybegin a flirtation. There is a lieutenant Pendleton here for whom I amsure I am the twenty-seventh, so skilful is he in his operations. I haveknown him two days, and I expect him to propose tomorrow. There are threeothers who are only a day, or at most two days, behind. You know them, the dashing, fascinating kind. 

Another officer, Lt. Pendleton's captain, named Kirby, I cannot quitemake out. He doesn't make love; he discusses tactics with the colonel. Yet he comes quite regularly, and keeps me in sight. He seems grimmer, more tenacious than the others; I'm glad he gives his time to the Colonelrather than to me. His voice has a curious quality, a most unmilitarygentleness. Pendleton, when he gets you in a corner, purrs to you alone;yet you feel that he has claws. His voice rings on the parade ground; I'msure of it. I can't make out what Captain Kirby's would sound like. Thereis a deceptive sympathy to it, deceptive because I feel in him muchpurpose. When an army officer can't flirt he either likes his professiontoo little or he likes it too much. 

 * * * * *

 Sep. 14. 

This morning, on our little porch, I was sitting sewing behind the vineswhen Captain Kirby came marching his company onto the parade groundbefore the house. And then I learned what his voice was like, my dear. Not gentle at all; very deep, very strong, curiously resonant, as if hewere shouting through a trumpet. And how do you suppose he treated hismen, so many of whom are gentlemen, or older than he, or earning biggersalaries. Like schoolboys! I first saw him when he was standing out infront of them, holding in his hand, swinging by the strap, a rifle thathe must have taken from one of them. Said he: "When you're at route step, I want you not to carry your guns like suit-cases. You aren't a gang ofporters. If I had the money I'd tip you all; but cut out this red-capstuff. And don't carry it _so_. " He put it across his shoulders, pointingright and left. "You'll put out the eye of the man on your right, andbash the ear of the man on your left. Now remember, Nature is a greatprovider. She has made shoulders specially for the carrying of rifles. Carry your rifle on one shoulder or the other, or hang them by the strapsfrom one shoulder or the other. And by no other way. " As if they had toobey him in every little thing!

Then he worked them! Nothing satisfied him. At each mistake, a blast ofsarcasm. He spoke of the "accordion-pleated line. " He gave a fling at alost corporal: "As soon as we recover our derelict flanking squad, nowabout a hundred yards ahead. " The men came slinking back. He withered oneindividual. "That belt is on exactly right. Except that it's upside downand inside out, it's exactly right. " At whatever distance he went, Icould hear every word. And whenever the company came close, I could hearthe men in the ranks, murmur, murmur, murmur. You can't treat such menso. Of course they're disgusted with him. 

 * * * * *

 Sep. 15. 

Such a humiliation today! And such a discovery! I suppose you didn't tellme that Dick was here because you thought I'd prefer not to know it. We're perfectly aware of each other's neighborhood now. This is the wayof it. 

This afternoon, being tired of the continual drilling on the paradeground, I slipped away before it could begin, and leaving the Colonel athis nap, went walking out a gravel road that I've for some time wished toexplore. It took me along a rather desolate tract of scrub land, withnothing ahead but the distant Adirondacks; so at last, seeing a littlehill to the left, I thought I'd try if I could see the lake from it, andperhaps sit there awhile in quiet. I struck out across this piece of verydesolate country, with little bushes growing but no grass, not good forpasture nor for anything but one purpose which I didn't then suspect. Soon I found myself walking along a ditch which kept cutting me off fromthe hill, a ditch in the driest of sandy land and as deep as my chin, allshored up with cut poles, or sometimes with plank, or with bundles oftwigs, or with willow basket work. And then I saw it was a trench!

The Plattsburgers must have made it. It ran all about, experimentally. Ithad here a shelter of sandbags, there a dugout, there a kitchen. It wasmade in different ways to show how to use material, I suppose. Really itwas very clever. And then when I came too near it at one place, to studyit, the rotten wood gave way with me, and so as not to have to fall I wasforced to jump, right down into it. And there I was! When I tried to getup at the half-broken place, I was overwhelmed by a shower of sand. Everywhere else the walls were too high for me to climb out. So I took towalking along it, and it twisted all around, with passages like a maze, but nowhere a place to climb. At one corner I met a horrible great snake, helpless down there too. But it went one way and I went the other, till Icame to a little niche with a cover overhead, and a loophole lookingalong the waste of scrub. Outside a little sign said, "Machine-gunemplacement. " And there I stood looking out for a sign of help. 

Then I heard Captain Kirby's voice, no one could mistake it, and I wasrelieved till I understood what he was saying. "Less noise, men! Youcouldn't creep up on a dead tree that way. It would hear you coming. " Thehorrible thing had all his hundred and fifty men there, and in a moment Ibegan to see them, little glimpses of olive-drab pushing through thebushes. I heard his voice again: "By squads from the right!" thencorporals' voices, then the rushing of men, then more corporals and morerushing. All the time, from nowhere that I could see, came a continualclicking--the absurd creatures were pretending to fire on the trenchwhere I was standing. I began to get more glimpses of men running stoopedand throwing themselves flat, heard the captain's war-horn, and a littlefurther away the lieutenant's voice like a bugle. 

For this sort of playing soldier I suppose it was really pretty welldone. I knew they were all the time coming nearer, but I couldn't getanything but glimpses of them. And after a while I knew they were behinda line of bushes some fifty yards away, where I heard their continuousclicking; but they showed only an occasional hat. Then I heard thecaptain's voice, "Front rank, simulate fix bayonets!" and in a moment, full of sarcasm: "Don't draw that bayonet! I said _simulate_. Don't youunderstand the English language?" The clicking kept up at only half rate, and I saw a few rifle muzzles; then the rear rank pretended the same;then I heard the order, "Prepare to charge!" And it was all dead silence. 

There was nothing that I could do but peep through my loophole, and thinkhow silly it all was. I heard a roar from the captain, an outburst ofyells, the crash of the bushes, and--there was the captain coming like abull, and a long rank of men rising behind him and rolling on toward mein a wave. Oh, Frances dear, there is something awful about brute force!I felt the ground shake, the noise of the shouting seemed to burst myears, the faces in front of me were like those of angry demons. I'mashamed that their toy soldiering was so real to them that it [the word_frightened_ evidently crossed out] was too much for me, and I turnedaway and put my hands to my ears. 

Then it was all over. I heard them crying "Halt!" and walked out into theopen trench, to see a line of men laughing and panting just above me. Only a few saw me at first; the rest were saying "That was some charge!"and similar self-praise. I said, "Will you please help me out?" The mennearest me were very respectful. One leaped down beside me, laid down hisgun, and held his hands for me to step in, a blond man, a real soldier, with flashing blue eyes. Half a dozen hands were held for me above, andthe captain came pushing in to help, with such an anxious face! But Iheard someone say, "Give me your hand, Vera!" and there was Dick! He andthe blond man had me out in a moment, and Dick took me through the lineand got me quickly away toward the road I had left. I sent him back, buthe would not leave me till he was sure I was all right. He was veryhandsome, and grave, and respectful. And oh! wasn't it all stupid? I amdisgusted with the whole Tenth Training Regiment, but more disgusted withmyself. 

EXTRACT FROM PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER, OF THE SAME DATE

. .. The fellows' eyes popped as I took Vera through the line. She _is_ astunner! I saluted the captain when I went back, and he did not ask me toexplain why I took so much on myself, though the lieutenant, who came toolate, I think was furious with me. We yanked Knudsen out of the trench, and the captain, forming us instantly, marched us away in the directionthat Vera didn't take. When he gave us rest she was clean out of sight, and we lay down in the bushes and loafed for a while. 

Nobody in the squad asked me a question. Young David's face was a studyin ignorance, but of course it was he who let the others know that I wasto be let alone. From his squad Randall began to throw remarks at me, butPickle turned on him very savagely. "Oh, yap, yap, yap!" Captain Kirbywhen he went by looked at me very intently, and I looked straight back athim. But I couldn't look at any of the other fellows. Curious that a manfeels so self-conscious. You women know how to pretend, but few of usseem to manage it. 

Yet I wasn't sorry it came about so. The squad stands together onanything that happens to any one of us. I felt proud to belong to it. When we marched back and had got to the main road again, the captaindisappeared; it was the lieutenant who got us to camp and dismissed usthere. I knew where the captain went when after this evening's mess I wasordered to go to his tent. He was writing there, and turned round when I_scratched_, which is a little way we have in the army, as there is noway of knocking. I saluted. 

"Oh, Mr. Godwin, " said he, returning my salute. "Miss Wadsworth sends amessage. You're to come to see her this evening, after generalconference. "

"I was planning to go to company conference, sir, " said I. 

I suppose she knew I would say that, for he was ready for me. "She madeit an order, Mr. Godwin, " said he, very gravely. 

"Very well, sir, " said I, saluted again, and left him writing--orpretending to. I suppose she's got him, like the rest of them. 

When I called on Vera we were very proper, and very old-friendly, andradically different in our ideas, as it seems destined for us to be. Itold her how much I liked the training, and she said how much shedisapproved of it, and so we passed the time. Once she insisted ontelling me all about what her sister Frances is doing now. Then officersbegan to come in, and to chat with the old colonel in the next room, andglance through the door at us, as if saying, "When is that dam rookiegoing to go?" So I left. It was nearly time, anyway, for me to be tuckedup in bed like a good little boy, and leave the field to my betters. 

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Saturday evening, Sept. 16. At the company tent. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

We have just come back from general conference, a nightly occurrenceexcept in bad weather. Tonight, because it was cold, the men wentgrumbling and tardy, having put on sweaters under their blouses, and thewise ones, on account of the recent rains, bringing something to sit on. In default of anything better a legging will do, slipped off when we areon the ground. Our speaker tonight told us of army law, too technical forme to make it interesting to you. Some speakers have hard work in makingtheir subjects interesting to us, not that these are dull, but that thespeakers are. Said Corder to me after one such, "When I was a SundaySchool superintendent I let no one speak to the school that hadn'tsomething to say. " Yet on the whole I am surprised how well the officerscan give us the gist of their subjects. 

Our best speaker so far (excepting always the General, who has a way ofgetting at us that explains his success) was a youngish doctor, who gaveus a plain talk concerning personal hygiene. When he spoke ofcleanliness, briefly referring to it as a matter of course, I thought ofa man whom I had seen on the beach that afternoon, Wednesday, looking athis feet and exclaiming in disgust: "Look at them! And I washed themMonday morning!" Some of our lads, who come here with expenses paid bytheir employers, have a little to learn in this particular. 

But to return to our doctor. He was very jocose, expressed himself inperfectly decent men's slang, and kept us laughing _with_ him all thetime, while at the same time he drove home his advice. And yet it wasvery striking how once, not disrespectfully, the men laughed _at_ him. While speaking of our diet he said, "I advise you to eat freely of theexcellent fruit provided at the camp table. " Now with us fruit, cooked orraw, is almost lacking, and nothing exasperates me quite so much, when Iremember the wonderful apples that were just ripening at home, as to seethe small bruised insipid fruit that they serve us here. So the men beganto laugh, quietly at first; but the laughter rippled from one end of thecrowd to the other, and then rose in waves, and then boomed louder andlouder, in one great hearty roar. Whether or not the doctor saw thepoint, it was worth taking. 

Today we went on outpost duty, posting our squads at proper vantagepoints along the further edge of our old familiar field, beyond thetrenches where Vera was trapped. The lieutenant took us out, explainingas he went, dropping a squad on every-other rise of the ground, andleaving its corporal to post his men. Soon we were strung out along halfa mile of rough country, a railroad in our front, and beyond it theenemy's territory. Looking from our vantage-point it was hard to supposethat the barren pasture was hiding all our men. Of them we saw but two, an advance post lying on the hither side of the railroad embankment, peering over the top, and our squad's own foremost man at his place wherehe could command a railroad cut. The rest were hidden in little hollows, in scattered clumps of pine, or in patches of scrub oak. After a whilealong came the visiting patrol, directed by each squad onward to thenext, and so covering the whole front. And last came the captain, inspecting each post, and when he was satisfied, sending us back withorders to pick up the rest of our platoon and re-form by the trenches. Anincident of this short march. Randall, when we routed out Squad Six, produced his last cigarette. His front rank man asked him for half. "Noone divides a cigarette, " said Randall, borrowed a match from the man, and lighted the cigarette himself. Our Lucy, after watching this insilent amazement, took out his cigarette-box, found he had but one smoke, and handed it over. Really, if he becomes a man Randall should have halfof the credit. 

This afternoon we have at last made a beginning on another part of ourwork, the use of the rifle. Some few days ago the captain called forthose of us who had used high-powered rifles; he has since been weedingthem out, till he has a couple of dozen of them to use as coaches. Todaywe went "on the galleries, " which is a convenient phrase for the use ofsmall-bore rifles against small targets at short range. At the bottom ofthe drill field we hung on wires small wooden frames on which were tackedpaper targets; behind was the low railroad embankment, behind that thelake. Our rifles were in every detail like the service pieces, except thesmaller bore. We used dummy cartridges as long as the gun usuallyrequires, but so made as to receive much smaller cartridges, carryingweak charges of powder--if you understand the lingo, they were "22shorts. " One gang of us was kept at work perpetually loading thesegallery cartridges, and assembling them in clips of five; another gangwas steadily tacking new targets on the frames; and bunch by bunch wewere moved from these duties to the more interesting one of shooting thecartridges and spoiling the targets. 

Since our recent talk in the gymnasium we have been practising, at allodd minutes, how to hold and sight the guns, and how to pull the trigger. Never before coming here had I heard of the _squeeze_, in which (ofanother kind) all army men are popularly supposed to be proficient bynature, but which here is technically a special study. The greenhornnaturally supposes that all he has to do with the gun is, like Stephen inthe classic rhyme, to "p'int de gun, pull on de trigger. " But since theordinary pull is a jerk that affects the aim, some genius has inventedthe new method. So we are taught first to grip the small of the stockwith the full hand, the thumb along the side, and with the forefinger totake up the slack of the trigger till it engages the mechanism, and thento take a little more, till presently the gun will go off. At this point, while using the sling to secure a good aim, the shooter should squeeze, that is, he should slowly and steadily contract his whole hand, all thefingers together, till in a moment--Bang!

It sounds so easy!

On the galleries, then, we were tested for our understanding of this newart. The size of the target and the distance, considered in relation tothe power of the two rifles, were about equal to service conditions atfive hundred yards. The weight and size of the gun made the test a fairone. We tried out the two chief postures, sitting and prone, and had bothslow and rapid fire, or as the captain prefers to say, slow anddeliberate. 

These are summaries and general facts. Personal details are: long servicein the two gangs, long waits for my turn, and five minutes with the gun. "Be sure to shoot on Number Twelve target, " warned the coach as he helpedme adjust the sling. "Now get your position right. Now put in the clip. And now remember your squeeze. " I was trying slow fire, handling a gunfor the first time since I was a boy. "The top of the U of the open sightan inch below the bull, " chanted the coach. "But the bullseye, " Icomplained, "dances all about. " "Of course, " said the coach. "Make itdance less, hold as steady as you can, squeeze when the front sight isunder it. --There, you jerked!" So I did, but I squeezed a little betteras time went on, till I was pretty sure I was doing all right. The gundidn't kick, and by my tenth shot I was fairly steady. I gave up the gunafter making sure it was empty, waited till all the rest had finished, and at the order we walked forward with new targets, hung them in placeof the old, tore ours off the frames, and gave the frames over to thetacking squad, while at the same time trying to compute our scores beforewe filed up to the captain. 

I was amazed and disgusted to find that three of my shots had missed thetarget quite. To the captain, as he studied my target, I expressed mymortification. "What target were you shooting on?" he asked, in the lingoproper to our trade. I answered "Number Twelve. " "Three shots shy, " saidthe captain, "and here's Number Fourteen lacking two hits. Where's NumberThirteen?" "Here, sir, " said Bannister, "and there's fifteen shots in mytarget. " "Then three are mine, " said I. "And two are mine, " said NumberFourteen. My shooting hadn't been very good, threes and fours, with onlyone bull. Bannister had nine bullseyes, some of which I may have made;but he was privileged to count all the best shots on his score. --I knownow a little more about target shooting than merely holding the gun. 

Tomorrow we are to have more of this, although it is Sunday. The captainhas given us our evening to ourselves, and has asked us (_asked_, younotice, for our Sunday afternoon is our own) to give him the timetomorrow. He has the reputation, I am told, of always making his companythe best at rifle shooting. And if he works us, he is also workinghimself. 

This spell of cold weather which has followed our rains and is going tomake life quite different for us, has this evening driven everyone fromthe company tent except myself, who sit here wrapped in a blanket to mywaist, finishing this letter. There has been a very pleasant little groupof us here, using each other's ink, interrupting our work to stop andchat, showing each other our photographs. And perhaps I had betterexplain why it is that I have appeared in two or three of the camp sceneswhich I have already sent you. There is here an official photographer, who sends out camera men to take us in all sorts of occupations--on theskirmish line, on parade, cleaning our teeth or our rifles, marching, skylarking. The pictures are all of the post card size, and in due courseare exhibited at the studio, where we go and inspect and buy. He isalways out of pictures of lieutenants, captains, the general, and otherpopular subjects. But by perseverance and patient waiting one canaccumulate a record of his life here. Luck will put a fellow, on anaverage, into a few groups a week, as you see in the ones I have sentyou. 

I am shivering. The captain has promised us another blanket for tomorrow, and there are rumors of an issue of overcoats. At this rate we shall needthem. 

Love from

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Sunday evening the 17th. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

Not a minute for writing all day, and yet I have been idle, idle, idle. My own personal work began very early, for I got up about quarter offive, took my shower-bath in the shivering dawn, and then, while the campwas just beginning to stir, and when I had the bucket and spigot tomyself, I washed out shirt, underclothes, stockings, handkerchiefs, andpajamas. The water was painfully cold, and often I had to stop and warmmy hands in my sweater. But I got the work done, and hung the clothes onthe lines, knotted together, that are used to regulate the caps on tents8 and 10. The clothes-pins were most useful, for the wind blew stronglyall day, and many a piece of laundry went sailing off to leeward. Inspection compelled me to take the things in once, but I got them outagain, and in the evening I had the pleasure of putting on again, dry, the pajamas that I washed in the morning. I never should have been ableto fold them properly for stowing away. 

Our inspection was very formidable this morning, for the major wasexpected, and the captain came down the street, and in his mildest voicegave strictest orders. Washing was taken in, extra clothes were takendown from tent-poles, and tents were made perfectly neat inside and out. I was tent-policeman for the day, but my job was light, for everyone wasconcerned to have the place look well, and picked up round his cot, borrowed the broom and wielded it, and laid out his kit in the best oforder. From the next tent we heard Randall in his usual controversy withhis squad, refusing to help his neighbor roll up the walls of the tent, and loudly complaining when his washing and his rubber coat were thrownon his cot with orders to put them out of sight. But in spite of himselfhe was compelled to share in the housecleaning. Outside, the street waspoliced of every cigarette-butt and scrap of paper, and then the twopolice squads, with rakes and brooms, went down the whole length of itand made it as orderly as a garden walk. 

Then at command we lined up outside the tents, dressed in two lines downthe street, facing each other. Down this aisle came the Major, glancingkeenly about, and peering sharply into each tent. Of our corporal heasked if we had blankets enough. Captain Kirby came next with the firstsergeant, and carefully inspected each tent. Then he called us alltogether in a circle, said that the major had been unusually pleased withus; a man of few words, he has seldom praised a company so heartily. Thisset us all up. Then the captain, for his own part, gave us his thanks, told us we'd done well, and apologized for working us so hard. "I knowyou hate me like the devil for it, " he said, "but you're coming onfinely. " And he sent us to the galleries for more practice. We went insome surprise at his opinion of himself. "Hate him like the devil?"exclaimed Corder. "The devil we do!"

The waiting on the drill-field became very tedious. So poor is ourequipment that we have but eighteen gallery rifles for our hundred andfifty men, and it was nearly an hour before I got my first try. My scorethis time was the reverse of yesterday, for I got fifty-four out of apossible fifty, one hundred and eight percent! That was because therewere thirteen holes in the paper, someone having presented me with theextra three. Counting all the best shots as my own, my official score was42; yet none of the shots were outside the second ring, and at worst myscore was 39. 

In the afternoon my pride had a fall, for after the same tedious wait Ifired my ten rounds at the target. This time I fired prone, both clipswithin two minutes. This position, flat on my belly with my legs apart(in our close quarters it was difficult not to kick my neighbor, anddestructive of aim to have him kick me) with my elbows under me and thegun, and my head bent back, is in itself hard enough to maintain during asingle shot. But for rapid fire the process is thus. After the first shotthe gun is kept at the shoulder, the muzzle slightly lowered and turnedaside to give the right hand a chance to work; I grasp the bolt handle, turn it up, pull it back full length, shove it sharply home, turn itdown, and thus have reloaded. Then again I must sight the gun, be surenot to cant it, be sure not to have my eye too close to the cockingpiece, must get the sights right, hold steady, and squeeze. All this on aten seconds' average. After the fifth shot there is a change, for the gunmust be taken from the shoulder and the fresh clip inserted. Then fivemore shots at the same rate. No wonder that, though all these days I havebeen hardening my elbows and toughening my neck, at the end of my tenshots I fell over gasping. 

And my luck was bad. First my clip would not go easily into the gun, andmade me feel hurried. Next a cartridge jammed, and lost me ten seconds. Then out of the ten cartridges four missed fire, which put me off my aim. My coach was ready with more, but they had to be loaded singly, and I hadtime to fire only a total of eight, making a miserable score of sixteen. The captain, after briefly scanning my target, told me that I was aimingtoo low. After another long wait I had another chance; but this time Iwas thoroughly chilled by the wind that had been blowing through us allthe afternoon. Then the worn cartridges and the old breech mechanismbehaved badly again, and though by following the captain's hint I didbetter, making 27, it was very unsatisfactory. The officers hope formore, and new, gallery rifles. Without them it is difficult to give usgood preliminary practice. For all this, you know, is to get us ready toshoot with the service rifle. 

Many of us came shivering off the field, and huddled in our tents withour new extra blankets around us till we warmed up again. But very few ofthe men failed to turn up at this volunteer practice, and to stay itthrough on the chance of one more round. In the whole company there werebut six who slipped away to pleasures in the town. One of them wasRandall. 

I am warm now, and fed. Love from

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Monday the 18th September, 5. 40 A. M. On my cot, while the others sit about and chat. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

The reason why the others sit and chat, and why I have time to write, isthis. Young David, fresh from his shave (which he has learned to do atspeed, and without injury, and is very proud of) came into the tent andsaid: "We have ten minutes for making up our packs before mess. " "Lucy, "said Knudsen, "there's a chance of showers. Why do up packs that we mayhave to undo again?" So David is polishing his shoes (likewise a new artwith him) and Pickle is sewing on a button, and they all are talking, while elsewhere, chiefly in the street, the men are making up their packsfor the morning's work that is sure to require them. And now comes inBannister, chanting "Soupy, soupy, soupy!" It is time for mess. 

--And now, forty-five minutes later, the whole company is at work overthe packs, most of the squads grumbling, but we very happy, for it isshowering in a dispirited way, and the order is, "Ponchos out of thepacks!" Wise Knudsen, and fortunate Squad 8! Now the next question is, where to carry the ponchos--in the two lower straps of the pack?Everybody gives everybody else his opinion. The word comes down thestreet, "Carry them as you please. " So mine is looped in the strap thatsupports my belt, and the pack is slung. And while everyone else isadjusting his pack, or dropping the sides of the tent near his cot, orloosening the tent guy-ropes, I scratch this. --Now the bugle, and thewhistle, and the last hasty running and calls, and in a moment we shallbe assembled, each with ten blank cartridges in his belt (the first timewe have had them) and shall be off in the drizzle. 

 Evening. In my OVERCOAT!

But it was not many minutes before our ponchos were on, for the day was"open and shut, " and sometimes it opened pretty wide. In our fullequipment, ponchos over everything, we turned off the main road, went bynew and strange ways, and found ourselves for the first time on therange, where we lined up at the 600 yards mark. As we looked toward thebutts the scene was very picturesque. 

The field was level, rising at the further end to a low ridge, belowwhich stood the targets. These, seen through the drizzle, were but greatsquares of pale tan color, only slightly relieved against the wet sandbank. In the middle of each of them I could just see a black dot. Betweenus and them, three hundred yards away, was extended a dark line of men, with here and there a smoking fire around which groups warmed themselves. From the thin line came irregularly spurts of smoke, and the spatteringof rifle shots. It reminded me of an old picture of the field ofAntietam, spiritless in itself, but here made alive by the movement, thenoise, the drifting smoke, and the gray monotone. I watched it while thecaptain explained tomorrow's work; then, glad that today had not fallento our lot, we marched on, taking up our route step in the soft sand ofan old railroad bed. 

We were glad of our ponchos when the rain increased. As it poured downheavily we were a disreputable lot, all streaked with the wet, our hatsslouched, our ponchos bunched in every direction with elbows, packs, andrifles. The rubber turned the cold wind and shed most of the rain; but asbefore, where our knees touched the ponchos the water came through, andwet us finely. Then the rain stopped and the clouds became thinner, butthe wind remained cold; and when the captain slowly led us along thespecimen trenches, explaining as he went, we all got pretty well chilledfor lack of motion. I looked at David and saw that he was turning blue. The only mental relief came when we arrived at the shelter where a fewdays ago we found Vera. 

Corder looked at the sign in front of it, and read it out. "Machine gunemplacement! Very appropriate!"

I couldn't help smiling, nor could the rest, except David, who forpoliteness tried to be blank, and thoroughly warmed himself by the inwardstruggle, turning quite red. When the captain got us back to the road and"fell us out" (note the idiom!) we had calisthenics, with pushing matchesthat put warmth into us. And then we marched in skirmish line through lowbushes for half a mile, till the captain lined us up for blank cartridgepractice. 

We had struck another part of the same abandoned railroad, from which wasplainly visible, at perhaps two hundred yards, the gable of a desertedshack. The captain sent to it a couple of men, who tacked up a target onit. Then first the coaches, our experienced riflemen, and after them theplatoons one by one, came forward, every man being ready with his twoclips of blank cartridges. The slings were adjusted, each line as it cameup loaded with the first clip, and at the command "Targets--up!" threwitself flat, took position, and began to fire. The lieutenant called outthe ten second intervals. Proper firing would bring the exhaustion of thefirst clip at about one minute. Then the second clip would be inserted, and should be finished with the second minute. 

I cautioned my coach to remind me to keep my eye away from the cockingpiece, and after testing sling and ground, threw myself down and got intoposition at the word. Well, it wasn't difficult to fire; though the noiseof the gun was much greater than that of the gallery rifle there was norecoil; and I tried to be as steady as possible in aiming and squeezing. The bullseye was the silhouette, life size, of a man lying prone andfiring at me. Instructions were to aim at the bottom of the target, abouta foot below him. The crack of my neighbor's piece, very loud and sharp, was the most uncomfortable part of the performance, and I shall shoottomorrow with cotton in my ears; many decided likewise. I plugged awaysteadily, the ammunition worked well, and I finished my second clip withabout fifteen seconds to spare. Then I stood up and brushed myself, withno one to prove that I had not made a perfect score. 

One hundred and fifty men shooting ten rounds each--that meant 1500shells left on the ground, with 300 clips, all of brass. I noticed somerather untidy figures, emerging from the miserable little shacks thatdotted the scrub, slinking through the brush in our direction andgathering on the flanks of our firing line, eight or ten men and boys andgirls, one of the latter carrying a baby. Near me Captain Kirby cursedthem under his breath as "human buzzards, " and I understood that thesecamp followers had not gathered merely to admire. As soon as the lastplatoon filed off the ground, these persons slipped forward, and beganeagerly to pick up the treasure that lay scattered there. With brass attwenty-five cents a pound, war prices, they made enough, scratching inthe dirt, to keep them going for the next week or so. 

Back to camp then, still glad of our ponchos, for though there was nomore rain the wind was steadily colder. Then the job of cleaning, withone rod per squad, and patches always few, our fouled rifles. 

This afternoon we were taken to a neighboring field, where in limitedarea are samples of most of the military engineering devices approved bymoderns. Three officers of the engineers in turn took charge of us, andshowed us bridges, roads, entanglements, dugouts, rifle pits, handgrenades, trench mortars (with real bombs!) and finally the mysteries ofmap-making, which for me are practical mysteries still. Some glimmer ofan idea I now have of how a man with a watch and compass, a sketchingboard and paper, can make a working map of country entirely new to him;but I never could do it myself. Calisthenics next, as almost daily; andthen instead of being dismissed for our swim, which none of us wanted insuch cold, we were marched back to the company street, where a line soonformed at the store tent, and a magic word was passed from squad tosquad. 

Overcoats! Overcoats? Could we believe it? But a figure separated itselffrom the crowd at the head of the street, and came strutting toward us. An army overcoat, o. D. , and above it the grinning features of a fellowwhom we knew well. It was true! And quickly we ourselves got into line, coming at last to the tent, where without considering sizes the overcoatswere handed out just as they came. After which men went up and down thestreet swapping, the little fellows with 44s calling out for 36s, and thebig fellows demanding 44s. I soon exchanged my 38 for a 42, and now, atthe camp tent, am comfortably writing in it. It holds me sweater and all, blouse too if necessary; it can cover the ears and comes well below theknees. Mysteriously--for I don't understand these things--it has themilitary cut. I never felt so swell as when I first buttoned it on. 

There has been no general conference on account of the cold, our captainbeing the only one brisk enough to get overcoats for his men. But companyconference is now due, and I see the captain coming. These nights on therifle, always the rifle. 

Love from

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Plattsburg, Tues. The 19th September. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

We have had a long day on the rifle range, slow fire at three hundred, five hundred, and six hundred yards, working for a total of 50 on eachtarget, and a possible grand total of 250 when, some other day, we haveour two tries at rapid fire. The work was hard for some of us, thecoaches and scorers, exciting for the rest. The captain worked hard fromfirst to last, trying to make it possible for us, with our slightpreparation, to qualify as marksmen, with a total of 160, or perhaps evento do better, as sharpshooters scoring 190, or as expert riflemen with210 points. Our new overcoats, for which we have him to thank, saved thelives of many of us, for there was the keenest little north wind blowing. I lay down in mine once, and slept very comfortably; and all the fellowswere grateful for the protection. There isn't a man in the company thathasn't done his best today for the captain's sake, if not for his own. 

Our company were waked a little early, and were extra prompt tobreakfast, which was extra good (eggs and bacon!)--again the captain'sforesight. He started us promptly for the range, surely the oddest sightthat we have presented so far. In front went a huddle of men withbenches, chairs, and tables, lamps for blacking the sights (lest theyglitter and confuse the eye), the captain's megaphone, and theammunition. We followed at route step in our greatcoats, some of uscarrying ponchos, and except for our rifles and belts, no otherequipment. Discipline was relaxed today, for the captain, hopeful of goodscores, was as gentle as a lamb. 

Of the three dozen targets we had twelve for our share, and companies Iand J used the remainder. In front of our section of the line the companyflag was set up, the benches were placed, the scorers took their seats, the platoons were ranged for their turns. Companies I and J came marchingon, and before very long we were rapidly getting used to the orderlydisorder of the range. The coaches were called up for their opening try, and suddenly I heard the order for the first round to begin. The shotsbegan to rap out, sharp and heavy. 

Behind each set of three targets a platoon was stationed. The men stoodand watched, or sat and waited, or lay and tried their squeeze. Orderlies, sergeants, and platoon commanders hurried to and fro. Lorettacame to our group and said "Don't stand there, men, like a flock ofsheep"; but when we paid no attention, faded away. The Captain's powerfulvoice was every few moments heard: "Another man here on target 36. Fleming in hospital? Then send up the next man. We must waste no time. ""Ammunition here at No. 27. " "Every man ready with his score card and hisscore book. " In but a few minutes the firing, which at the first was sonoticeable, became a commonplace, yet it was worth listening to. Fromalong the line came scattered reports, like the blows of a heavy rod onvery heavy carpet, now slowly separate, now close together, now sharplydouble. In answer the whip-like echoes slashed out from the woods. Thedrab men stood, or sauntered, or hurried; the figures of the shooters layprone, each with an eager coach crouching over him, correcting hisposition, urging steadiness, repeating "Squeeze! Squeeze!" Behind theline sat scorers at their wooden stands, behind them the first sergeantreceived the records. The company flags, marking the line beyond whichthe waiting men might not advance, flapped steadily in the breeze. 

And in front of all, three hundred yards away, stood up the graysandbank, the stopper of the bullets. Some shots went over, to land inthe distant woods beyond, whose encircling signs warn all wanderers tokeep out. "There are hornets in those woods today, gentlemen, " said thecaptain yesterday as we passed beyond the range. "We will keep away. "There are thirty-six blackboards numbered in order, and between them arethe great targets of manila paper, with their circles and the heavy spotat the centre. As a man shoots his target sinks, its mate immediatelyrises in the same spot, and then upon its face appears, moved by themarkers concealed in the pit below, the record of the shot. A red flagslowly waved--a miss!--a black cross on a white circle, a red disk, orbest of all, a white disk that obliterates "the bull. " The scorersinterpret. "A four at three o'clock, " "a three at nine o'clock, " "a cleanfive, high up, " "a nipper four at twelve o'clock, " and with a littlechuckle, "a ricochet five!"

Over it all, behind the butts, against the low clouds, rose a silent bluehill, one of the distant Adirondacks. 

In spite of our new greatcoats it grew chilly waiting. I took my time, wrote notes of this for you, listened, watched. At last I was called tothe bench among those whose turn was next. There at the smoking lamp Iblackened my sights, and then carefully laying the gun on the rack I satdown, still in my greatcoat, and while others fidgeted with impatience, or shivered in their sweaters, I remembered that after all I was only acivilian, and remained calm. 

My name being called at last, I went forward to the little rise where, beside a white stake, I was to shoot. I adjusted my sling and lay down tothe left of the stake; to the right was Lucy, tense and pale. My coachwas a stranger; his was good Clay. My coach tried in vain to get me totake the position he preferred; it hurt and strained me, and he gave up. As I slowly got the position I was used to, working my elbows into thesand, bracing my toes, keeping my body close to the ground, my left handtwisted in the sling and supporting the barrel, my right at the triggerand stock, and my cheek at the butt, to my left a rifle heavily spoke, and in spite of cotton my ear rang. Then Lucy shot. I heard the scorersay, "Mr. Farnham, a miss!" and I chuckled as I prepared to shoot. 

My coach knelt over me and repeated "Squeeze!" I got the sights in line, the bull in place above the front sight, which was--or should havebeen--on a line with the top of the U of the open sight, for I was afraidof the peep sight. "Are you shooting on twenty-eight?" asked the coach. Iverified the number of my target, then tried to hold the wavering muzzlesteady, and for the first time tightened my hand-grip on the trigger of arifle capable of killing at two miles. It jumped sharply in my hands, Isaw the red flame at the muzzle as I heard the report, and felt myselfkicked smartly in the shoulder. Then, spent with all this tension, Irelaxed my grip and collapsed on my face. 

There was a discouraging pause as I lay, waiting to hear the hitannounced. Then the scorer cried "Mark Twenty-eight!" The man at thefield telephone repeated the order. I knew the fact--at the butts themarker had not heard over his head the ripping crack of the bullet, andhad to be told that I had fired. I imagined the slow waving of the redflag. Then I heard the scorer briefly announce, "Mr. Godwin, miss!"

Well, I shot two more shots, both on the target, but both poor. My coachdid not seem able to help me. Then Clay, who in spite of his work withLucy had kept an eye on me, spoke in a low voice to my coach, who roseand departed. In a moment the captain came, a great relief to me, depressed with such failure. He looked at my score, asked a couple ofquestions as to my sight and aim, took the gun and adjusted the sights, and stayed to coach me himself. 

But this was not Captain Kirby of the drill field, abrupt and peremptory. He knelt beside me, coaxed, encouraged, purred. "Now, Mr. Godwin, thistime you will do better. " And actually I did, a four at seven o'clock. Once more he adjusted the sights and gave advice as to aim. "Andsqueeze!" he said. "Squeeze!" I made a five at six o'clock--only anipper, but still a bull! Someone else coming for him, he left me with a"See, you're shooting better!" And I believed him. 

That is what he was doing all day, correcting, advising, givingconfidence. Every man after shooting brought his score-book to him, andwas told how to improve his work. But it was too late for me to make agood score on this target: I made but twenty-two. Yet other men didworse, nine, eleven, and even four! Corder, disgusted, reported a twenty. Knudsen was quietly pleased with his thirty-nine. Then I hunted up David, and found him just as Randall approached with a "Lucy, what did youmake?" David acknowledged a twenty-one, and Randall gloated over his ownforty-two. When he had gone, I said "He ought to shoot, being pureanimal. He has no nerves. "

"Hasn't he?" demanded David, meaning, "I know he has. " But he would sayno more. 

I found that the men with low scores were more troubled about the effecton the company total, and the captain's record, than they were for theirown credit. 

But as for this game of shooting, it is certainly a test of nerve. Nothing else can quite equal it--the strain to get position, to line thesights just right, to hold steady, and then to squeeze. By me on thefiring-line the irregular shots were loud and startling, and people weretalking and calling all around. Golf, with its reverence for the manabout to play, is mild compared to this. The nervous strain of firing isgreater, the bodily shock is abrupt and jarring, you have no real chanceto make up for a miss by later brilliance or by any luck. No, golfteaches patience and it requires poise, but--as played by the ordinaryman--it is no such game as this. 

And as between the experts, target shooting is still the bigger sport. The knowledge and judgment required to meet the varying conditions, thesteadiness demanded, the fact that the rifleman is preparing himself tomeet his country's greatest emergencies--these put golf (and you know Ihave loved the game) into the lower place. 

I put on my greatcoat again, took the nap that longed to be taken, andthen, refreshed and more confident, went to my next turn. 

This was at five hundred yards. If you will consider that I was shootingfrom our house across the meadow, across the railroad bridge, at a circletwenty inches in diameter (about the size of our largest pewter platter)you will understand my task. But I was fussed to begin with, for someonehad taken my rifle from the rack, and I had therefore not blacked thesights, nor adjusted the sling, of the one that I hastily borrowed. As Icame to the stand I was met by an artillery corporal, evidently a kind ofsuper-coach, who curtly ordered me to do the one thing and the other, andhurried me to my place. I told him how the captain had wanted the sightsset for this distance; I had put them so. "That doesn't go here, " hesaid, readjusted them himself, and ordered me to lie down. He was sooverbearing, and I was so uncertain of my rights, that I took my positionand fired my shot. A miss! He blamed me severely, and in general treatedme like the dirt under my feet. At my next shot, a poor two, he said, "There you go, thinking you know all about it, and jerking your triggeragain. " I said, "On the contrary, I'm not used to the pull of thistrigger, and the gun went off before I expected. " From that time on Ipaid no more attention to him, and perhaps from my manner he saw that itwas just as well to let me alone; but he attacked the other man on thistarget, who feebly protested, and who made a wretched score. My score wascoaxed along by our company coach, a nice chap named Haynes, who was mostinterested and sympathetic. As for me, the artilleryman vexed me so thatI shot to kill _him_, and by imagining him at the target made athirty-six. 

It was an entirely new sensation, to be so bedevilled by such a man, andto know that in wartime I could not reply. When at noon we were marchedback to camp and dismissed I sought out Haynes and asked, "What is youropinion of that artillery coach?" Said he, "I'm going to speak to thecaptain about him. " "Thanks, " I said. "You'll save me the trouble. " Andwhen again I came back to the post in the afternoon, though the corporalwas there, he was very quiet and good. 

This incident makes me doubt the value, for such volunteers as we, of theregular non-coms whom they hope to have here next year, if by that timethe troops are off the border. What help could such an overbearingconceited drill-master, with no inkling of our difficulties or our pointof view, give to such a squad as ours? Would he last a week out ofhospital, or we a week out of arrest? No, give us a Plattsburg veteran ofone camp as corporal, and appoint as sergeants those who have served two, and we shall come on faster. Further, more men would thus be trained forresponsible positions. 

In the afternoon we shot at 600 yards. We now had sandbag rests for ourleft hands (not for our guns) and once more the captain showed hisforesight. He had us bring intrenching shovels and a dozen new burlapbags, and soon we were provided with the best sandbags on the range. Ihad the same nice little Haynes who had coached me on my second target. Unsatisfied as I still am with my showing, I think he drilled into mesome idea of my errors, and my score again improved, standing at forty. Ifeel better than if it had wavered up and down, even if the total hadbeen the same, and can reasonably argue that if the captain kept onincreasing the distance, say to 2000 yards, I should make a perfectscore. But many men, I find, did their worst at this distance, Randallending up at 24. Lucy has pegged steadily along, and got into thethirties. 

The supper-tables buzzed tonight as never before, every man having histale to tell, generally a tale of woe. Poor Knudsen is very sore, as hislast shot went into his neighbor's bullseye, and though the neighbor hadfinished shooting, the shot could not be credited to Knudsen. There aremany other stories of misses that spoiled the score, and on the otherhand when a man has made a ricochet hit he is not inclined to brag of it. Even those who from my point of view did very well are a little inclinedto grumble; and the only really satisfied man is Percy of Squad Nine, whoholds today's record. 

Concerning Knudsen's miss, I now have the whole story. He had as scoreran artillery sergeant who read the flags through field-glasses, and wasan unusually long time in scoring the last shot. At last he said "Abull, " and scored a five, which gave Knudsen a perfect record; but he, suspecting something, made the man admit that the bulleye was in thewrong target. Knudsen changed the score himself, a bit of personalheroism that roused the wonder of Pickle, who told me the tale, and ended"Chee, I couldn't a done it!"

Here is a story of Lieutenant Pendleton, told me by a man who watched theincident. Our top-sergeant was scoring badly at six hundred yards, andthe lieutenant said, "Let me try your gun. " So he lay down, and withoutputting his arm in the sling, rested the gun on the bag, drew it tightlyinto the shoulder by a hand-grip of the strap, and fired. It was a "twoat one o'clock, " which means that the shot struck the outer side of thetarget about the line, on a clock face, between one o'clock and thecentre. "Your sight is too high, " said he, and corrected it. Then hetried again, and got a "three at three o'clock, " which means that hestruck on the level of the bull, but still out at the right. "You mustcorrect for windage, " said he then. "I'll give her one and a quarter. " Soonce more, with the same rest and grip, he fired. Before the targetscould be changed and the shot marked the lieutenant got up, gave the gunto the sergeant, and walked away, saying, "That's a bull's eye. You candepend on that sighting, sergeant. " Then the scorer called the shot. Abull's eye it was, and the sergeant went on to shoot a string of them. 

There is some pleasure in being drilled by such men as our officers. Iwish you could see the lieutenant on parade, in his best clothes, whichsomehow are more becoming to him than the undress uniform, in which Kirbyshows best. Watch Pendleton walking with his springy, tireless step, always with his eye on us. A dandy he is then, but one of the fightingdandies, an athlete in good training, and a man that knows his business. 

Our day was so completely taken up by the shooting that at the end it wastoo late even for Retreat, and we in the middle of our washing up watchedthe other battalion at parade, stood at attention while the band playedthe Star-Spangled Banner, and saluted at the end. I have spent much ofthe evening writing; and now, the first call having blown, the camp isgetting ready for bed. In the inner company tent I am left alone, theother letter-writers and diarists having drifted away. In the outer, opentent, where the conferences are held, three men are sitting at a cornerof the big table, still discussing their scores, their rifles, thesqueeze, the kick, the serious mistake it is to cant the gun. And here isa fact for you. Captain Kirby declares that the rifles do not kick, andin his own case he is probably right. But I got today a very sharp recoileach time I fired, so that by noon my arm was lame to the elbow, and myshoulder sore. I expected much difficulty in the afternoon, and the firstshot hurt consumedly; but whether or not I learned to hold the riflebetter, or whether the gradual toning up of my muscles is accustoming meto what comes, the rest of the kicks seemed to act as a sort of massage, so that I forgot about them, and tonight I am entirely free of lameness. 

Outside, at the head of the company street, the fire is gradually dyingdown. Wood is always provided for it, a hole is dug, the men feed it aslong as they please, and in the morning the police squad, I suppose, smooth the ground. On benches or on the ground the men sit about thefire, sing, discuss, or chat in groups. There is in the store tent aneasy chair made of rough lumber and sacking; when the captain can beinduced to stay after conference the men bring it out, seat him in it, and make him talk. On his own doings he is silent, but on the work of thecamp, the formations, drill, skirmish work, patrolling, outpost duty, andespecially just now the ways of his beloved tool, the rifle, he has muchto say. Around him are men often much older than he, others who in civillife command several times his pay, fellows who have every luxury atcommand, as well as chaps bred and indeed wedded to the most peaceablepursuits. But they all are here for a purpose; they never talk patriotismbut they all act it; and everything he can tell them that bears on theirefficiency as soldiers they will pump from him if they possibly can. Itis fine to see how they recognize in him complete mastery of the subjectthat occupies us all, and how they sit at his feet for instruction. 

But he has left us nearly half an hour ago, and the groups that remainare slowly separating, as one by one the men go to their tents. I cantell you just what is happening in ours. The lantern is lighted andhanging on the pole. Clay is probably finishing a letter to his "mother. "Bannister is doubtless already abed, but ready from his cot to add asleepy jest to the quiet talk that is slowly going on. Reardon is puttingthe last stamps on the sheaf of post-cards that he daily sends, for he, you must understand, has more correspondents at home than any of the restof us. Rather big and burly, the quietest of men, with a very active eyebut very intensely committed to the minding of his own business, I knowhim to be the most popular man in his own little town, where as themanaging clerk of the grocery he knows every man, woman, and child in theplace. He knows the taste of each, what he habitually needs or demands, whether to trust or require cash. He gets through his day without a clashwith anyone. And knowing both his customers and the market he looks afterthe needs of the town, warns of a rise in prices, calls attention tospecial bargains, advises to lay in a stock of this or that. They misshim now that he's gone; I know it by the pleasure he takes in the lettersand post-cards that come daily, bits from which he cannot help readingout to us--from the Civil War veteran who half believes in Plattsburg, and half doesn't; the drug-store clerk that has to go off on his vacationalone; the "boss" that has nothing personal to say, but quotes the marketchanges; the neighbor who doesn't quite venture to trust to the post thedoughnuts she wishes she might send. And nightly Reardon sits on his cotand writes in the dim light careful answers to every message. 

Lucy and Corder are putting themselves to bed most systematically, Corderbecause of his middle-aged habit, Lucy on account of that aristocraticcleanliness in which he has been scrupulously bred. They have theirsystem and their order, the toilet, the costume, the making of the bed, all very careful and precise. Knudsen, still dressed, is lolling on hiscot and jollying; this is the time of day when he most comes out ofhimself, and I know that presently when I approach the tent it will behis ringing tenor that I shall hear. He is poking fun at the others, cursing that last shot on the range, interrupting Reardon and Clay intheir writing, philosophizing on his favorite subject, baseball. Yet ifyou get a little closer to him you find that he has interests that ittakes a little coaxing to disclose: religious convictions that he haschanged with his growth, curious hard business experiences that make himdeclare that he is a self-seeker, while you have only to watch him withLucy to know that he is not. Yet he sedulously knocks and batters atevery feminine quality that the boy discloses, and will exaggerate anystatement if he thinks you suspect him of tenderness. 

I shall presently make a dash, for the tent, snatch my tooth-brush andmake for the spigot, and bring back a basin of water for my feet. ThenKnudsen will bestir himself and race me for bed, at the same time thatReardon lays by his pen and accepts our warning. We crawl between theblankets, nine over us tonight. I shall put my poncho over me next, andmy overcoat on that, and with the tent-wall looped up shall bepractically outdoors. 

Last of all Pickle will come slipping in from some rendezvous withfriends. He sleeps in his clothes, minus shoes and leggings, and he islikely to be curled up before I am. 

And then float to us the notes of Taps. "Love, good night. Must thougo. .. ?" It is the signal. The last one of us puts out the lantern, and itis soon "Good night, boys, " and silence. Usually I go to sleep at once;if not I soon hear the feet of two of the sergeants in the street and seethe gleam of their lantern. They come from tent to tent, enter ours andthrow the light on each cot, and pass on. Often I hear from theneighboring tents a sleepy "Good night, sergeant, " but never yet thequestion "Who sleeps in that cot?" A high average, then, of obedience tothe rules. The men are here for business. 

I have lingered almost too long. Good night!

 DICK. 

THE SAME TO THE SAME

 Plattsburg, 20th Sept. , 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

It promises today, Wednesday, to be showery once more, so we are makingup our packs with the ponchos out, ready for use. Post-mortems ofyesterday's scores are still going on. The boys are all well and lively, except that I have just passed Randall standing gloomy at the door of histent, feeling very much insulted because someone at breakfast called hima grabber. Apart from him the street is humming with talk, as the boysmake up their packs upon the hard-trodden sand. 

It is a very amusing thing, this confusion and talk of the street, as menon errands make their way among the kneeling figures, the police squadtries to do its work, the sergeants pass, and jokes or criticism arebandied about. We are becoming very well acquainted, except for those whohave not the habit of noticing their neighbors. There are a couple of menwho have for ten days sat opposite me at table, and yet do not know mewhen we meet outside. But most of the men are very companionable. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that the opportunity has not been verygreat. Unless a man is Number One or Number Four in his squad, he islikely to be swallowed up by it. I have felt very fortunate to be NumberOne, for in all formations in line I stand beside a man of another squad, and whenever we fall in or stand at rest I chat with them. SinceBannister has neglected the advice, given by the captain, to shift themen about, I am glad that I have had this advantage, and am more lucky ingetting a wider acquaintance than is possible to some of the others. Foras you have seen, we eat together, march together, dress and sleeptogether, the squad being the unit on which everything is based. CaptainKirby has said that when we rest on the hike squads must sit downtogether, so as to waste no time in falling in. 

But the shooting has done a great deal to break down this isolation. Itwas impossible, on the range or the gallery, to keep the squads together, whether in shooting or in waiting. The men compared their scores, explained their mistakes, gave advice, and fished for sympathy, witheveryone they met. Men in squads widely separated in the line got quitechummy over their misfortunes, and grew friendly in encouraging eachother. The scorers and especially the coaches met many new men. So at thetable and the camp-fire the talk is now much more personal, and I thinkthat from this time on the company will be more of a unit in feeling, ifnot more in unison in drill. 

On this last point Captain Kirby is certainly unanimous. The shooting, with its necessary disorder, has got us out of our habits of snap, andtoday we have been put through a course of sprouts that has taken awayany conceit that we might have had. This morning he gave us ten rounds ofblank cartridges and took us out into our usual ground, the Peru road andthe fields adjoining. First, in anticipation of tomorrow, by platoons wewere given rapid-fire practice, sitting and firing our ten shots at acount of ninety seconds. To our delight, it being a little windy, the bigpaper target had to be held by a couple of the sergeants, one of thembeing Loretta, at whom most of us aimed. (Some day I shall find time totell you about him. ) This practice was valuable to me, helping me with mysqueeze. It was amusing to watch the other men fire (cool and clever, ornervous and clumsy) and to listen to a little echo close behind our backsas we waited, like a bunch of firecrackers going off all by itself. 

And an incident. Before leaving the ground I gathered up ten shells andsome clips, to practice with at camp. After Recall I went to the end ofthe company street, made up my clips, and had nearly finished simulatingthe shooting of the second one, when we were called for calisthenics, andI came running, and put away the gun. When later we fell in for parade, and were given "Inspection arms!" on my opening my rifle a shell flewout, right at the feet of the first sergeant, much to my disgust. Whenlater still I came back and found it, I discovered it to be not an"empty" but a "blank, " which someone this morning must excitedly havepumped out of his gun unfired, and left lying for me to pick up. Lucky Ididn't fire it in practising at the foot of the street!

But it shows that I am still a greenhorn if I will put away my gun withanything in it, even though I had supposed it to contain but an emptyshell. I don't intend ever to do such a thing again. There is anothertrifling mistake we are liable to, as illustrated today. Halted at"company front, " that is, with the two ranks in long lines, the captainordered us to load. At the command the men half turn to the right, butkeep the rifle pointing forward and up; the rear rank men also come closeto the front, so that the muzzles of their guns are in advance of thefront rank men. Standing thus they open the breeches of their guns, thrust in the clips, shove the bolt handle forward and turn it down--andthen somebody's gun goes off! So you see why the rear rank men have theirguns where no one will be hit, and why the captain stands off at oneside. My, but he read us a lecture this morning! "Who let off thatgun?--Mr. So-and-so, some blunders are crimes. That was one!" And a fewmore well chosen words. One hundred and forty-nine of us were glad wehadn't made that little slip. 

After our firing the captain broke the company into two, and took my halfhimself. Then he proved to us that in skirmish drill we had forgotten allwe had ever known, briefly expressed his opinion of the corporals, andsplitting us into squads, told the sub-squad-leaders to take command. NowReardon, who has drilled at Number Four in the rear rank since theformation of the squad, is by virtue of that position the corporal'ssubstitute, and he manfully tried to lead us. I saw in a moment, firstthat he knew twice as much as I about the drill regulations, second thatnever before having given an order, he could not do himself justice. Further, with the captain in that mood every man of us was scared. Sopresently the captain, after a few beheadings in other squads, came andwatched ours for a minute, sent Reardon to his place in the ranks, and ashis eye roved over the rest of us, picked me out, probably as being theonly one whose name he knew. "Mr. Godwin, put the squad through theskirmish drill!" A bad five minutes! I can order men about _informally_, and I knew what I wanted done in this case, but to give the order in theprecise words of the drill book was more than my memory could compass. Itwas very interesting, even quite exciting; continually I racked my brainfor something to do next in which I should not make a fool of myself. Wegot back into company formation after a while, and the captain tried theline in a skirmish advance; then abruptly he put all the corporals backinto their places, and my little reign was over. 

I should like, as anyone would like, to be corporal. Yet I should notmake a good one, being nowadays in an absent-minded state and likely tofall into fits of brooding from which I could not give my orderscorrectly or promptly. I wonder if the captain will find out Knudsen. Butit is right that Bannister should remain corporal, for he is dailyimproving in the work. 

Nor can it be at all easy for our two officers to find, in the midst ofall their work and among so many men, the one man in every eight capableof leading the squad. In the early stage of the school of the soldier itwas not difficult to find those men who could best handle their guns anddrill others in the same simple art. But such a test, even if mentallysufficient, does not take in the moral qualities necessary for thehandling of eight men, keeping them up to discipline, seeing that theyunderstand and are at all times ready for their work. Experiencedsergeants might make this quickly possible, but our sergeants, even whenthey have been here before, are mostly very new to their duties. I takeit that the captain and lieutenant are doing as well as they can. 

In the afternoon the captain formed us in the street and drilled us inthe manual, then took us down on the field and explained battalionparade, after which he put us through and through and through its simpleevolutions, we blundering all the time. We had merely to march in line, to march in column, to halt and bring our rifles down together, and to dothe customary movements of the manual in unison. But try as we might, wecouldn't please the captain. For my part, I was as scared as a schoolboy, fearing to make some slip. But such little ones as I know I made passedunnoticed; in fact, our part of the line attracts very little of hisattention, so I conclude we do fairly well. Yet in the picture which Isend, of the captain looking at our squad as we march company front, thecamera has caught Squad 8 in a great mistake. The sun, as it lies exactlyalong the line of the company, with only the right hands and knees infull light, shows my part of the line pushed wholly forward out of theshadow, and the Captain looking at us in disgust. His attitude shows hisfighting quality. "The scrappiest captain in the army, " says Knudsen. Sooften he has to look back thus and warn us: "Steady!" or "Guide!" or"Hold back on the left!"

How little you as a spectator would get of what goes on in the ranks onsuch an occasion as today's final parade! Suppose you were where I sooften wish you, at the top of the slope above the field, which in spiteof certain unevennesses would look to you fairly level. You would see theband march down and take its place in the left corner; then away to yourright the companies would appear in their separate columns, and perhapsyou would think they were very interesting as they halted and waited. Then when the major came and took his stand below you, the music wouldstrike up, and the three companies would march straight onto the field, along the bottom of which they would one after another swing into lineand stand in apparently beautiful order. Then an adjutant with a clearhigh voice would give orders, and the men would present arms, come toattention, and then to parade rest. In this position they would remainwhile the band, playing a march, would go down the whole line and backagain, the music, when they were once more in place, abruptly stopping. Then the officers would gather and march forward in line, they wouldreturn, the major would call a command, and the companies would all breakinto squads, the rifles coming to the shoulders. To the right they wouldpass, turn up the slope, and then one by one would again swing into lineand pass, with more or less beautifully wavering fronts, before themajor. The first two companies would evoke applause from the spectators;the third, in which you would see a familiar face, would rouse none--andthough you might clap your best, in this case you are but a ghost, and noone would hear you. Then the companies would for last time break intosquads and so would march off the field. And you would sigh and think, "Isn't it fine?"

Well, you would never get the true inwardness unless I told you. It wentthis way. 

Down out of the street we marched into the field, I a small part of a bigmachine, very much afraid that I might make some blunder. The men's feetthudded in unison on the sod, and to each tramp came the rustling echo ofour stiff breeches, always an accompaniment to us as we march in goodorder. We waited, we marched forward to the music, we heard the captaingive his first order--to the guides, I realized, not to us--but then came"Squads left--march!"

I swung to the left, the men in front of me marched to the right. Justgrazing the last of them, as these rear-rank men filed to their places, Istepped into my position in the front rank just as the corporal finishedcounting "Six" below his breath, and at "Seven!" the whole line, whichhad been waiting for us Number Ones to complete it, strode straightforward. "Company--!" and we took this last moment, each out of thecorner of his eye searching to the right, to get in good line. "Halt!"Low voices counted "One, two!" and the halt was completed. "One, two, three!" and the pieces were at the order. The captain commanded"Right--dress!" and we edged forward, our heads turned to the right, toalign the rank. 

Such eager work we make of it--"Forward on the right--back in the nextsquad--Frothingham, you're too far forward--tell Neary to get back!" Suchcommands, all under the breath, run up and down the line. At last we arein place, the Captain says "Front!" and takes his place before the middleof the line, facing away from us. But he says in reminder, "The nextcommand for _you_ will be Parade Rest. "

Alas, Lieutenant Pendleton's high tenor (he is the adjutant for the day)calls "Guides--posts!" We knew--we ought to have known--the order; we hadbeen warned to ignore it. But some of the men come to parade rest. Thecaptain hears, though he cannot turn to look. "Stupid!" he hisses. "Asyou were!" Then comes the command for us all, "Parade--rest!"

It was very comfortable, waiting while the band marched up and down. Wewere not much stirred by this; we knew by heart all the few tunes; wethought the drum-major very tiresome with his bent head and his elbowjogging for the time. But there was, above the ugly mess-shacks straightin front, the finest sunset to look at: angry clouds to the right, to theleft wide reaches of pure blue, with tiny white clouds stretching in rankto infinite distance, and in the middle the yellow glow of fire behindbroken masses, through which shot, not beams of light, but rather, itseemed, wide bars of shadow. 

The captain, as we thus stood at parade, hissed back over his shoulder, "Bad! Some of you men have your feet too far back. " This wouldparticularly disgust him, for at previous practice, taking a gun from asergeant, he stood in front of us and said, "Let me show you how Rip VanWinkle here in the second squad comes to parade rest, " and gave us aludicrous example of slowness and slovenliness. Then he illustrated, inbriskness and correct position, just how we should do it. 

Returned to his place after saluting the major, he said, looking straightin front, "Your next command is Squads Right. " The major's big voiceboomed: "Pass in review--squads right--March!" I turned sharply to myright, marked time, and when the other three had come into line, togetherwe stepped out. The band blared out, we were in step, and so approachedthe corner. "Column left!" and we did our best to turn correctly, thoughnobody could see. Then we marched up the slope, knowing that the realtest was now coming. "Squads left!" and as the rear rank man made way forme, I stepped into place, and in one line we all strode out together. Tohold the line straight! You on the top of the slope may have cried "Howpretty!" at the rifles all with the same slant, the hands at the sameheight, the heads straight front, the feet--one, two! one, two!--inperfect time with the music. But with us in the line there was intentnessto remedy any unevenness, strain to hold ourselves just right. We couldnot look except out of the corners of the eyes; all was done by the touchof the elbows. For a few yards, rods, it was good. We safely crossed aslimy patch where a great puddle had just dried, through which on MondayI tramped ankle deep, and where now a fall would be natural. Then--ah! weexpected this! Frothingham, I, Knudsen, found ourselves marching alone, the other men out of touch with us, having drawn away to the right andleft. I heard my mates grumble, I knew what I was to do: spread myself tooccupy all possible space and march straight onward, for--there! theywere back again, surging from the left and right, back in their properplaces, and the line had not really broken. "Good!" murmurs Knudsen. "Hold it!" exhorts the captain over his shoulder. Then "Eyes right!" andthus saluting as we passed the major we could see, or thought we saw, aperfect line. "Front!" We swept on; we listened. The ladies had clappedthe first two companies, but there was no applause for us. Had it thenbeen bad after all?

Back to the street we marched, and formed in line. Lieutenant Pendletoncame and spoke to the captain, then walked away smiling. "The lieutenantsays you did well, " said the captain briefly. But he was so short that wethought him grumpy, especially since the lieutenant had never before beenseen to give us anything else than his little ironical smile. Yet atcompany conference, in the evening, one of us ventured to ask the captainif we really had done badly. "No, " said he. "I was pleased with you. Youdid well. The major said you did best. " So the lack of applause meantnothing. I saw men whose home affairs are so large that this mightproperly be small to them, look at each other in relief. 

Today I got a letter from Walt Farnham about his cousin Lucy. He says: "Iknow you won't baby him. The camp ought to do him good. It was I that putthe idea into his head, but his father, afraid that he might back out atthe last minute, or not stick it through, has promised him an auto of hisown when he gets back, anything up to twelve thousand dollars. How caneven Plattsburg save such a boy?"

And Vera is after him now. After conference I was writing in the companytent, the inner one, while the captain still talked outside to half adozen men. To my surprise a bell rang behind me, and while I sat lookingat a curious instrument on the post, wondering if it were a telephone, the captain came in, took from it a strange receiver-transmitter, andspoke into it. I heard Vera plainly answering, and the captain, saying"Mr. Godwin is right here, " gave me the thing to hold. She said "Oh, Dick!" so plainly that of course the captain heard it as he went outagain. Vera told me that Mrs. Farnham has written her, asking her to keepan eye on her darling, and I was to send Lucy to call. I warned her she'dmuch better leave him alone, but she laughed and insisted. The telephonewas in that state, or she spoke so plainly (you know how it occasionallyhappens) that anyone could have heard her even in the outer tent. When Ihung up and went out, there was the captain just saying good night to themen, and the table and benches would not let me slip by before he turnedand saw me. 

You know there are moments when eyes meet and seem to catch, and it isdifficult to pass without speaking. That is why, I am sure, the captainsaid: "You are very well acquainted with Miss Wadsworth?"

I thought that here was a chance for the truth. "I ought to be, " I said. "I have been engaged to her for the past two years. " And then seeing, bythe instant change in his face to one of deepest gravity, what hesupposed me to mean, I added, "She broke the engagement a month ago. "

"Oh, " said he, not relieved, mother, or not showing relief, but veryseriously kind, "I'm sorry, Mr. Godwin. "

"Thank you, captain, " I said, and got myself away. I don't mind havingtold; indeed I did it deliberately, quite for the good of his peace ofmind. It's always a relief to strike one rival off the list, and if everhe gets really interested in Vera he'll find plenty of others blockingthe way. 

When I gave David Vera's message he flushed up at first with pleasure, then remembered that an evening call would spoil a company conference, which he has taken to attending. As usual, he looked to Knudsen foradvice, and that wily person said, "Go in the afternoon and perhapsyou'll miss her, " which relieved the boy considerably. Our time is toohorribly full for social calls. 

Tomorrow evening there is to be a company boxing match, one-minuterounds, no decision given. It is said that Randall has entered, andPickle remarked thereupon, "I'd like to have the laying of him out. " "Nofear, " said Corder. "Randall is to box a man he knows, for points only, very gently. " "Yellow, " said Clay. Lucy said nothing, but looked a gooddeal. There actually are coming lines of firmness around his mouth. 

Good-by. 

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Plattsburg, Thursday the 21st Sept. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

I am writing at about 7. 30 o'clock on the range, after having fired mypractice shots to make my sighting sure, and now with time to wait beforemy rapid-fire test. Imagine the usual confusion, the heavy rapping of theshots, the calling over of names, and the buzz and laughter of the menwaiting near me. A perfect morning, the dew just burning off, a littlebreeze from the lake, and not a cloud in the sky. 

We are shooting from the two hundred yard mark, sitting position, andsince I have watched a few rounds, I am able to tell you the way ofit. --As the guns become silent with the disappearance of the targets theLieutenant calls, "Next men up!" Those who have just shot rise andnervously stand aside, to watch the scoring of their ten shots. The newmen, while loading and locking their pieces, also watch the record oftheir predecessors. Passing behind D Company a few minutes ago, I saw theflag cross one target six times. I did not see the beginning of thescore, and how many more misses the poor devil made, I can only guess. The men go away with their scores, the new ones stand waiting. 

From the left rings the high call, "Ready on the right!" The lieutenantresponds to his men, "Unlock your pieces. " To the waiting men theinterval is long. Then slowly the blank targets begin to sink and thetops of the true ones to rise. It is the signal. The men drop to thesitting position and settle the butts in their shoulders; the muzzlesrise, waver, and steady. Then together "Pol-lop!" and the whole line, faster and faster, bursts into the rap-rap-rapping of the continued fire. Along the line, little spurts of flame; a thin haze rises from themuzzles and at once disappears. Beside each shooter kneel two coaches, one calling the time, the other exhorting, warning, entreating. Adistinct lag in the firing between forty-five and fifty seconds--the menare loading their second clips. Then the fire gradually quickens to thefull rate, the coaches urging the slow ones on, holding the hasty onesback. The fire slackens, and seems stopped, when as the targets sink atthe ninety seconds, two last hasty shots slap out. The round is over. Inthe brief time the three dozen men have fired three hundred and sixtyshots. 

(_Later. _) My turn approached, and I stood waiting, the sling clasped onmy arm. I felt the strain of the long wait before there came the call, Ready! To my coaches I had said--to one, "Don't let me shoot too fast, and keep me on _my_ target"; to the other, "Remind me to squeeze. " Thenthe blank target, beside the great 28, began to sink, and down I dropped. I was not nervous now; at least I did not tremble. I tried to fire slow, to squeeze, to keep on my own target, (for truly, as the captain latelysaid, firing on another man's target is one of the sad things of life. )My second clip I had to shoot quicker until my last shot, when the coachsaid, "Plenty of time. " So I sighted and squeezed my best, felt that Icould call the bullseye, and pulling out the bolt for the last time, toshow that the breech and magazine were empty, stood up and stepped back. Now for the score. 

The target rose at last. The red disk was all I hoped for, but there camethe white, again the white, again the white, again, again, again, thenthree times the red, and once the black. I still waited, having lostcount. Would the flag come now? But no, the target sank, and my coachescongratulated me on a forty-five!

(_Evening. In the tent. _) Well, I won't put in too much detail for you, to whom perhaps this shooting has no interest. We finished at two hundredyards and moved back, carrying benches, racks, chairs, flags, everything, and began over again at three hundred yards, prone. The men were mostlyvery much on the stretch, and I admit that I was, for while I now waspractically sure of my grade of marksman, I might, by shooting especiallywell, even become a sharpshooter. Lucy was in a similar state, marksmanbeing within his grasp. Randall was swaggering; he had been shootingwell. But Knudsen was very anxious, surprising in so cool a fellow. "Tobe Expert, " he said, "I've got to make a fifty. Confound it, I'm afraidthat shot I sent into the wrong target will ruin my chances. I need thelittle leeway it would give. "

Well, he missed it by two, and that little error undid him. Lucy got hisgrade of marksman, and his excitement was delightful. He sought out eachmember of the squad and called for congratulations. How disgusted hismother would be to see him with his hand on Pickle's shoulder, discussingthe score, for really, don't you know, socially Pickle is less thannobody! I made my grade as sharpshooter, just made it, with a forty-nine. 

Poor Reardon! His scores had not been good, only a miracle could make himmarksman, but he lost his chance. Loretta--

I'll tell you about Loretta, a sergeant whom the boys have nicknamedthus. Luckily he is not in our platoon; but we soon got to know the loftysmile with which he passed up and down the street, and his contempt forthe enlisted man. Such, my dear mother, is the inflating power of alittle authority. 

Well, he has been very busy with the shooting, making a good recordhimself, and helping, as all the sergeants did, with the scoring. Needinga scorer at one of the targets, he took poor Reardon and put him at workjust when his last turn was coming on, and in spite of the fact that hehad already served long hours at the job. Reardon protested, Lorettapromised to let him have his turn, but when the shooting was all overthere was poor Reardon still at the desk, and his last round was notfired. We noticed that on the way back to camp he was very silent andcast down, but we did not know why till we were cleaning our guns in thetent, all the racks being occupied outside. Then I questioned Reardon, and the facts came out. 

All of us were wrathy, but you should have seen Lucy! Tears of anger cameinto his eyes as he started up. "I'll go at once and tell the captain!"Reardon clutched him. "No, " said the good fellow. "I hadn't a chance toqualify. It's perfectly true. Loretta told me so. "

"Loretta told you so!" echoed David. He was quite white and shaking atthis instance of adding insult to injury. "By God!"

He was for going at once and complaining, but Reardon wouldn't let him. "Then, " said David, "wait till the hike. If you don't get even with himthen, I will!"

I wouldn't tell this story to David's mother. She might think her son toosympathetic with an "outsider. "

The fellows have been in the habit of cooing at Loretta as he passestheir tents. His pet name precedes him down the street, the coos comefrom the shadowed interiors. It has been meant harmlessly. But this storyof Reardon has spread rapidly, and I thought I detected a snarl in thecooing when Loretta just went by. There is something in David's threat. Wait till the hike!

This afternoon we had our usual drill and calisthenics, after which Iwent swimming in the lake, as I do daily, though under certaindifficulties. The beach is very stony and bruises the feet, and the piersthat have been built at our two bathing places are quite inadequate, bothas accommodating too few men at a time, and next as not going out intodeep water. Perhaps early in the summer the water at the ends may be upto one's shoulders, but now it is scarcely above the waist, and none butthe cleverest and most venturesome dare to dive. So many would like thediving that it is a pity that a little money can't be expended here. However, the water is fine, even if it is now getting so cold that someof the men are giving up their swim. We often have surf here, when thesoutheast wind quarters across the bay all the way from Burlington, andthen the fun is notable. 

The scene at the foot of the pier particularly struck me today, after themen were out. There were nearly a hundred of them in a rather narrowcompass, so close to each other, on the boulders of the beach, that theyreminded me of the pictures one sees of big birds in their colonies. Themen were naked, and every one in active motion, rubbing down. The sightof so much brown and pink skin, of so many moving bodies and arms andlegs, was most peculiar and amusing. 

The list of company officers has been published. Two of our bestsergeants becoming lieutenants, other sergeants have been named, and thelist of corporals and sub-squad-leaders has been fixed. In our squadBannister and Reardon stand as before. Ban quietly told us that he wasglad to get the appointment. "I had my eye on you, " he said to Knudsen, "and on you, " to me. "This will please my old father: he was a corporalin the Civil War. " And good Ban forgot us as he thought of thesatisfaction of the old man at home. 

Tonight at conference we were given definite details of the scheme forreimbursing us for our travelling expenses and our mess. The governmentwill repay those who take the oath of allegiance--and everyone is huntingfor the nigger in the woodpile. There is so general a sentiment that theWar Department tricked the militia into taking the oath of six years'service before starting for Texas, that none of us cares to be caughtpromising too much. But I feel that the form of oath, which was readaloud tonight, is pretty straightforward. We enlist only for the periodof the camp, and for instruction only. I shall take the oath. If beforethe period is over the government takes us away for service anywhere, Isuppose there will be an emergency to justify it. 

We were also given additional facts regarding the hike. Having so small aregiment, yet having the baggage train of the large August camp, we areto go on the longest hike yet, eleven days on the road and in the field, ten nights in the pup-tents. We are sorting our belongings to take or toleave, and David is wondering how he can carry all his exquisiteappointments. 

But he has just come out strong. Company conference being over, there washeld the boxing match which one of the sergeants has been promoting, andthe whole company (officers discreetly absent) formed the ring andapplauded the heroism. Much of it would not interest you, yet you couldhave stood a glimpse of it--the circle of men, good-naturedly applauding, the heavy shadows under the overhead light, the gray-green uniformity ofmen and sand, the two dancing figures, and the pat-pat of the gloves. There were some neat bouts, and then the promoter made an announcement, which to my surprise I saw Randall, stripped to the waist, furtivelytrying to stop. 

He had on his left, said the sergeant, one remaining contestant, whoseopponent had just sent word that he had hurt his wrist. Would anygentleman be willing to provide Mr. Randall with an antagonist?

No one came forward. Randall looked very formidable, with his handsomefeatures and also a most superb set of muscles. I was saying to myselfthat perhaps I'd better give him a go, when I caught sight of Lucy'sface, peering between the men in front of him, and so plainly full ofdesire that I waited. Then Corder, on the other side of him, jogged Davidin the ribs, and said in a low voice, "He called you Lucy!" In an instantDavid, without a look behind or a moment's hesitation, was pushingthrough the ring. "Let me try. " And he stepped out into the light. 

Someone caught me by the arm, and there was Knudsen, very angry. "Whydidn't you stop him?" he demanded. "He never can stand up to thatfellow. " But I, feeling quite as satisfied as ever I felt in my life, smiled him down, "Somehow I think he can, " said I, and pushed afterDavid, to act as his second. 

Oh, I coached him all I could, and in the rests I helped the gasping boyin every way I knew how. The rounds were short, but too long for him inhis still soft condition. And he knew so little of the game! Had Randall, who really had boxed before, used his head, poor David would have stoodno chance whatever. Yet the boy's insight was correct. No sooner didRandall see before him the lad's unmistakably eager face, and know fromDavid's first rush that here was a fight, than he was flustered. So asboxing the bout was nothing: neither could hit clean, parries wereclumsy, much was accident. David's very ardor betrayed him, and he cameback to me at the end of each round quite winded. But for the rest, nothing could be finer. Randall was twenty pounds the heavier, and slightDavid staggered when the blows came home, yet always he came back. Hispanting persistence, his determination to strike, were too much for theother. He held back, and David came on; he drew aside, and David followedhim; he struck, and David without parrying came right through, and landedblow after blow somewhere. 

The men were yelling presently, here was so evidently grit against meremuscle, spirit against flesh. Randall grew angry and hit hard, but he waswild; he grew afraid and tried to clinch, but his rush was feeble. Davidjabbed him repeatedly in the ribs, drew off, and for the first time inthe three rounds (the referee was just calling time) hit Randallneatly--on the nose. 

And Randall, in pain but not hurt (for the boy couldn't hit hard)nevertheless believed himself finished. I think he wanted to stagger andfall at full length, but he only succeeded in sitting down. Shout uponshout upon shout! Then we of the squad took David, groggy with his ownefforts, rubbed him and fanned him and swabbed him, and finally walkedhim off between us. 

Knudsen said in my ear, "You were right. That was worth a thousanddollars. "

A fellow from another squad tried to be complimentary. "Well done, Lucy!"

Pickle, without any ceremony, pushed in between. "Cut that out! His nameis Farnham. "

The chap was puzzled. "But you don't call him that. "

"We know him better now, " said Pickle. "We call him David. "

And David, who had been leaning heavily on me, at the words stoodupright. He had been smiling with satisfaction; now he looked happy. Heput his arm over Pickle's shoulder as the other fellow walked away. "Thanks, Pick, old man, " he said. 

Knudsen and Corder and I fell behind and shook hands. The name Lucy wasdead and buried. 

David wouldn't go to bed; he sat contentedly on his cot, sopping linimenton a bruised lip, while fellows kept coming in from other squads, tocongratulate. After a while I went out, and seeing a little knot of ourmen at the captain's tent, joined them. 

The officers like to have the men come to them with questions, and afterrepeated invitations issued at general conferences, the men have come tobelieve it. So there is growing up a little habit of stopping at thecaptain's tent for a question which often extends into an interchange ofideas from which each side benefits. But they weren't on any technicalsubject tonight; the men had got the captain talking on the topic of anofficer's life, and they had just reached the items of his expenses. Ihad never particularly thought of this side of the matter before; I knewthat an officer is technically a gentleman and must dress as such, butthat his pay is so small, his perquisites so few, and his necessaryuniforms so many, I had not realized. To tell the truth, the little groupof us who listened were really rather shocked that these men who work sohard for the nation are under such burdens. The captain perceived it, andfor his own interest suddenly turned the tables on us. 

"I have been rather frank, gentlemen, " he said. "Now I know your expensesare such as you choose to make them; but would you mind telling me howyour incomes compare with mine?"

The question was perfectly fair, for the men had been pumping him; andthey responded at once. "I count on eight thousand yearly from myfactory, " said one. The next said that his salary was six. The third, with a little embarrassed laugh, admitted that he earned ten thousand. And the next said that last year he cleaned up forty thousand dollars. Asyou can imagine, these were all men older than the average rookie. Theywear their uniforms badly, some of them, being no longer lithe andlissome; and yet the forty thousand dollar man was lean and hard as anIndian. I had so far known him only as a sportsman who loved to talkabout big game. The captain, as he listened, nodded gravely at eachstatement, and when the last had spoken turned his eye on me. I couldonly tell him the truth--twelve thousand as my salary, and perhaps anequal amount on the side. 

He drew a long breath. "Well, gentlemen, you have my congratulations. Onthe other hand, I'm not sorry to have told you these facts about armylife. It's well that you civilians should understand conditions. As formyself, I went into the service with my eyes open, and I'm not yet readyto change it. "

His eye rather lingered on me. I have the impression that he's acutelyconscious of my presence whenever I'm about. Is that Vera's doing? Do yousuppose she's got him too?

Love from

 DICK. 

LETTER FROM VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTERFRANCES

 Plattsburg Post, Thursday, Sept. 21. 

DEAR FRANCES:--

I wish I hadn't come. Two of them are in earnest! Lieutenant Pendleton ishere every day, very gay but very desperate. I use the Colonel all I canagainst him, and the innocent old man will talk shop with him by thehour. But sometimes the lieutenant manages to get me alone, and only mybest cold-storage manner has saved me so far. 

But if the lieutenant is the kind that takes you by storm, Captain Kirbyis one that will lay siege. He doesn't come so often as the other, hedoesn't stay so long, he doesn't say so much; but he is the kind thatsticks. I may be able to stave off the lieutenant, but I shall have tohave it out with the captain. 

I wish you were here. You would be such a help! Can't you manage it? Oh, Frances dear, I don't like army life. Why couldn't I be satisfied withDick? Come and help me!

 VERA. 

FROM PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Plattsburg, Friday, Sept. 22, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

It rained in the night, and between showers I went out and fixed the capof the tent, loosening also the cords. If we don't attend to these latteras soon as rain begins they are likely to shrink and tear the canvas, orperhaps pull up the tent pegs. And if everything holds till morning, thenthe job of loosening the ropes, even with three men to each, isconsiderable. But I was in time. In the morning it was cloudy, but we haddry weather for our baths and breakfast, and for making up our packs. Then the rain began to patter, and we to groan. The bugle blew, and westood expectant at the doors of our tents, waiting for the whistle. Weawaited the order, "full equipment, ponchos over all, " but the call came, "non-commissioned officers, with their drill regulations, at the head ofthe street. " The corporals and sergeants went, the privates in the tentscheered madly, and now we are awaiting what may happen next. 

So in the interval, just a few words about our proficiency, and ourpartial failure so far. We haven't done very well, and that's a fact. Wemarch badly, losing distance, interval, and alignment; we dress slowly, we fall in with much delay, and our various manoeuvres are done with muchhesitation and uncertainty. For all this the captain has, as the boyssay, plentifully "bawled us out, " constantly working us more than anyother officer has done in the battalion. We can't deny that we are raggedand slovenly, but why is it?

To begin with we are trying to do, as the captain acknowledges, more thancould be hoped of ordinary recruits, we being (ahem!) of the intelligentclass. But intellectually we are uneven, some of us plainly not beingborn to be soldiers, so that with the best of will they lag. Again, thePlattsburg movement has reached the stage in which the men have not allcome with the same impulse to serve the country, a considerableproportion being, as it were, substitutes, being sent by the publicspirit of employers who cannot come themselves. The motive is excellent, and they choose, I make no doubt, the best men available among theirclerks. But not all of these are suitable material, some being here for alark, and some being too young to be serious. Such fellows impede theprogress of the others. When the movement takes still wider scope, orwhen we reach the stage of compulsory general training, evidently theleaven that pretty successfully leavens this lump will then, being muchdiluted, have harder work to do, and to make the mob into a regiment willtake double the time. Finally, I have already spoken of another of ourweaknesses, the inexperience of our non-coms. Most of our corporals arehere for the first time; many of the sergeants, though familiar with thecorporal's job, are new at the higher work. Indeed some of them havenever worn stripes before. They are therefore so necessarily intent onguarding against their own mistakes (which still are plentiful) that theycan't give enough attention to the blunders of the men. Nor, as I havesaid, do I think that the professional non-com will help us here, unlessspecially chosen for understanding the Plattsburger. The martinetdrill-sergeant whose severities the docile German may bear, would neverbe tolerated among us. What we need is to make it a matter of pride forthe veterans of one camp to come back and serve as corporals in the nextand as sergeants in the next. With regular non-coms in the way there isno chance for the civilian to make himself a valuable reserve man; but ifhe can be tempted by promotion to come again and yet again, he is notonly now serving the training cause better than anyone else can, but heis building up a body of responsible men whom the country can call uponat need. 

Theories, my dear mother, theories. I will test them on the hike. 

--It is the end of a day which I shall look back upon with respect. Curious that when at breakfast someone asked me if I found the workstrenuous, I answered that so far I had not found it strenuous at all. Since when we have had our heaviest day's work. 

The weather was showery and chilly, and the non-coms returned from theirconference with orders for us to wear sweaters and ponchos. Being putinto close battalion formation, we were informed by the major that anenemy had landed at Keesville, some twenty-odd miles south, and that wewere to march out and get in touch with him. So our three companiesfollowed the first battalion along the road to AuSable, having out theproper patrols--point and communicating files and rear guard, with combatpatrols--and we found ourselves on a real hike. 

It was tramp, tramp, tramp on the hard macadam all the way. Now rememberthat though we have been on hard roads some part of every day, we havemostly been on gravel or the turf of the fields and the parade ground. Sowe weren't really toughened to the work. The weather bothered us also. The ponchos came off after a while, then we got heated in the sun, andwere feeling the weight of our sweaters when the clouds closed in and ashower came. Thus it changed most of the time. Every forty-five to fiftyminutes we stopped to rest, spread our ponchos, and lay down. To beexact, after the first forty-five minutes we rested fifteen, and aftereach succeeding fifty we rested ten. We marched nearly four miles, thenturned back. Our company was now second in the column, but none of thepatrol duty fell to me, for which I was rather glad, as a heel began tobother me. 

A man from Squad Seven fell out from the column. "This finishes the campfor me, " he said ruefully as he left us. He has rigid arches, and itseems that the doctors have warned him that he could not stand themarching. He sat and waited for some kind motorist, and after an hourpassed us, comfortable in a limousine. There were others among us who gotpretty weary; but on the other hand there were plenty, I am glad to say, who were not tired, and whistled and sang most of the way, to theadvantage of those who felt weary. Some of these blades spying a coupleof bold damsels, cried "Eyes Right!" at which they giggled. But thecaptain made us march at attention, and explained, when we got back tocamp, that we were expected to mind our manners in the presence of theother sex (or as he put it, persons in female attire) else we might besure of marching at attention for the whole of the way. 

We were back at the usual time, after seven miles and a half, and I, wetfrom inside and from out, was glad to wash and change and find leisure toinspect my troublesome heel, on which I found two blisters which Clay, being as I told you a medico, skilfully doctored. 

But there was no rest for the weary. I foolishly rejoiced when I escapedthe work of helping to make up the shooting records, also (perhaps not sofoolishly) when the typhoid sufferers were taken to be inoculated for thethird time. But while the captain supervised the company clerks, thelieutenant, in anticipation of a regimental parade, took us out on thefield. See how carefully it was done. As we were but the fraction of acompany he lined us up and made up squads afresh, a corporal to each, then instructed us in our parade work, and drilled us for two hours. Having my two blisters, I did not enjoy it, and the men were groaning allaround me. He was as hard to please as the captain; once, looking backalong the line as we marched company front, he said, "The ancestors ofthis bunch certainly must have been a lot of snakes!" But I'll venture tosay that none of us, after this, will forget how to oblique in making theturn. 

After ten minutes' rest, we were taken to calisthenics, after which Ianticipated a good loaf. But no, we were assembled, the whole regiment, for a conference concerning our return home by government aid, the majorand a railroad agent instructing us in the terms. I was glad to find thatI can simply go home on my return ticket, and let the treasury departmentpay me when it's good and ready; and after standing in line for half anhour I was able to state my intention to do this. 

There was then just time to change for the parade, which was partlyinteresting, partly tedious. Thanks to the lieutenant's drill, we made nomistakes, though at one time we had to make our way at company frontamong the boxes and barrels strewed in the neighborhood of thequartermaster's shack. Lieutenant Pendleton briefly said, when we wereback in the street, "You did well. " And the captain, who left the scoringlong enough to watch the parade, joked us on being mountain goats. 

The blisters are no worse for the afternoon's work. It is rainingsteadily. Love from

 DICK. 

EXTRACT FROM THE LETTER OF MISS MAMIEMARSHALL TO HER FRIEND, MISS ROSETTAJONES

. .. And I waved a handkerchiff, so some of the men cried Eyes Rite Theywere awfully hansome especially one with a curling black mustarsh butthat horrid captain Kirby stopped them from looking at us and the wholecolum went by without paying us any more attention it was mean. .. . 

FROM PRIVATE GODWIN

 Plattsburg, Saturday the 23d. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

We are having really rainy weather. Till now it has rained but a fewhours at most, with intervals for drying. But it rained steadily all lastevening, drummed on the tight tent all night, and was still heavily atwork when the bugler failed to blow his horn this morning. Watches notbeing at all uniform, men got themselves out of bed at their leisure. Thefirst sergeant did not think to wake us, and then was disgusted when manyof the men did not turn out at the first call. Those who were there madea crooked line around a great puddle which stood in the depressionbetween our ridge and the head of the street. 

But now, after breakfast, everyone is cussing. "What are we to wear?"asked Knudsen of the first sergeant, who answered snappily, "The usualthings for a hike. " Knudsen came back grumbling: "How were we to knowthat we are going on a hike?" The word was passed along: "Packs, " "Nopacks. " "Sweaters, " "No sweaters. " Then it was said that we were to wearhandkerchiefs in our hats, sure sign of a sham battle pending. So at lastat the whistle we turned out with sweaters, packs, ponchos ready (forthough it had stopped raining we did not feel safe) and some of us withhandkerchiefs twined in our hat-bands. Once in line we were sentback--"No packs, no rifles. " Again we came out and lined up again, onlyto be sent back once more. "No sweaters. " By this time it was rumoredthat we were at last to take the oath, and this was confirmed by thesight of the captain carrying a bunch of slips, containing the oath, which in the last few days we have filled out, and yesterday had signed. The men both grumbled and joked. "We can't take the oath with sweaterson? Why not?" "Got on woollen underwear? Get cotton. You can't take theoath in wool. " So at last we were in line again, and then the captainbegan to look through the slips. "Here's a man written his name twicedifferently. Make out a new slip. --Here's a lot of men have signed withlead pencil. It's got to be in ink or indelible pencil. " Here he was metby a lawyer, who had signed in pencil, and said, "A pencil signature isvalid. " "Not here, " said the captain, sticking to the regulations, andthe slips had to be changed. 

When we were ready we were marched to the flag, where the company wasdrawn up on three sides of a square. The major then said--

--I must break this off to describe what is going on, which is toointeresting to ignore. For the second time this afternoon we are shut upin the dark tent, everyone having fled before a pelting shower. We werefirst aligned for calisthenics, but were dismissed on account of ShowerNo. 1, a driving rain that lasted half an hour. Now we were just readyfor parade--think what it would have been on that slimy, soggyground!--when the approach of Shower No. 2 sent us all to cover. It ispelting furiously; Pickle and Knudsen, with the intrenching tools whichluckily were served out to us this afternoon, are digging frantically tokeep the water away from their suit-cases. Through the tied flaps of thedoorway Clay has been yelling at Squad Nine, our opposite neighbors, andthere is the greatest joy and confusion. Knudsen having finished his job, is jeering at Pickle, who had promised to be first. And now he has takenPickle in hand, and is showing him his mistakes. It is thundering andlightening. "I don't see, " says David with slow wonderment, "how it canrain much harder. " Now Knudsen, at the door, imitates the firstsergeant's whistle and alarms our neighbors, who peer anxiously out. "Corporals, get your men out!" cries he, laughing heartily as the othersconsult. "They look like a bunch of dogs, " says he, "with their headssticking out of their kennels. " Now it slackens, I hear laughter in thestreet, and in comes a neighbor. "Boys, it's a scream! There's fourinches of water in the next two tents. Their baggage is all afloat. "

(Later. ) The rain slackening just then, out we all swarmed, the wholestreet becoming alive with men, who with shouts crowded toward the greatpuddle which completely filled the breadth of the street, and had floodedtents Four and Six. Looking into these, I saw the glimmer oflantern-light reflected on water, the beds moved about and piled withbaggage. The sandy soil can drain an ordinary shower, but this was tooheavy, and there was but one thing to try. Yelling, some fifteen men gotout their intrenching tools and began to dig a ditch to lead the wateroff to the field below. At first I thought they could not do it, for theridge was at least two feet above the level of the puddle. But leavingenough earth to form a dam, the men in a line so vigorously worked thestrong little shovels that in scarcely more than five minutes they wereready to break down the dam. They broke it, the water came pouringthrough, and with cheers the men kept the channel clear. With greatbrooms the men of tents Four and Six swept out their domiciles, other mendug the channel deeper, still others on the further slope kept the floodfrom the other tents, and as we formed for supper (the two parts of thecompany on the two sides of the dividing puddle) the lake was more thanhalf drained away. By the time we came back from mess the puddle wasclean gone, and the captain was devising means to get the men of tentsFour and Six in dry quarters for the night. 

And now to take up my narrative, earlier broken off. --The major, as wewere assembled for the oath, said a few words in explanation of it, thenread it aloud, while we stood with hats off and right hands raised, before the flag. At the end each man said "I do!" and then one by one weacknowledged our signatures on our slips. So I am now enlisted in thearmy of the United States, bound to obey the President and the Secretaryof War, and entirely at the mercy of our superior officers. 

But they have been merciful to us today in sparing us two soakings, and Ihave had my own personal share. While we were standing, waiting for themajor to come and give us the oath, the captain's eye fell on me. Evidently he pondered for a moment, then he beckoned me out of the ranks. Said he, "I thought you weren't to take the oath. " I answered, "I havealways meant to take it, sir. " "Oh, " said he, "then I was misinformed. Well, that is what prevented me from making you sub-squad-leader, andI'll do it today. Just say nothing about it beforehand. " So I saluted andstepped back. When we were lined up in the company street again (havingfirst put our sweaters on by our own decision, and then having taken themoff by order of the major, who presently took us to regimental drill onthe parade ground) the lieutenant announced, "Mr. Godwin will besub-squad-leader in Squad Eight. " So I dropped back into the rear rank, my rear-rank man took my place, Reardon gave place to me, and the othermen moved to numbers two and one. In that order we drilled, and goodReardon showed me his duties. To make sure that the change is permanent, Bannister asked the captain, and here I am installed in a very minoroffice. 

I am out of the front rank now, but the parades, which it is interestingto watch, are all over, and I shall get acquainted with still another setof our neighbors. On the hike I shall still march on the outside of thecolumn, which gives some freedom of action, and as Knudsen contends, better air. Reardon is very nice about the change; the boys all recognizeit as coming from my bluff at giving orders. Yet Reardon showed, as Idrill beside him today, that he knows more of the business than I do. 

Bannister shook his fist at me. "Consarn ye, " (he imitates the farmer toperfection) "yer shan't git my job!"

"Coming strong!" I answered. 

Knudsen, with the energy and tact which characterize him, has reorganizedthe squad on the basis of this change of mine, moving the men about sothat he has David as his rear rank man, which means that they sleep inthe same tent on the hike, and that Knudsen still has the boy in charge. Of course Bannister agreed to it all. He and I shall tent together. 

Corder feels that he has had a narrow escape. The captain sent for himand offered him the position of equipment sergeant, or some such title, which means some minor responsibility and a seat on one of the baggagetrucks. Corder, in a panic, begged permission to stay with the squad andcarry his gun; and the captain, saying how disgusted the bugler was withhis new job, and that two disappointed men in the company were more thanhe could stand, let him off. Corder, after telling us the tale, got outhis mirror and studied himself. "It's all this confounded beard of mine, "he complained. "I'm only forty-five, and my hair is still black, but thething has turned gray and makes me seem old. It's sickening to have thefellows so thoughtful of me. Godwin, if ever you get respectful, I'llslay you. "

The shooting records are posted, and to our great satisfaction ourcompany stands best. That doesn't mean that we have the highestindividual score, or even the greatest number of expert riflemen. But itdoes mean that we have both the most men in all three qualified gradesand the highest average score per man. Practically that means that of allthe six companies we should be deadliest against an infantry attack, alsothat as a consequence we should ourselves be safest. As Pickle says, "Thecaptain has done one good job. "

The forehanded among us (and yet after all we are at it pretty late) aremaking maps for the hike in imitation of those which the officers haveposted for us to study. At the Exchange can be bought contour maps of allthis region, covering the whole area of the hike. These we are cuttingout in squares and pasting on linen, cheese-cloth, or even mosquitonetting. Then we mark on them the camps, the route, and all along the waythe important crossroads within a mile of our march, which we numberaccording to the officers' sample. If after this we can get some shellac, we coat the map against the weather. Had I only known enough, I shouldhave brought with me proper cloth, glue and shellac for this purpose; forof course the rush for these materials has practically used up allneighboring supplies. 

Between showers today we have begun our preparations for the hike, directions concerning which were read us. We have turned in ourcondiment-cans and bacon-tins--so much less weight to carry. David is insecret dismay over the small equipment which is allowed us, and has spentmany long minutes over the beautiful little sole leather trunk which hekeeps under his cot, and which contains so many knickknacks. He has beenmaking little piles here, and little piles there, and then, with knittedbrow, changing them all about. He has not asked for advice, and none ofus has offered it. Pickle, whose personal outfit is of the most meagre, has been watching him in delight. 

However, David is permanently lightened of one part of his equipment. Word went round that we were to have rifle-inspection, at which thererose in the tent a great clamor for patches, of which we had none, northe store tent either. David was absent, and Knudsen, saying "I'll getpatches, " asked Clay for his surgical scissors, and going to David's cot, took from the great collection of conveniences which the boy still hopedto take with him, a set of his beautiful silk pajamas. The jacket Knudsentore into strips (we all the while watching in pregnant silence) then cutthem into squares, and when David returned we were all at work on ourguns. 

"They tell me, " he said, "that we're to have rifle inspection. Have youfellows any patches?"

"Plenty, " said Knudsen, and handed him some made out of the gaudiest partof the pattern. 

David, as he inspected these, first grew very red, then hastily demanded, "Who cut these up?"

"I did, " said Knudsen very serenely. "No pajamas on the hike, David. "

And the boy, who is still very proud of coming into his own name, laughed, asked for Clay's scissors, and cut up the rest of his suit. Thenhe stuffed into his trunk the other pair which he had intended to takewith him on the hike. 

One last story, to show a different side of our Plattsburg activities. You know we have a cavalry camp here, and a medical department, wherevolunteers come exactly as to our infantry regiment. Well, Corder cameback from the medicos lately, where he went to visit a friend, with agreat tale of the mending of a cavalryman's broken jaw by one of thevolunteer surgeons, a Boston dentist. Corder, being professor-like inappearance, was not detected as an impostor, and stood close at hand inthe ring of doctors who watched the clinic. 

"It was done under field conditions, " said he, "the operator using onlyan alcohol lamp, a small pair of nippers, and about eight inches ofordinary electric light wire, which happened to be handy. The insulationwas scraped from the cable, and its various fine wires were burned cleanin the flame of the lamp. The rookie was then put on a table in thecompany street, and the doctor took a turn with one of the fine wiresaround a tooth behind the break, twisting the ends together. The same wasdone with a tooth in front of the break; and then in the upper jaw wireswere twisted around teeth above the lower two. An assistant then held thebroken jaw in place, and the doctor twisted tight together the wires fromthe lower back tooth and the upper front tooth, and then those from theupper back tooth and the lower front tooth. He cut off the ends, made allsmooth, and the work was done, all in a very few minutes. The jaw couldnot move, and was bound to heal perfectly. The doctors all said theynever had seen anything so simple or so clever. "

We thought the same; Clay, as a budding doctor, was envious of Corder forhaving seen it. "Too bad for the chap to lose the hike, " said Bannister. 

"He won't lose it!" replied Corder. "The fellow can drink, of course. Hecan get any liquid, or even a cereal or a stew, around behind his backteeth, so he's simply going right along with us. "

So much for smartness, and for grit!

The showers lasting long enough to spoil conferences, and then the skyclearing, I went this evening to say good-by to Vera, which I had halfpromised to do. David, by the way, to whom a social duty used to besacred, called yesterday afternoon, as Knudsen suggested, and wasmanfully relieved to find her out. But I found her in, and alone. Shetold me that her sister Frances was coming, made rather a point of it, expecting me to manage to see her, though on the hike how can I? Therewas a delightful old colonel there, who rather took to me, and when onthe coming of Lieutenant Pendleton I naturally tried to make myselfscarce, the colonel took me into his study to show me the service pistolthat they used in his day. And when finally I took my leave of him, on myway out (missing the front door and blundering into the parlor) I raninto the most distressing sort of scene. 

Pendleton and Kirby were both there, and the captain having his hat inhis hand, I imagine he'd only just come. The lieutenant was fiery red; Ithink I know the look of a man when he's been turned down, and I saw itin his face. Vera was in that cold and lofty mood of hers when nothingcounts but the idea she has in mind; no one seeing her so would think sheever again could be gentle or tender--poor Vera, with all her strugglesto perfect herself, and yet with so much manner, yes and so muchheadstrong will, hiding it all. It seemed as if she had called thecaptain to witness, perhaps to agree in, something she had justannounced; you know it, mother, that old idea of hers that caused me suchyears of effort. I heard the words just as I parted the curtains, andthey stopped me dead. 

"A man should be able to offer a woman the best that there is. "

Pendleton with his head hanging low, Kirby gone white under his tan andlooking as if he had been shot through the heart--but that was not all. Vera herself looked sick and--there is no other word than desperate. Explain it if you can. All I could do was to find my way out as quicklyand silently as I could. 

I went across the parade-ground and walked up and down by the lake, tostill my many memories. Poor Vera! She is still groping, having a woman'sinstincts but yet suppressing them. If only the right man could show herher true self, she is so honest she would recognize it. But where is he?or how could he get to know the heart which she herself does notunderstand?

On the way back to camp I went through the woods, and there I passed thepoor lieutenant, walking with dragging step, still with his head upon hisbreast. But when I came to the company street, there in front of his tentstood the captain, a different picture. He was as straight as a--well, asa soldier, which he was, every inch of him, with his head up and his jawset. I saluted, and he returned the salute, always with that searchinglook at me which now I'm sure of the meaning of. Yes, Vera's got him too. 

It's time, for every reason, that we were away from here. 

 DICK. 

FROM VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER FRANCES

 Plattsburg Post, Sept. 23, 1916. 

DEAR FRANCES:--

I am so glad you are coming, but wish you were coming by train instead ofwith the Chapmans in their car. For I can't get you here a minute toosoon, nor have you too much to myself. The Chapmans say they want to seea hike camp, and how can I excuse myself from going too?

Everything has gone wrong, quite wrong. I thought I could keep thelieutenant off, but I did not realize what a soldier is. Last night hehad to have his answer, and I was telling him as gently as I could, whenthe stupid servant opened the front door to the captain and let him makehis own way into the parlor, where he stood before I had heard a sound. If he didn't see what was going on, he was blind. 

And then I lost my head over the sudden notion that here was my chance toget rid of him too. For the man frightens me, Frances; I never met onewho was so steady and so determined and so strong. Maybe I blundered; Idon't know. But I can't have him getting to know me any better; I wantnever to see him again. So I said (I know I stiffened horribly as I saidit, the thing was so uncalled for and so un-nice) "The lieutenant and Iwere just discussing army life, captain, and how little it has for awoman. For a man ought to be able to offer the best that there is. " Ithurt him; it hurt his opinion of me. He went away almost without a word. I never was so ashamed; never before have I felt like a butcher. But if Imeant it why shouldn't I say it? Let him hate me, if only he lets mealone. 

They march out Monday, and as I hear the drums go by on the main road Ishall be glad. But I do so want to see you. Hurry the Chapmans all youcan. 

Longingly, VERA. 

FROM DAVID RIDGWAY FARNHAM, 3D, TO HISFATHER

 Plattsburg, Sunday the 24th. 

DEAR FATHER:--

I am writing just a few lines to say that we are off tomorrow on thehike, in light marching order, and with very little bagage. I shall noteven take my pajjamas. But I'd rather you wouldn't tell mother this; itwould upset her. Will you tell her that I'm really too busy to write, butthat I'm in very fine condition, and she's not to worry about me? And shesaid in her last letter something about taking a trip up here so as to benear us on the hike if anything should happen to me. This is really whatI'm writing you about. Please stop her, father. I'd really rather shewouldn't even be here when we break camp to take me home in the car. ForI'd like to go home with the Boston bunch in the train. 

I think in my earlier letters I wasn't fair to some of the fellows in oursquad. Perhaps I didn't know how to get at them at first. Even now Idon't suppose mother would see anything in them; yet I'm sure that if Icould introduce you to them you'd understand why I like them. 

Just keep mother from worrying about me on the hike. I shall be allright. Affectionatly, DAVID. 

FROM PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Plattsburg, Sunday the 24th. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

This morning it has turned chilly, without sun, and with cloudsthreatening more rain. As before, I did some washing before breakfast, and now have on the line considerable of my laundry, which I am anxiouslyfeeling of from time to time. If it does not dry, then I shall have tobuy some new things for tomorrow. 

There being no duties today, men are neglecting church and getting readyfor the hike. We must turn in our mattress covers, pillow slips, barrackbags, and for those who do not wish to buy, the overcoats. The captainhas sent out word that overcoats may be bought, and I have secured mineby the payment of $9. 96; for those who have not the change, the price is$10. Down the street from the store-tent extends a line of men with theirsurplus in their arms, while I take advantage of their necessarily slowprogress to write this to you. One of my pillow-slips I shall retain bythe sacrifice of seven cents; it shall serve as a bag to keep my extrathings together on the march. 

Men are making sure of their homeward accommodations. When I went to theD. & H. Tent it was so full of waiting men that I came away, and must goagain. So much for neglecting a duty till the last. 

Word has just gone down the street that we must pack this morning for thehike, and give our bags in at the Y. M. C. A. For storage. So we shallbe on a hike basis from now on, and tonight I shall sleep in my clothes, with my blankets and poncho made up into a sleeping bag. It is wonderfulwhat the Y. M. C. A. Does for us, giving to all who come every kind ofinformation, cashing our checks, supplying pen and ink and paper to theepistolary, and giving minor helps constantly. It is to them a veryburdensome expense, which they have no fund to meet. I shall leavesomething behind to show my appreciation. 

For the coming ten days I have gone into woollens for the first time inyears, on account of the expected contact with mother earth. I shallcarry three pair of stockings, a change of underwear, an extra shirt andextra trousers and shoes, and a light sweater to supplement my serviceone, with several small conveniences. We shall live rough and ratherdirty, and the hike will finish much of the outfit. 

--It is evening, and I am all ready. The day has been given to sortingand packing, storing my suit-case, getting my berth home, and againsorting, and again packing. For when we tried to stuff into the squad-bagthe eight bundles that we made of our extra belongings, it happened as wemight have expected, and we had to discard half of our dunnage. Here ismy final equipment. 

In my belt, thirty blank cartridges, and in the extra pockets myflashlight, some surgeon's plaster, and some of David's silk patches. 

In my pocket the foot-powder which it is my duty to carry assub-squad-leader. (The other men carry the intrenching tools and thewire-cutter. The corporal carries nothing but the weight of hisresponsibilities. )

In my pack the usual shelter-half, poncho, blanket, tent-pins, rope, meat-can, knife and fork and spoon, with bayonet. In addition I stuff inan o. D. Shirt (it dried today!) a towel, soap, tooth-brush, shavingthings etc. , a pair of socks, and my map. 

In the pillow-case in the squad-bag, shoes, trousers, change of underwearand socks, towel, writing materials, sewing things. 

In the squad-roll the blankets and sweaters. 

Cool weather is certain, and having heard that the captain may send backfor our coats, we who have bought ours have deposited them at thestore-tent for this purpose. 

My map I have at last finished with much clumsy care; dozens of us havespent hours today at the Y. M. C. A. , absorbed in this work, whichwith the accurate inking of the route and crossroads, has been ratherminute. The numbering of many crossroads is very significant of theskirmishes that await us. 

The mail follows us; the address is unchanged. 

Tonight the Y. M. C. A. Is full of men sending last letters home. Several have dropped out of the company, on account of feet or knees ordigestion, or else from natural business reasons. The company is sad tolearn that we start without Loretta, business calling him home for a fewdays. But we shall be glad to see him when he comes. 

Today I ventured something, the results of which, if there are any, Isuppose I shall never know. Our two officers have been very much, on mymind. Pendleton has been his usual self emphasized, very much on his jobof receiving the equipment, extra clear and precise, more subtle and moredistant in his little ironical smile. The captain, also busy with theequipment work, was surprisingly gentle, patient with all our manyblunders, very quiet spoken, and somehow closer to us. But while heattended to us so carefully, somehow I felt that he was thinking ofsomething else. 

Now last night Pendleton, I thank God, could not have seen me at theportieres, nor could Vera. But the captain might have, for he faced myway; surely he must have seen the curtains open. If he recognized me, Iknow he must have thought of it today when, the last of the men gone, andhis tallies all made up, he stood up from the table that had been placedin front of his tent, just as I came along by. We were entirely apartfrom the rest; so I, having thought a good deal on how far I couldventure, took my chance to speak. 

I had to be quick, or he would have stopped me. Said I: "Miss Wadsworthdoesn't live down to her theories, captain. Certainly she didn't do it inmy case. "

Then, saluting, I was off. By the gleam that had sprung to his eyes Iknew that he understood me, even though he said nothing. For of course hehas been wondering whether after all I have a chance with Vera, and hasbeen weighing his earnings against mine. 

Dreary business, this love making. Lucky I'm out of it. 

 DICK. 

VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER FRANCES

 Plattsburg, Monday the 25th. 

DEAR FRANCES:--

In spite of my trying to stop it, it has happened. 

He came walking in yesterday evening, when I was all by myself in theparlor. I have told you, you remember, that one of his qualities is astrange gentleness. He told me, in that manner of his, that he would takeonly a minute of my time, and while I sat perfectly tongue-tied beforehim, as if I were a schoolgirl, this is what he said, without anypassionate declaration, or any self-assertion. 

"I came last night, Miss Wadsworth, to tell you that I loved you. You sawit and stopped me. There seemed no answer to you then, but I have foundone now, and I think you ought to let me say it. 

"You said that a man ought to be able to offer to a woman the best thatthere is. I came to offer it. Our army women serve their country, not aswe men do, yet they do serve the flag, and unselfishly. There is reallynothing better that can be done by man or woman. 

"There is only one other thing that seems to me worth while. It makes thecottage the equal of the palace. I brought it--honest love. No true womancan ask more. "

Then he went away. I could not stop him; could not try to explain. Howcould I say anything against those awful words? Besides, he spoke withsuch a thrill as if he were showing me his religion. A dreadfulsimplicity of belief! I know all his words by heart. All night long Ihave been saying them over and over; and when this morning I heard thedrums, it was as if they said them too. 

Do come quickly to your

 VERA. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S FIRST HIKE LETTER

 West Beekmantown, N. Y. Monday the 25th, 3 P. M. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

How glad I was, at the end of today's hike, to march into the big field(where the cook tents already stood with smoking fires before them) tohave the two halves of the company line up facing each other, and to hearthe captain command, "Form for shelter tents!"

The file-closers scurried round and got into the vacant places. Every mangave an anticipatory hitch at the pack that had gradually grown so heavy;and the front rank men, if they thought the captain was not looking, loosened their bayonets in their sheaths. 

"Take interval, to the right and left!" We rear rank men stepped fourpaces backward. 

"Harch!" Both ranks faced away from the cook tents, and the lieutenantbegan to count, "_One_--two--three--four--_One_--two--three--four!" andat every _One_ a pair of men, front and rear rank bunkies, stepped offtogether, till the whole company was marching by pairs, at intervals offour paces, and the captain thundered orders to the guides to marchstraight. 

"Halt!" And halting, we faced inward to what was to be the companystreet. I unclasped my belt. 

"Pitch shelter tents!" Out came the bayonets of the front rank men, andwere thrust into the ground at the right heel. Then down with the rifles, off with the packs, and we on our knees were hastily opening them anddragging out the shelter-halves, the pins, and the ropes. Bann and I laidthe long sides of our halves together, lapping the upper one away fromthe wind, and buttoned them along (how glad I was that we practised thisyesterday, found where a loop was missing and some button-holes torn, andmade everything good!) The ropes were tied in the loops, Bann's rifle wasstood beside his bayonet, the muzzle beneath the front loop; we alignedour sloping ridgepole at right angles to the street, drove in our frontand rear pins and tied the ropes, and then I, creeping into the tent withmy bayonet in its sheath, set it upright under the end of the ridge. Thenquickly we pegged down the sides and back, stretching them well out, laidback the front flaps of our kennel, set our equipment in the doubledoorway, passed the inspection of the lieutenant, and felt proud. Thenmess, with its stew and its vegetables, its bread and butter, and evenwith milk, which we are warned we may never see again. Since when we havebeen retrospecting, doctoring, washing at a poor apology for a brook, andmaking ourselves comfortable in anticipation of Retreat and of the night. 

Remarkable things, these shelter tents, just broad enough at the frontfor the shoulders of two men, and at the back for their feet, with afurther recess for the equipment. Along the edges can be stowed thetoilet articles and such things as need to be handy, with the sparerifle. After removing all boulders from the floor, and digging hollowsfor our hips, we have carpeted with straw, bought of a thrifty farmer whohauled it here and sold for twenty-five cents per poncho- orblanket-load. We now know a little better the meaning of the termbuzzard. On the thick layer we have made our beds, some of the fellows'together, but Bann's and mine separately, for I have warned him that I ama restless sleeper. On my tummy on my sleeping bag I am writing to younow. 

We have already discovered that since we must have our rifles for Retreatit is wise to have poles for our tents, and so they have mysteriouslyappeared from the neighboring woods. They will travel in the blanketrolls from camp to camp. Should I come again to Plattsburg I shall get abroom-stick for the hike, provided with conveniences for hanging socks, tooth-brush, and candle-socket. Fellows are tying candles to their poleswith string, convenient enough till the string burns and the candletumbles down into the straw. 

I can imagine difficulty in pitching tents under other circumstances thanare provided by this ideal afternoon. In the rain we shan't care to havethe 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-pinsthan we find here in this gravel. As it is, we have piled stones on thepins today. Some fellows have ditched their tents, but Bann and I don'tsee the need of that except with more of a threat of rain than is givenby this cloudless sky. 

Now if you can imagine in a field, sloping gently to the west, some fourhundred and fifty or more of these pup-tents, with a thousand men or lessswarming around and in them, some coming back from a bath in the brook, some cleaning guns, some making fireplaces for an evening fire, somenapping, some writing; if you can hear much talk and laughter, thechopping of axes at the cook tents, the call "Corporals, come and getyour mail for your squads!" then you can understand what a lively, busyplace this is. Just across the fence is a camp of cavalry; there is asquadron in our field also. Running across the heads of the streets arethe big cook tents; close by are the tents of the Y. M. C. A. And theExchange and the photographer; elsewhere are the officer's big conicaltents, each with the luxury of a stove; and in still another spot is thedoctor's tent, not far from the shelter-tents of the band. Men are idlingeverywhere, and working everywhere also. The long line of trucks is drawnup not far from the field entrance, and the drivers are tinkering themfor tomorrow. 

But outside the sacred enclosure of the camp, yet as near as they cansqueeze, are the buzzards, each with his little outfit for following thehike. A scrawny horse, a little tent, a board on two barrels, a bigsign--these with indigestibles constitute their outfits. In the campwander men with baskets, or boys with boxes, selling fruit, tobacco, andchocolate. There are the farmer folk, too, gawking about at the show. 

--And now, sitting on the ground near the bright lamp of the telegraphtable outside the Y. M. C. A. Tent, while a dozen others crouch in theradius of its rays, I am writing these last words. Night has fallen. Inside the tent men are almost solidly crowded together on the floor asthey sit to write letters, while yet men in a steady stream step over andamong them, to get at the table stamps, pen and ink, and paper. 

The day of course has been crowded pretty full. This morning atPlattsburg the confusion in the company street was great. As we had tomake up our blanket rolls before breakfast we had to put our sweaters inand shiver in our shirts. Packs were made up, tents were policed, cotsand mattresses handed in, and then we were off, as the advance guard ofan army camped at the post. But today's problem, though explained by mapto us at conference this afternoon, did not affect H company. Ourbattalion was only the support; the first battalion carried on thenecessary skirmish that cleared the road of the cavalry, our opponents. While they were chasing them far from the line of march, we ploddedsafely along the macadam, and pitched tents before the others. 

Concerning the hike, these facts. My feet are unblistered, though at onerest, being panic-stricken, I hastily filled stockings and shoes withfoot-powder. At another time I found the pace telling on me, and wassadly thinking that I was still too soft, when I heard grumbling allabout me. The step had been quickened, and all were feeling it. At thegrumbling Corder turned to me a face of relief. "Thank Heaven!" he saidpiously. "I thought I was growing old. " Our route was through the edge ofPlattsburg, along some miles of highway, and then by gravel roads to thiscamp near Ryan's Grove, which is a fine sugar bush on the hillside belowus. After only eight miles of road, there were very few of us that werenot 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 noorder, every man for himself) the knife, fork and spoon are stuck into alegging, and perhaps, until we reach the serving places, the canteen cupis also carried there, by the handle. The meat-can is an oval sauce-panwith a shallow top, over which shuts down its folding handle. Openingthis, 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 somepart of the ration. Then we retire to the most convenient spot to eat, ifwe 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 andabsolute sanitation, I spare you the details, except this significantone. The cooks having retired for their own meal, I saw one fellow washhis meat-can in the abandoned coffee barrel, mistaking its fine richcontents for the dishwater. 

You should have seen our field at the coming of the dusk: the dyingsunset, the silhouetting of the upper tents against the sky, the comingout of the many fires, and in the light of their flames, reflected in thedrifting smoke, the lively picturesqueness of the camp. This is allaccentuated by the dark. Such coming and going, such talking andgreeting, such stumbling in the shadows and peering against thefires--well, I never could have imagined it. 

I must turn in, though with regret at not being able to buy myself aknitted cap for the night, against this sharp cold. The felt hat willsuffer by such use, and besides will serve badly. Love from

 DICK. 

_Postscript. _ A rumor is running through the camp (we are speciallywarned not to believe rumors, but this one is borne out by the behaviorof the officers) that someone in the regiment has a clip of ballcartridges, "swiped" from the range. The officers went down the line atRetreat, and besides inspecting the guns, made every man turn out all thepockets 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 ofstraw, " than many a time in my bed at home. The cooks have for some timebeen stirring, as I have known by the sound of their axes, the cracklingof their fires, the glow reflected on their tents, and their occasionalvoices. In the cavalry camp the horses stamp, I hear a distant train anda dog's bark, and nearer at hand, from among the pup-tents, come littlemorning coughs. My writing is practically invisible to me on the paper. Ican 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, Istood at the door of the tent, admiring Orion in the east and theconstellations overhead. I heard a little murmur of complaint, and saw aman come stumbling down the street, his bare feet softly thudding on thestones, and drawing from him this sad sound as he came shivering along inpajamas. He was stooping at each tent and peering in to discover his lostplace. So he passed out of my sight, but when I once more turned toadmire Orion I saw the same unhappy phantom wandering along the nextcompany street, still stumbling, still shivering, still silentlysearching 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 beengiven a lesson in military neatness. Each company has had to police itsstreet, to fill all tent-ditches and fireplaces, and to pick up each bitof rubbish and scrap of paper. Our squad having had a meeting upon thesubject, has agreed that immediately upon making up our packs we shallpolice our own ground, either bury the rubbish in the ditches or burn itin the fire, using if necessary a little of our hay, and pile the rest ofthe latter as quickly as possible, to get the work over with. This is inresponse to the captain's latest, for finding a single scrap of paper asbig as a postage stamp in the street, he turned out a whole squad to pickit up. Next time, he says, it will be a platoon. We know Kirby too wellby 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 arevigorously resenting the demand of the farmer who sold us the hay lastnight, that we rise and relinquish it to him--in order that he may sellit again tonight. Much angry computation as to his profits per ton, and awarning that, as on account of our ignorance he raised the tariff on usyesterday, 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 areat Sciota, some miles north of us. We are to go against them, with ourbattalion as advance guard, Company I in the lead, our company supportingthem four hundred yards behind. 

(Resting on the road. )

We have been marching at hot speed, having no one to set the pace forKirby, now that at last we have passed I company. For a while we had towait on them while they drove the enemy, hearing their firing, and atevery 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 weacclaimed them as having died heroically in our defense. Then came urgentwork on our part, till now, as we halt, the platoon leader is telling usthat 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 watchingthe lieutenant of artillery while, with his instruments all fixed, he isgetting the range of the enemy, these, you know, being the cavalry, whoevery day, I suppose, will precede us out of camp and try to make itlively 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 fightdismounted. But intrenching should not be necessary in a countryprovided, as this one is, with stone walls. Other companies are deployingon our left, and we wait before that most dangerous of all attempts, adirect frontal attack. The enemy, the captain has just explained, is ahalf mile away across a slight depression. At Bunker Hill our men waitedtill they could see the whites of the red-coats' eyes. At Fredericksburgour attacking men were helpless at a hundred yards. But here as soon aswe have crossed the wall we shall be exposed to a deadly fire, not onlyof rifles, but of machine guns. Of these the enemy have two on motortricycles, and it is understood that the call of their sirens is a signalthat they are in action. 

(And again resting. )

We have the machine guns, mother dear. The cavalry got away, all butthree or four of them. This was how it went. 

When the field artillery had sufficiently pounded the enemy (and havingbut few rounds this did not last very long) we were given the order toadvance. First we went over the wall, --and you must remember that everyfence in this country, stone, snake, or otherwise, is decorated withbarbed 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 studiedby platoons, sending men forward from the right by squads in rushes, making a new line by degrees, always keeping a constant fire on theenemy--for we had a hundred rounds today, so that if we were decentlyaccurate 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 inthe rear, behind them the captain and his orderlies and behind all themajor and his aides. Certain officers with white bands on their arms, whoventured unconcernedly into the line of fire, I made out to be umpiresjudging this game of war. For I find, mother dear, that this is earnestfor the officers as well as ourselves--we and the enemy have maps, weknow the general conditions, and then each acts as in time of war, tryingto get the better of the opponent. So that if an officer has properlytrained his men, and if in addition he shows good judgment, then he canfeel that he is advancing in his profession. The major, working for thefirst time today with a battalion under him (for last camp he was but acaptain) was as keen at the work as if real bullets had been flyingacross the little valley. Meanwhile the umpires, studying the strategy ofboth sides, are themselves learning. 

Well, we got forward rush by rush, firing as we lay waiting, gettingready at the word, and then following Bannister as he quartered forwardto the right or left to join the new line. As we neared the stone wallbehind which the enemy was firing we could see his white hat-bands, whento my disgust along came an umpire and ruled out the rear rank. Wantingto 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 theline with a rush and we up and followed him yelling. The enemy veryobligingly vacated the wall as we approached, and all we saw of thecavalry was their dust as they departed, except a squad whom the umpirescalled back. 

One machine gun I did not see, nor have I heard how it was captured. Butone was stalled a little distance behind the wall, and I followed thecaptain 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, andI likewise fired my gun upwards, it being the rule of this campaignneither to fire nor to present the bayonet at close quarters. Seeing theycould not get away, the men were actually ready to fight, and I think hadwe been rookies we might have had to scrap for it; but seeing an officerthey 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 menoutside the Y. M. C. A. Tent, all writing. Men constantly come betweenme and the light or step on my outlying portions; there is much cheerfultalking and laughing, and all about is the usual bustle of the camp. 

We arrived at camp late, as battle-scarred warriors, and found thepeaceful first battalion already encamped. At once we pitched tents andthen hastily fed; at home, after hours of such exertion, I should havehad a half hour's rest before eating. But the food was ready and hot; ifI did not take it at once I could not get it at all; so my stomach tookthe risk, and I had my meal first and my rest afterward. Then a wash inoh! such a soft-bottomed sluggish brook, where many shaved, and others tomy amazement cleaned their teeth. For that ceremony I keep my canteenwater, which is served out to us at the head of the company street inproper dippers by orderlies; it is all I shall have, I foresee, both fordrink and for absolutely necessary washing. We have better holding-groundfor our tent-pins tonight, but the sky is cloudless and again we have nottrenched. There are northern lights--a change in weather? The hay todaycost 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, HIGHPRIVATE IN COMPANY H, 10TH TRAININGREGIMENT, TO HIS WIFE. SAME DATE

. .. Instead of yesterday's steady marching, with the first battaliondriving the enemy away for our convenience, duties were today reversed, and our battalion took the advance-guard work, ending in a very bloodyskirmish, in which, I regret to report, one dear to you was slain. Wemarched--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 theroadside ditches to avoid machine-gun fire. Our advance guard had diedgallantly and cheered (jeered?) us as we went forward to dislodge theenemy. 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 byrushes, squads or platoons at a time, three companies abreast no soonerachieving a new line than they sent forward more feelers. In this actionit was very interesting for a time to simulate real firing, shooting withblank cartridges at an enemy behind a stone wall. 

And yet shooting from behind hard heaps of stone, or lying on roughground, through grass and leaves that obscured the sights, all the timetroubled by a heavy pack that burdened the shoulders, poked the hat overthe 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 whichthe captain showed us, and which Godwin says makes shooting prone "justas easy!" Looking at the other men, I often saw them flop on their facesto rest; they were working as hard as on the range. The pretense offiring, when our cartridges were gone, took away some of the excitement. Then at about the fifth dash, which the others took with some brisknessbut which I had to finish at a slow jog, I began to get pumped. When thefirst sergeant asked me how I was I told him that I was shot through bothlungs. Nevertheless, I finished (though at a walk) the next to lastcharge, but our dash had been so exposed that, by the time I had thrownmyself panting on some particularly jagged stones, an umpire came alongand announced that all rear-rank men were to fall out, of course as beingdead. Godwin was disgusted, and evidently seeing my envy in my face, swapped places with me. Never was anyone so willing to be killed. Quiteat 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 bekilled twice. 

Our little club of middle-aged men still holds its impromptu sessions, members comparing experiences and solicitously inquiring as to eachother'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 workrequired. And even then a few minutes' rest sets us on our feet again. 

Pitching the tents, making camp, etc. , is now routine work. Theencampment is as picturesque as before. Tomorrow night we also spendhere; whether or not we shall mercifully be permitted to leave the tentspitched, the morning will decide. But I am well, and blisterless, andrefreshed, 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 myshoes and leggings, put on an extra pair of socks, and crawl into the bagwhich each afternoon I make up afresh by pinning the folded blanketstogether with the biggest safety pins you ever saw, and buttoning myponcho around them. Over me thus there is the poncho, and as many layersof blankets as I please, up to five. Besides I have two sweaters, if Ineed them. So I sleep snug. 

This morning it is pleasant and windless, as I wait for the order tostart. 

An instance of the change of orders under which we labor. (As I recallthe Civil War memoirs that I have read, it seems to me that conditionsare much the same. ) We were assembled in line at 5. 25, reported, stackedarms, and were ordered (remember that we are to camp on this same groundtonight) "Strike tents and make packs. Make up blanket rolls and squadbags, and bring them to the head of the street. " Oh, the disgust! Theorders were proper for the first battalion, which marches on to Altonatoday; 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 cametravelling down the street, "Leave tents standing!" Luckily Bann and Ihad not got to the work of striking the tent, and so we jubilated whilesome 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 orderintended for the first battalion. And I do not complain, for today wetravel light, with many things not in our packs. 

The call has come, "Squad leaders to the head of the street. " That meansa talk preparatory to setting out. So I have put on my pack, so as towait without worry. Having marched very dry yesterday, and a pebble whichI hastily scooped up proving large and rough, I have provided myself (perone buzzard) with a package of chewing gum. Oh for the old-fashionedspruce, with no sweetness or artificial flavor!--The first battalion, having packed entirely, is assembling for the march. My map is buttonedin my shirt, for consultation at halts. The day is warm, with the windfrom the west; but there are gathering clouds, and I am going to use thetime 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 myback in the wet grass, while the captain explains that the sound at alittle distance, as of a lot of carpenters nailing at the boarding of anew house, is our patrols firing at a party of cavalry that is opposingour advance. 

We left our tents buttoned, and started out in gray weather. I was gladthat I had, with bayonet and fingers, dug a shallow ditch along the upperside of our pup and across the front, when this light rain began. It isnot bad, and so long as I have my pack between me and the ground I cannotget chilled. Again and again I have used it so, and have seen fellows athalts 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 weathernow dry. ) We are resting after a skirmish, and as my position is somewhatmore comfortable, since I am lolling in a ditch instead of lying on myback, perhaps these jottings will be more legible than the last. Theskirmish went thus. 

We left our resting-place at crossroads 72, and followed the popping ofour advance guard, I company, while at the same time we heard at agreater distance the heavy firing of the first battalion as it fought itsway westward toward Altona, we ourselves going north. As we advancedbeyond a corner, suddenly fire from the left broke out upon the columnbehind us. At once we were halted, and Captain Kirby, ranging down theline of the company, picked out our squad and sent us at the double overthe fence and into the field north of the road that we had passed, ourenemy 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 eagerDavid was only kept from outdistancing the rest by a sharp word fromKnudsen. We scrambled through a wire fence, then in a pasture withscattered 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 gofurther 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 senda message back to the captain, Bann got out the brand-new despatch bookand pencil which since the conference this morning had been sticking outof his pocket, but put them up again for lack of something definite tosay. So he took us across the road and into the field behind the enemy'swood, where it being evident that the foe had no reserves, Bann beganonce more to write. 

Now we heard Kirby's voice, who having led the company along the road, and finding himself plainly behind the enemy's fire, was putting the men, in squad columns, into the wood to search them out. We climbed the wirefence and followed through the densest undergrowth, where poor Corder, stumbling behind and having to protect his glasses, often found himselfquite out of sight of the man in front. But we were too late. We heardshouts ahead, the firing ceased, and when we desperately broke throughthe last of the thicket and found ourselves in the open, there stood aline of men with white bands on their hats (the sign of the opposingforces) quietly regarding us. Rumor said that they were captured, andSquad 9, being first on the ground, was feeling proud of their work. Thenthe rumor ran that not only was the enemy not captured, but we werekilled. Squad 9 was cursing, "not loud but deep, " when the captain camealong and was passionately appealed to. "We got them, " he assured us. "They were firing away from us when we broke through the wood. A singlepicket on that flank, firing a single shot on seeing us, would have savedthem. And besides, we have their horses. Sergeant Barker has just come inreporting that he has the bunch. " Satisfied, we marched out to ourpresent resting-place. 

The cavalry has just emerged from their unsuccessful ambush, with the twomachine guns, and have started northward in a hurry, an umpire warningthem, "You have only five minutes before we start after you. " The menaround me are laughing and talking, well content, and I have just seenthe major congratulating the captain on a brisk piece of work. 

(In camp again, and settled for the night at our old tents, the weatherhaving cleared. )

A cavalryman (by the way, there was pointed out to me today the fellowwith the broken jaw, jouncing along with the rest, and looking neitherthin nor pale) a cavalryman has just settled down to discuss the skirmishwith us. "We got some beautiful shots at you fellows. In our firstposition we let the point of I company walk by, and then fired into themat about fifty yards. I company drove us, and then we settled in thatlittle wood, with the machine guns. I company's flanking patrol cameright up to the edge of the woods without seeing us. We let them go byand then fired into you. Didn't you duck into the ditches quick!" He istalking now of a cavalryman's work. "Here you fellows are grumblingbecause you have a gun to clean. I wish I got off as easily. I have mygun and my equipment; it takes a lot of time, and today I had to cleanand water two horses, another fellow's and mine. The other man got hurt, one of the regulars. His horse fell on him. "

The major, at conference, told us that he and Captain Kirby had beenexpecting an attack at that point, as the lay of the land was right forit. They were surprised when the flanking patrol found nothing. 

Our next work was quite different, and illustrates the fact that the manin the ranks can only tell what he sees, and often cannot understandthat. On our fresh advance northward our company was the advance guard, Icompany falling to our rear. The first platoon marched ahead as the"point, " with communicating files, and we watched its operations for awhile as we followed along. 

The work of the "point, " my dear mother, when you are advancing to engagethe enemy, is one of the most dangerous in warfare. When the Germans sentout their advance guards as they overran Belgium, they considered thatthe men in each point had been given their death warrants. The object ofthe point, as it proceeds along the road, is to hunt for the enemy andengage him. The men of the detail march at intervals of about twenty-fiveyards on alternate sides of the road, the corporal about halfway of thesquad, and the rearmost, or "get-away man, " having the task of fallingback as soon as any serious obstacle is encountered, in order tocommunicate with the support. As in enemy's country the roads are likelyto be waylaid, patrols are sent out to investigate any flanking hill, orwood, or group of buildings, behind which a party could be hiding. Youcan imagine the grim interest in trying to walk into an ambuscade. Icompany's patrols having failed to locate the enemy in his lastconcealment, we were particularly anxious to make no such error. 

As we marched up each rise in ground I could see the point ahead of us, and the patrols working their way through the country to the right andleft of the road. As the point naturally went faster than the patrols itwould gradually leave them behind, the corporal or sergeant commandingwould send back for more men, the message would come through thecommunicating files, and men would be sent ahead for the work. Patrolsoutdistanced, and still finding nothing, would drop back to the road andrejoin their command as soon as they could. 

After a while this work of the point had used up the first platoon, andbegan to eat into ours. It was then recalled and our platoon took itsplace, with Squad 6 as point, Squad 7 providing the patrols andcommunicating files, and our squad as immediate reserve. Word coming formore men, Clay and Reardon were sent forward, and I saw them despatchedoff to the right, Clay toward a nearby sugar-bush, a little grove withits sugar house at its edge, and Reardon further forward, toward asuspicious hollow behind which was a railroad embankment which mightconceal a regiment. I was plainly among the next to go, and waitedimpatiently. Then we halted, and remained so for some time. 

The men grumbled. Why stop? Why wasn't the support following moreclosely? Where was the enemy, anyway? Hoping to be right in the middle ofthe next scrap, we were disappointed at any delay. Meanwhile Clay, havingfound nothing in his sugar-bush, returned, and attention was fixed on ourflanking patrol to the left, who having discovered that we had stopped, likewise became stationary, and leaving un-rummaged the thick littlegrowth of birch ahead of him, sat himself down in the midst of an appleorchard, and visibly regaled himself on something red. 

This was exasperating, we having already had to leave untouched so manytrees laden with fruit. Roars from the sergeant failing to dislodge ourresting patrol, a man was starting out to order him on, when he wasobserved to start, crouch behind a tree, make ready to shoot, and then tofall back from cover to cover, continually presenting his gun at anunseen enemy. He rejoined us out of breath, and feverishly reportedhaving heard men in the scrub, and a voice ordering him to surrender. Thesergeant was hastily sending out our squad to investigate the birches, when a bunch of men were seen to break cover from them. As they wore nowhite hat-bands we knew they must be our men; and when they came nearerwe saw them to be Squad 9, which a quarter hour before the captain haddespatched on special flanking duty, and which, being full of energy, haddone their work and more too, coming back after a practical joke on ourpatrol. 

And then we were ordered to return! Instead of the support marching tofill the gap between us, we were to go back to it. Bannister objectedthat a man was missing, Reardon through excess of zeal having vanished inthe distance along the railroad. "Send out a man after him, " said thesergeant. All the squad offered to go; Corder was a little the slowest, being leg-weary, but who do you think was first? David! So he wasdespatched, and went very eagerly, while we turned our backs and wentsouth. 

When the company had joined the battalion there was much rearranging ofdisjointed commands, squads continually coming in from detail duty, sothat it was plain that between us we had pretty well investigated thewhole landscape. David and Reardon were missing still, even after we hadrested for some time. We started south again, and it was not till afteranother march that the lost men rejoined us, David triumphant, butReardon very hot and weary. Said the poor fellow, "I have thought beforenow that I was pretty tired, but this beats everything. "

There was no rest for him, however. We turned north again, having Jcompany in front, and after a mile heard the familiar firing. The captainsent us headlong into the field on the right, where soon we were part ofa skirmish line, and for a minute were blazing away at a fence in frontof us, behind which I glimpsed a single white hat-band. But Kirby was notto be caught as the cavalry had allowed themselves to be. Squad 8 wassent off at the double to the end of the line, and there at wideintervals we made a flank guard extending to the rear, where poor Reardonwas allowed to rest at last, as we waited hidden behind what cover wecould find, gazing across some pasture land with scattered bushes at abelt of pine in front. 

As we waited we heard the voice of an umpire; I snatched a glimpse of himas he stood behind us watching. "Any enemy you see represents twenty-fivemen. " A cool statement that made our task perplexing, for while with onebullet I might slay so many men, conversely if one shot at us first hecould wipe out the squad. But though we lay very low and watched verykeenly, while the battalion banged away at our left, no one appeared infront of us. To my left was Reardon, and to my right David, very intenton spotting the first foe. It is a pleasure to see how seriously he takesthe work. Pickle, beyond him, was constantly chewing gum and whisperingslang, the sort of city clerk one reads about in Civil War memoirs, toughphysically and mentally. 

(I have thrown my chewing gum away. Too much swallowing of saliva makesyou (me!) hungry. Me for a pebble from the next brook!)

We were at last called back by a whistle, and the distant cry, "Assembleon the left!" Once more we marched south, and presently were restingagain at West Sciota. As we lolled there, buying apples from nativebuzzards, who take to the extortion of the professional without anycoaching, some trucks came to the crossroads, and men began to climb intothem. Watching one group, I was surprised to recognize a man of Acompany, at the same time that Corder exclaimed, "Those men are from thefirst battalion!" whose firing, you remember, we had already heard atleast a couple of miles away. We did not get the explanation untilbattalion conference, some hours later. It seems that the umpires, duringour northward march, had reinforced the cavalry with an imaginarybattalion of infantry, before which we had been obliged to retreat. Bymotorcycle messenger a call for help was sent to the first battalioncommander, who was now four miles away on the road to Altona. Havingsixteen empty motor-trucks, in four minutes he had filled them with twocompanies, and seventeen minutes later they were behind our lines, forming for our support. As we saw or guessed none of this, it onlyillustrates the remark with which I began, that the private soldier knowsbut a little of what is going on. 

I would not write this to you in such detail, except that I think it willinterest you to see that the hike is more than a mere march, and that itis making every one of us advance in his department of the war game. Wesquads, I hope, are learning to do as we are told, though you see howblind everything is to us. The intricate problems of the officers comeout in conference. There the men sit on the ground in a greatthree-quarter-circle, grouping themselves whenever possible around themen with maps. The major likewise has hisn, and the officers theirn. Themajor makes a general statement of the work of the day, and the captainsthen report on their particular operations. When you see what exact notesthey have taken of every operation: the precise moment of sending outparties and of receiving reports, the minuteness with which they locateevery action, the science with which they carry out the work that fallsto them, and the team-play that animates them, you see that this is noold-style cut-and-dried "sham battle, " but an actual study, of course ona small scale, of fighting seriously carried out by well-trainedofficers. It has deeply impressed me with the long and hard worknecessary to make an officer; and then, turning to the man's side of it, it becomes plainer and plainer that it takes time, much time, to train aprivate or a corporal into a reliable man on patrol. 

One hard thing for us amateurs to learn is the proper writing of messagescontaining military information. It is hard to decide what is importantenough to send, and then how to word the despatch. Tradition from anearlier camp has handed down this model: "The enemy are in sight and areabout to do something. " Where, when, how many, some notion, howevervague, of the enemy's disposition--all forgotten between excitement andtoo great responsibility. 

The march home was the hardest part of the day. The interest of theskirmish kept us going; but the three miles back to camp at a quick pacetook it out of us all. I had not known I was so tired; the strain worehard on me; it seemed ages before we sighted camp, and then ages and agesbefore we reached it. But this experience was the same as on Monday, forthough the very vigorous ones were able to whistle and sing, to the helpof us all, again I began to hear grumbling all about me. We reached campat last, and poor Reardon when we broke ranks dropped on the ground athis tent door, without the energy to unbutton the flaps, and in a minutewas fast asleep there. 

We had our dinner, which I put in my meat-can under the hay to keep hotwhile I rested, then ate and felt refreshed. Then the afternoon we had toourselves, if you can so consider it when we have to clean our guns, clean ourselves, come to conference, and come to Retreat. For my ownpart, having yesterday sampled the slimy brook and having no taste for itagain, I washed my face and hands (after cleaning my gun) in a littlewater from the canteen. Thus I am staying dirty. It is no more than Ihave done before, in the deep woods. 

"That was some hike we had this morning, " calls Bannister to a friendacross the street. Such is the general opinion, especially Reardon's, whoslept till he had to be roused for conference. And I want especially tochronicle that it was David who, declaring that Reardon would getrheumatism from the bare ground, roused him enough to get him onto hisblankets in the tent; it was David who sat by him and prevented anyonefrom waking him; and it was David who after cleaning his own gun, whichwork the lad does not enjoy, cleaned Reardon's. 

The story goes now that the stolen clip of ball cartridges has been foundand confiscated. Its location is ascribed to every company in theregiment, including ours. Our blanks we use very freely, being suppliedevery morning with any number from fifty up. And wherever we shoot themin any quantity, buzzards still flock together to rummage in theunderbrush. 

You ask the meaning of Retreat. It is the last ceremony of the militaryday, when the colors are furled. The companies are called together, eachat the end of its street, so that they are in order one behind the other. Sometimes we are drilled in the manual, sometimes we have rifleinspection; but as soon as the bugle sounds the warning call we come toparade rest. Then the band plays the Star Spangled Banner, after which westand at attention while the bugler plays the beautiful "To the Colors. "The flag is furled, and everyone not in line, cooks, orderlies, allexcept the buzzards, likewise stand at attention during the call, and atthe end salute. Then promptly we are dismissed and allowed to hope forsupper. 

Our diet is the same monotony of wholesome, plentiful food. I amflourishing on it; Corder is proud of requiring nothing else. On theother hand some complain, and Pickle, having a sweet tooth, at the end ofa meal will often go out and feed himself with boughten pies anddoughnuts. For you must understand that not only do the buzzards followus from camp to camp, but every farmer's wife along the line of march ornear our camp bakes a batch of her favorites and puts out a sign. Thosealong the road must be disappointed; none of us ever fall out. But theymake a good sale outside the camp. David, who has become very strict withhimself, is trying to save Pickle from his indulgences, but so farwithout success except that Pickle has become very sly about slippingaway. 

A long letter, and I am cramped and stiff from sitting on the ground. When shall I sit in a chair again?

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 Thursday morning at West Sciota, waiting to start. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

The camp has been policed down to the last cigarette stub and gun patch, or anything else that the captain's keen eye might light on. The call hasgone out, "Platoon leaders to the head of the street, " and the day's workis to be laid out for them. We privates have been studying our maps. Forwe expect to march to Altona, where last night the first battalioncamped, and we suspect that they will march out and oppose us. It is onlyseven miles by road, but no one knows how long if skirmishing is added. 

After mailing my letter last night I sat among others at the captain'sfire, listening to his ready answers to the questions which we fired athim. We went over points of strategy, and discussed the day's work. Ithas become plain to me that there is a great advantage in so small a campas ours, a regiment of but six companies. We can be in or pretty close toevery scrap that happens, and all the real military problems are fairlyplain to us. Besides, this hike is to be the longest yet. When furtheryou consider that a month of Plattsburg has as many hours of service as amilitiaman gets in two years and a half at home, that our continuousservice is naturally much more valuable than the militiaman's weeklydrill in his armory, and finally that we are under West Pointers who eachday explain and discuss the problem, you can see that a man in the TenthRegiment has a chance to learn a good deal. 

Little absurdities are taking place around me. Says Corder, strugglingwith his pack, "Bann, will you help me into my corset. " Pickle says toReardon (out of David's hearing) "Ten cents for a bum piece of pie thatyou have to eat with your hands! That gets my goat. " And just now hascome a hoot from every part of the camp when from I company, in line tostart and loading guns for a skirmish, sounded the pop of an accidentaldischarge. But the men of I company look sour and glum. 

Nevertheless I will admit that I discovered yesterday from personalexperience, but luckily in the rattle and banging of a fight, how the gunis accidentally discharged. You draw back the bolt and push it forwardagain, thus putting a cartridge in the barrel. Then you turn the boltdown. Now if in so doing your third or fourth finger strays inside thetrigger guard and presses the trigger (and it is very easily done)then--! But no one could hear my mistake in all the firing. 

 (_Resting after battle, near Altona. _)

We marched for some miles unmolested along our westward road, and theamateur strategists among us scanned each rise of ground ahead, predicting fights. But when the row finally began we were too far in therear to see just what kind of position the enemy had decided to hold. Asoften happens, we were ordered into the ditch to wait, while the officersconsulted briefly, and all the time the rattle of the guns kept up. Halfthe cavalry, by the way, were with us, and we saw them sent off by awoodroad to the left, supposedly to flank the enemy. Then for our platoonoccurred one of our occasional bawlings out. As we waited, having loaded, we saw the 4th, 3d, and 1st platoons ordered over the fence into thefield on our right. Being used to seeing the company split into itsdetachments for different purposes, and hearing no orders, we remainedplacidly in the ditch--for we are now old soldiers, and are learning notto hunt trouble. But the lieutenant came running, and with a few sharpwords deftly removed the scalp of our leader, and retired with it at hisbelt. So over we scrabbled, and took our place in the column. Then wewandered miles through pastures, woods, and bogs, at first in _column ofsquads_, which means four men abreast, and then, as the going becamedifficult, in _squad columns_, which means eight men following each otherin single file. Note this difference--I wish we had! At one time, fornearly a mile, the whole company was in Indian file, winding through theunderbrush. 

And as we went thus there came a curious little test of character anddiscipline. For to us as we halted at one charming bit of stony hillside, cedar grown, came one of the amazing persistent buzzards carrying hiswhole stock in trade, a box of chocolate bars. We were hungry, and somemen bought; even David began fumbling in his pocket as the man came near. But he looked at Knudsen, and the Swede frowned, so when the fellowoffered his wares David waved him away. Having shown weakness, he did notattempt to influence Pickle; but that worthy, with a sigh, put up hismoney. "War is hell, " said he, and cursed the buzzard. None in our squadbought; in fact, though the captain was not in sight, I think the buzzardwas disappointed in F company. 

Firing was all the time very noisy to our left, and as we moved on it wasplain that we were skirting the centre of the scrimmage in an attempt totake the enemy in flank. Now our squad columns were sent forwardparallel, eight yards apart, ready at command to spring out in one longline, the men side by side. Through a cedar swamp we now made our wayamong huge old trees, the firing very hot and close in front, until wewere halted at the edge of the thicket, with an open space in frontacross which was a snake fence some thirty yards away. As we waited theorder to advance, we being on the extreme right, a railroad embankmentjust beyond us, we saw a platoon rush forward from the left, cross theopen diagonally, and line the fence in front of us. With objurgations thecaptain and lieutenant coaxed them again to the left. Other platoons, andperhaps single squads, rushed from cover and occupied the fence, thewhole line beginning to fire. 

We felt sure that it was our turn next, and were saying so, whenapparently the order came. The platoon leader sprang out in front, I madeup my mind where I was to go, we all surged forward, crossed the openspace, and I presently found myself in the line, firing across the fenceat a distant wall, the range of which I calculated to be but a hundredyards, and therefore used "battle sight, " firing low. But here came thelieutenant again, scalped our leader a second time, and ordered us back. So I trailed back across the open ground and meekly took my place withthe others again in squad column. We asked each other, "Weren't weordered forward?" Some declared that the platoon leader had ordered theadvance, others that the lieutenant had sent us out. I knew I had heardhis voice, but really I had merely followed on like a sheep. That wasproper. But at any rate here was a time when the platoon-leader had madea mistake in keeping us with the rest of the company. 

While the platoon, thirty-four men of us, was huddled in its specialbunch of trees, all talking and explaining, along in haste came themajor, dismounted, demanding if we were in column of squads. With onevoice we maintained that we were, but he or his aide knew better, and bythe help of our two sergeants bringing the corporals to their senses andsilencing the men, we were finally got out of our squad columns, in whichformation we had been so long that we had forgotten that there was anyother. In column of squads we were swung to the right, put in skirmishline, and halted below the railway embankment, where the major, withgreat patience and the most painstaking English, explained to our limitedintelligences the exact manoeuvre that he contemplated. Then at the wordwe rushed the embankment, plunged into a ditch, swung to the left, someof us across a wire fence, and prepared to advance and annihilate a bunchof the enemy that we saw before us. But they sending out a messenger, explained that they were dead, which saved us the trouble, not really toour pleasure, for having made fools of ourselves we were anxious to takeit out on somebody. And then the bugle blew Recall. 

Green troops in battle would cause just such confusion and delay. It wasvery evident that we had spoiled some plan. The need of a soldier'straining would be plain to anyone that heard the babble of our voices inthat corner, conjecturing, advising, urging this and that. We are stillvery far from the state in which we could be trusted to go into battleand obey every order just as it came. The reasons for this I figure outto be two. 

In the first place I have learned that the so-called intelligentvolunteer, while able with surprising quickness to master the manual andthe drill, with the rudiments of skirmish work, and all because of histrained mind, nevertheless does not readily give up his independence ofthought except in the presence of men whom he recognizes as hisunquestionable professional superiors. Hence, when deprived of suchguidance, each man has his own theory and his own advice, which he voiceswithout modesty. 

Secondly, while in the regular army such situations are readilycontrolled 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 hadnot sufficient control over us because they had not sufficient controlover themselves. They were new to their responsibility, and did notunderstand how to handle the particular problem. And if we had neededanother example of what was lacking, it was at hand in a few minutes whenon 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 waydown into the water, the lieutenant at his side discussing, trampedacross the shallow river, and marched on, whether forgetting us ortesting us I do not know. The first squad or two followed gamely, thenext faltered, and all the rest spread out in confusion and tried tocross dry-shod. I am glad to say that Squad 8 hung together, hopped overquickly, formed and went on. After a hundred yards we came up with thecaptain, who was just sending back a sergeant with the message, "Help allthe girls across. " When once we were assembled he gave us his solemnpromise never to try to save us work again. 

What would prevent such blunders in future? I will admit that in eachsuch case non-coms from the regular army would have steadied us and keptus right. Yet I am convinced that what will best control the Plattsburgrookie is the Plattsburg non-com. All we need is to develop a body ofthem. The regular may serve at a pinch, but in the cases where moralcontrol 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 theconference. 

The camp is rather picturesquely situated in a broad field that stretchesdown to swamps and woods, the cavalry at a slight distance across alittle swale. Our squad was on police duty for a while, and I was orderlyfor 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 haveslipped away to it. Yet at dinner-time I saw poor Pickle sitting by thewater-barrel, a plate of beans in his lap. I asked innocently, "Whyaren't you at the chicken dinner?" "Don't ask foolish questions, " hesnapped. "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 imposingname of the Great Chazy; it wanders idle from pool to pool along its halfdry bed. In one of the natural bath-tubs I had a fine wash, finding apool up to my knees, clear cold water where minnows swam trustinglyabout, and where crawfish, the first I have ever seen, came like littlepink lobsters to investigate my toes. After the stagnant brooks at ourlast two camps, it was delightful to find this clear water and actuallyget _under_ it. 

I was so trustful of the weather that I washed a pair of socks, but I hadnot got into my clothes before a shower started. I took refuge, withanother man, in a cavalry officer's tent. We had a pleasant little chatwith him; he did not resent the intrusion of a couple of rookies, and wetalked 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 theother. Word has come which puts the company in mourning--Loretta isdetained by business, and will not rejoin us. David says in my ear, "Damnhim, I meant to get even with him!" This for Reardon's sake, who laughsat David's energy, yet I think is rather touched by it. We have had ourusual talk with the captain at the company fire, and rather gently he haspointed out to us our shortcomings, especially our platoon's in givingthe major such trouble. 

But some men of our platoon came to him with a grievance. In getting usinto our column of squads someone swore at the men, and they attributedthe profanity to the major's aide, a volunteer like ourselves. Thisroused the captain. "No one shall swear at my men!" he declared, hisgentleness all gone. "I will talk with that aide. " That obliged me tospeak. "Captain, " said I, "I'm sorry to disagree with the others, but asI happened to have admired the coolness of the aide, it doesn't seem tome that he was in a state of mind to swear. " One of our sergeants spokeup. "I might have done it, sir. I was a little excited. " The man hassworn at us before, and Knudsen has resented it. The captain wasmollified by the admission, but he read the man a little lecture. "Neverswear at your men, sir. Apart from the fact that it does no good, it'smost unsoldierlike. I never swore at an enlisted man but once, when I wasa very young officer, and I never will again. "

I must stop because of the damp and the discomfort, writing in thisflickering light, my legs, as usual, cramped. I despair of ever conveyinga proper idea of this rainy evening, the indifference of the hardy ones, the dejection of the sensitive, crowding together wherever there iscover, trying to keep dry at fires, or in final surrender crawling intotheir 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 prettywell ditched, but the pin at my shoulder is very loose in this sandysoil, and if it showers--! Good night. 

 DICK. 

_P. S. _ Overheard in I company street, loud language. One disputant: "Ikeep my feet as clean as yours!" The other. "You do? I have washed minetwice since the beginning of the hike. " The first: "So have I, Monday andyesterday. 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 inthe rain, Bann already snoozing by my side, and was put to sleep by thesounds of men's voices murmuring. Roused by a smart shower, I heard Tapsblown, and the top sergeant going up and down the street. "Cut out thattalking, men!" Waking in the night I found the sky clear, the windblowing, and two pins out at my side, with the tent flapping. I put thepins in, but when next I was waked by the rain in my face the side of thetent was flapping heavily, and nothing but the fact that instead of arifle for the tent pole we used a stake, driven about six inches into theground, had saved us from a collapse. I held down the corner through theshower, then opening my meat-can, used its long handle for a tent-peg. Ifour little pins were a couple of inches longer this nuisance could beprevented. The new peg held till morning, the clouds then graduallybreaking for a glorious sunrise. 

 On a hillside, near Ellenburg Depot. 

We rolled our moist blankets, made up our damp packs, ate our hastybreakfasts, and with I company were hustled into motor trucks, two squadsto 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 wereturned out, and marched in the cloudy, windy morning three miles toEllenburg Depot. Here we left a man on each bridge, to notify pursuersthat it was destroyed, and turned into the fields, at last climbing aridge from which, to the left, we saw at a distance a high hill, itswooded sides beginning to show the mottled reds of autumn, while justbelow our steep slope lay a wide flat bottom, perfect green, with a brookwandering through it. Here we rested, delighting in the view butshivering in the wind, while the company officers and the major lookedover the ground. Then the orders were, "Off with the equipment, get outyour tools, and dig a trench. " The front rank is working like beaversnow, 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 ableto get no straw, for though I have twice hurried at the first glimpse ofa wagon, the fellows nearer got it all. The ground is wet from thismorning's rain, my pen has splashed everything with ink, and I am afraidthat this rain is no mere shower. But thank Heaven! the soil is betterfor the pins to hold in, the tents have all been faced away from thewind, 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 uphillfrom a railway cutting, a line was marked, and the men fell to at thedigging with enthusiasm. The ground was sandy, and we quickly threw outthe soil, and heaved out the occasional big rocks. "We" scarcely includespoor Corder, who complained bitterly that his appearance of age made thefellows keep the tools from him; but when we were ordered to bring stonesand turf, he joyfully carried burdens. The trench was dug about four feetdeep, with an eighteen inch parapet outside. Inside this was a shelf foran elbow rest; the parapet was lined (revetted, the captain said) withflat stones, and finally the whole outside was turfed, so that the rawearth did not show. The turf was from ground opened in a long line higherup the hill, and left open to look like a trench and draw the enemy'sfire. Our trench being finished, another--a mere rifle pit, higher up theslope--was made for the captain's observation post, and still another fora northerly outpost. Having turfed the outside of these, we picked themilkweed stalks that stood in great numbers, and set them at properintervals with artistic irregularity, while for the captain was provideda little bush. I company's trenches were further to the south. 

We were finishing, and Corder had just said "We need a shower to cleanthis dirty turf, " when the shower came. The captain ordered us into ourpacks and ponchos, and then into the trench. Though the shower was shortthe wind was increasingly cold, and I was glad of the protection of myponcho. 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 rootswill go in sandy soil: at least two feet. The amount of sand that getsinto the lock of one's rifle. The continual discomfort of sand blowinginto 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, whoseemed much less interested in his life as a banker than I was. Theincalculable value of the pack as a life-saver, for having to leanagainst the wall of the narrow trench, nothing but the roll on my backkept me from the deadly chill of pneumonia. But most interesting of allwas the behavior of the men. 

As we worked at digging the trench we naturally, being intelligentvolunteers, had many sub-directors, and much grumbling at so muchunofficial ordering. Randall, during one of his rests, delivered himselfwith much disgust. "There never was an American, " said he, "who couldtake 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 wascontinually popping up, and continually being ordered down; and it wasRandall who would light cigarettes, though ordered not to. An hour andthree quarters is a long time to wait, and the cramped space was verytiring. Further, we were excited by the sound of firing, I suppose fromthe driving in of the detachment which the lieutenant had taken off tothe east, so of course everyone wanted to see. In addition, our twosergeants, who have none too much authority, were together at one end ofthe platoon, away from the most impatient of the men, and so were quiteunable to control Randall and other restless spirits. Randall, arguingthat no one could see _him_, would pop up his head, others imitated, andso on the whole a fine example of discipline our platoon made. But David, lost in wonder at such wilfulness, never raised his head above theparapet. 

Well, at last we heard the captain's whistle, and steadied. His voicecame: "Range, eight hundred and fifty yards. " We set our sights. "At oneo'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, besidea little cemetery on the top of the further hill, some moving figures, atwhich I fired a couple of clips. Then "Cease firing!" We locked ourpieces; the men had disappeared. "Down, men!" And we crouched again. Butnext we heard "Battle sight--at four o'clock--fire at will, " and when westood up there was a line of skirmishers advancing out of the woodsbeyond the railway cutting, about where the figure four would be on agreat clock-face if spread before us on the landscape, we ourselves beingat the six. But while I was popping contentedly away at these men ourplatoon was ordered first to cease firing, and then to leave the trenchand rush to the top of the hill, which we did helter-skelter, none, noteven our leader, knowing why. 

At the very ridge we were met, slap in the face, by a fierce wind ofwhich we in the trench had as yet got no inkling, which blew our ponchosall about, and savagely drove heavy drops of rain in our eyes. In themidst of this surprise we were confronted by an orderly, who pointingalong the ridge, told us that we were to form in column of squads. Inwhich direction we should face, and which squad first, 7 or 10, he didnot 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? Andmeanwhile, my wise privates, keep silence. " But nothing of the sort. There we stayed on the ridge, and there we finally formed in column ofsquads, all the time in full view of the enemy, who might have potted thelast man of us. The major at last came to the rescue, got us down fromthe ridge, and in the hearing of us all roasted poor Jones quite as wellas 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 nevershould have chosen in cold blood, across the top of a steep slope, withsliding sand and loose stones underfoot, while all the time the same windand rain whipped and beat us unmercifully. At last we were halted behindanother hill, put in skirmish line, and told what we were to do. We wereto rush the ridge, then to run down to a trench made and occupied by ourengineers, while they, being worn out by many days of fighting in it, were to vacate it. We executed the order smartly, dashing down to thetrench, the engineers, at sight of us, scrambling out and running forcover. I found myself jumping down into a trench as deep as my shoulder, very finely made. Different from our trench, which was protected fromenfilading only by cross walls at intervals, this trench zigzagged;moreover, its parapet was wattled. The engineers must have worked at itfrom 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 himsquarely in the middle, only to discover when too late that he was anumpire. Two of our fellows claimed to have shot a buzzard, and contendedfor the honor. When at last we saw real enemies, two platoons coming intofull view below us, we shot them all to pieces. An umpire told them thatthey were dead, whereupon they formed in line and went through the manualof 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 oneo'clock, we won. It was past the hour, and our victory was complete. Wemarched to camp in good spirits, being especially pleased to hear themajor (the opposing major!) compliment Captain Kirby on the excellence ofhis trench. _Our_ trench! We finished two hundred and fifty feet in anhour 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 thewhite bands on our hats. 

I have talked with one of the men who was left at a bridge to tell anypursuers that it was blown up. He said that it gave him great pleasure tololl on the railing and watch a platoon ford the cold stream up to theirwaists. 

With great relief I left the ground. We have so carefully policed eachcamping place that I had awful visions of having to fill in the trenchesand replace the sod. But by some arrangement with the owner of the landwe left the trenches as memorials of our great fight. How many cows willthey trap, I wonder. 

Our breakfast was at six, and we had no lunch till two o'clock. Whetherwe were hungry? In spite of this settled cold rain, which curiously isfrom the west, the men are in good spirits, though they show it byyowling 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 ourplatoon is that we don't particularly care for our sergeants, and havegot 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 disciplineand our work. Don't you suppose we could turn about and help thesergeants more? If you should lead in it, it would make a difference inthe whole platoon, for I notice that everyone wants to know youropinion. " David's face showed that he approved, so Knudsen agreed, and wethree talking to our squad and Squad Nine, have started a little GoodGovernment Association. I think today it did good. 

Last night was a long one for me. I am still unable to get myself awoollen cap, and though I used the felt hat for both the cold and therain, it rolled away at every excuse. To keep out the rain, I had laid myponcho on the windward side of the tent, buttoning it along theridgepole; 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 theythrashed all night. Beside me Bann slept like a child; but I was prettydamp when I went to bed, the rain and the wind came through, and everylittle thing waked me. Twice a peg pulled out, but the tent stood, and Iwas 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 tentblew down soon after midnight, so that they had to crawl out and set itup in the dark and the driving rain. 

There are camp tales of all kinds of hardships. Some stayed round thefires all night to keep warm; some, their tents collapsing, took refugeon a nearby piazza; some talk of washing their faces this morning in hoarfrost. But I _saw_ none of this. 

The yowlings which usually greet the bugler on any unwelcome occasionwere absent this morning, for most of us were ready to rise, or alreadyrisen. There was at first only a drizzle, in which I ate breakfast; itsurely was better than last night, with the steady rain running from myhat 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 doesnot truly protect. Yesterday I set my things down on a wet board; today Istood at the high running-board of an auto-truck, a very desirableposition. Yet I thought my hands have seldom been colder than when Istood in line this morning, unable to give them the protection of glovesor pockets. 

In the same drizzle we broke camp, packed our squad-bags andblanket-rolls, and made our packs. It rained as we started, and the wholeoutlook was bad--for to march ten miles in the wet, and then to make campunder these same conditions, was soldiering indeed. 

Yet ten minutes after we had left camp, the advance guard of thebattalion, we were staring at each other in new dismay. For pop-pop! Ourpoint had found the enemy. Now for comfort a skirmish ought to be foughtnear the new camping ground: anticipation keeps us going till the fightbegins, 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, andsaw 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, aswet 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, andthen dashed once more. 

For two hours, mother, this sort of thing continued. In a long line ourcompany spread over the fields, now one part advancing, then the rest. Sometimes we were flat, sometimes we might squat on cold stones behind awall, sometimes we were climbing walls and running forward. Discoveringthat it was wetter below me than above, I hung my poncho at my hip, andwhen we flopped, fell on it. We struck soft ground and formed in squadcolumns, then came to a place where the enemy was visible in asugar-bush, across a ravine. Down into the gully I plunged among therest, and in a confusion of men each seeking in a hurry the best wayacross, got through two wire fences, forced my way among a growth ofalders, 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 thetop 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 firedat us again from behind a stone wall, for there were plenty here, withothers of all kinds. We drove him again, our laggards helping where theycould, 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 keepup 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 andnicely 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 wirefence, with the wires so taut that they would not separate to let usthrough, nor sag to let us easily over. We were helping each other, as isthe rule, and the sergeant was hurrying us, as was his duty, when he wasanswered back by a corporal--not of our platoon, but one who with hissquad had become annexed in the confusion. A little back-talk with anaudience of silent men; our fellows remembered the new agreement. Then onwe went again, stormed another position, and at last, every cartridgespent (my head was ringing with the firing, and rings yet!) we wereassembled in the muddy road. 

A little interview, then while we rested, between the sergeant, thecorporal, and the captain, who demanded the reason for our platoon'sdelay. The corporal was explanatory; the captain had to silence him. Thenthe captain praised the company. (He also sent a message to us atRetreat, where the lieutenant commanded--we had done well; he would tryto keep us out of brooks hereafter. I like these laconic statements; theymean much. ) Then I company, with full cartridge belts, took up theadvance-guard work along the road, and we saw them rummage out of a barnsome 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. 

The rain was over, though it was still cloudy and the cold wind wasstrong. The road was a mass of mud; there was no walking in it. We madetwo long lines, one on each side of it, and took up our brisk walk. Mileafter mile in every footing, through desolate country where the scrub waslow, the land slightly rolling, bleak, uninhabited. The road ran mostlystraight; as it dipped you could see ahead the two lines of men swiftlyplodding on and on. 

There was talk at first, and some jokes. "That road looks worse thanthis, " said one. "I wonder they didn't take us down it. " The busheslooked very wet. "How about squad columns through that brush?" suggestedone. "Try the prone position from the middle of the road, " retortedanother, as we passed a great puddle. A later puddle, chocolate brown, roused another man's regrets. "I'd like to stop and wash my breakfastkit. I used the water they provided at camp, but this looks better tome. " But gradually all talk died away, and we just drove on and on. Therewere questions, of occasional teams that we passed, as to the distance toCherubusco. "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 lastthe sight of the trucks and the cook-tents cheered us, and we marchedonto 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 stoodin 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 highprices. I felt very cross against the good woman at whose table I nowwrite, for not devising a quicker system--though she suffered from ittoo, for her teeth were chattering as she passed me through. Buteverything goes by; even while I shivered the wind dried my clothes; andI had cold feet for only a couple of hours, by which time I had dried outa pair of fresh stockings, and put them on with my dry boots. Since thenI have been comfortably warm. We had fires, about which we sat; the sunat last came out (you should have heard the shout at the first thinrays!) and we have had a wonderful clear orange sunset, with sprucessilhouetted against it, and the early setting of the young moon. Now itis clear and cold and quiet outside, with the northern lights flashingand 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 sittingby the stove, "I can describe it in two words, Damn nasty. " But I am nomore than ordinarily tired, and am dry. The hardships of such a day arenot to be compared with those of the poor devils in the trenches acrossthe water. 

I must close this letter and leave it at the Y. M. C. A. , for the callto quarters has just sounded. In fact it is welcome, for I am verysleepy. I am leaving my wet shoes here to dry. We have just learned, toour sorrow, that we work tomorrow--Sunday! But there is one good piece ofnews--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 fromthe good woman my second pair of dry stockings, I put on everything warmthat I had, and went to bed. Fires were burning everywhere, with littlegroups of talking men around them; but the camp settled down veryquickly. It pleased me to hear the first sergeant rounding up men to helpin unloading the overcoats; but then I slept, and except for periods whenI woke in the night and as usual told time by Orion, I slept sound. Themen are all declaring that they slept well, all but one man, who said hewas miserably cold, and looks it. It _was_ a cold night, with a heavyfrost forming even inside my tent, and ice in my canteen when I tried todrink from it this morning. But now, warm and full, I am verycomfortable, waiting for the call at 9. 45 to go out and inspect theoutposts which the first battalion are now setting. The captain has beenup 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 cleaningtheir shoes--and some were mourning over them, not having taken warningagainst leaving them too close to the fire, when though the leather maynot be really burned it will lose its life and crack. Others werespreading blankets and clothes to dry, preparing the short pack (withoutthe roll) for our tour of inspection, recleaning rifles, shaving, mendingtheir clothes. Smoke is now drifting from a hundred fires, and towels andunderwear are spread on the tents or flapping from improvised clotheslines. 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 SquadNine, tells of the fetching of the overcoats. On arriving at campyesterday, wet through, he found that the new shoes which he bought atthe camp exchange in Plattsburg just before leaving for the hike, weretoo small, and asked the captain's permission to go to the village hereand try to get another pair. The captain, after finding out his need, said "You can change them in Plattsburg. Be ready in five minutes tostart with the truck. " So Newbold found himself in command of a five-tontruck, wallowing through these roads till they struck the macadam, forty-five miles in all to Plattsburg. There he presented his writtenorders, started the loading of the truck, and went out swinging his shoesby the strings till he found a shop where he could make a swap, the campexchange being closed. Forty-five miles over the road again, he dozing ina nest he made among the overcoats, and arriving in time to go to bed atTaps. 

The overcoats will keep us safe from now on. But the hard work of thepast two days has knocked out a few more men. Hale, who felt the coldnight so severely, proves to be threatened with bronchitis, and has beensent in to the hospital. Hageman, with digestion on strike, has to leaveus for good. I may mention men to you for the first time, but you mustunderstand that I have acquaintance with a great many now, and when infuture I hear their cities mentioned, Kansas City, Cleveland, whereverelse, 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 wasinteresting from a military standpoint, I can scarcely hope to make itpicturesque to you. Supposing an enemy ready to drop on us, we had tokeep out of his sight while watching for him, and also to ferret outsentry posts which for the same reason had been pretty carefully hidden, and to which our directions were the vaguest. It was all done withthoroughness 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 toour joy (for the day was hot and we were mostly sleepy from yesterday) wewere 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 campand rest up, especially considering the fact that tomorrow we are againto 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 ofthe street. " The lieutenant!

(_Evening. _) Yes, it was Lieutenant Pendleton, of whom, by the way, Ihave seen very little for some time. For we go very much by platoons, asyou 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, hecame walking along, scrutinizing the groups, and when he found me, delivering the summons, returning my salute, and passing on with hislittle smile. As he did not come back at all, I see that he took thatmethod of making his escape. 

For when I got to the head of the street there was a big touring car, thecaptain standing talking beside it, and in it, besides the old Coloneland our old neighbors the Chapmans, were Vera and her sister Frances. Some other officers were likewise there, and when the visitors descendedto walk about, took charge of them. I, a humble private lingering nearbecause commanded, thought that now I might slip away; but Vera in herusual way chose her own partner, and chose me. 

The camp did not interest her especially; she had seen it at a glancefrom the automobile. The way we lived was at once familiar to her; I soonfound that she did not want me to explain anything. Knowing that shealways has her own purposes, and also knowing that I can never guessthem, I waited for her to declare herself. She selected a convenient seaton a stone wall, where we could see everything; every man who went bystared at her in admiration, and evidently said to himself, "Isn't thatrookie 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 aboutthe captain--what kind of a man, how he treated us, how we liked him. Shecouldn't quite bring herself to say, "Dick, tell me about him!" There isalways Vera's pride. But after all, there never need be concealmentsbetween us; she knows we are to be friends all our lives. So she let mesee what she wouldn't plainly say. And I answered quite as plainly: afine 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 ismodest. I know he thinks that; it merely shows that he can't work forpopularity. But he was telling us recently of the practice hikes he hasbeen giving his company in Panama, to show that after all the hardestwork is what we shall look back on with the most pride. It was as plainas day to us, though not to him, that the men there are like our fellowshere--they will do anything for him. "

She dropped the subject; one not knowing Vera would have supposed thatshe was not even interested in it, but I knew that she had learned whatshe wanted. Idly she looked down the company street. "What are those mendoing?" she asked. 

A bunch of the men, growing every minute, had been singing to the tune ofSolomon Levi words that were not clear to us, being too far away. "Itmust be the new company song, " I said. "I've been told it's good. Thefellows are learning it. --See, they're coming this way. I believe theymean to sing it to the captain!"

Our other visitors were returning, headed by the captain and Frances. Themen, grouped by the water barrel at the head of the street, waited tillhe was near, pushed their leader out in front, and in hoarse whisperscommanded him to begin. You must understand that Vera promptly, butwithout 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, thefellows melted away in all directions. 

As for Vera, she was not daunted by the primitive simplicity of thewords. She looked at the captain and noted his confusion, looked at meand made no answer to my question, "Now don't you see they like him?" Butshe gave me a kindly little push toward Frances, and said, "Go and talkwith her. I've brought her all this way to see you. " And in anothermoment she had the captain as her partner, and was making him tell herall the little things she would not listen to from me. 

It was nice to see Frances. She told me all about you, and asked aboutDavid; and the street being now very neat with the laundry put away, andmy tent not very far, she walked down and looked at it, and met every oneof the squad, yes, and knew all about every one in advance, by which Isee that you have read her all my letters. The boys were greatly struckwith her; when our visitors had gone and I came back to our fire, Clay inhis Southern way paid me the nicest compliments for her, and Pickle sworethat she was a peach. Then when I thought the subject was exhaustedKnudsen came out of a brown study with the remark, "She's almost ashandsome as her sister, and besides she's the real thing. "

And truly, mother, stunning as Vera is, there's something about Frances'seyes and mouth that is particularly pleasing, don't you think?

There next taking place an Episcopal service in the open air, I went toit. It was under the trees near the farmhouse. A rustic cross was madeand set up, there were a few flowers at a simple altar, and the rail wasjust a piece of white birch nailed up between two trees; nothing could bemore appropriate. At least a hundred and fifty men attended; I couldn'task to hear a better sermon; and finally, the minister giving such aninvitation to communion as a man of my free beliefs could accept, Istayed to it. Dusk was falling as we came away, and we were calledtogether for Retreat. 

Troops of the townspeople have visited the town all day, some looking asif they had come from a distance. They have gawked all about, havelistened to the band concert, and stood about and watched our religiousservice as if it had been a show. But the best was at Retreat. The bandhad finished the Star Spangled Banner, the captain turned and brought usto attention, then pivoted about and stood at attention, looking straightin front of him. A little group of country folk had pressed up veryclose, and seeing him look so fixedly at something, they all swung aboutand stared too. Failing to find any unusual object nailed to the barnwhich was immediately in front, they turned back presently, puzzled orreproachful. 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 revivalof 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 goteverything ready for our early start. The night is clear and cold--but weare 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 knowwhy. For our company has been spared a great affliction, which would havebeen very cruel after a hard morning's work. We came into camp a longhour after everybody else, and had just pitched our tents and had dinnerwhen our captain called us together in a close bunch, and told us thatthe regimental commander had been dissatisfied with the deployments ofthe other companies, and was having them out to drill; but that our workhad been satisfactory, and that in consideration of our hard service onrecent days, we were to be excused. You see we have worked hard on Friday(digging and defending trenches) Saturday (when our skirmish work in themud and wet was the severest, he said, that a company on the hike has yethad) and today, when we started first and finished last. So I imaginethat if it was proposed to include us in this afternoon's drill thecaptain fought hard to have us excused. I hope it's also true that ourskirmish work is good. We cheered the announcement and enjoyed ourleisure; and now the other companies are expressing their delight atbeing released from their two hours' work in a stubble field. 

Last night, after I had mailed my letters, I stood about and watched thecamp with its always varied picturesqueness--the many fires, the driftingsmoke lit up by flames, the groups here and there, the undertones oftalk, the singing. The buzzard song has instantly become popular, and thelieutenant's platoon have a chant of praise to him--I don't know all thewords 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 fromearlier camps, other ditties, not vicious but unquotable, horriblyamusing _men's_ songs. 

I gave up watching at last, and made my bed, which was not so easy asusual, since my poncho, being old, has taken to stiffening in its foldsafter wetting, and when I shook it out, just plain cracked. Besides, itsintimate acquaintance with barb-wire has resulted in various tears, notably a long slit and some "barn-doors. " So seeing its usefulnessdeparting, I chiefly made use of my blankets and overcoat, in whichlatter 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 guardto protect the march of the baggage train and main body on the straightroad here, we going on a parallel line over whatever country we found. Wemarched out of camp, went a mile to the west, and then turned south--anda little ripple of joy went through the company. For it was our firststep toward Plattsburg and _home_. The men are all looking forward to thebreaking up of camp--not that they are feeling any hardship, but thatthey are anticipating the set end of things, and thinking of home lifeagain. 

Today's work will not make an interesting story. We followed our southroad till it petered out, passed through pretty glades and aroundattractive knolls, and finally climbed a steep ascent to where, by aschoolhouse at a corner, we rested for a while. A platoon was sent northagainst a squad of cavalry; the rest went on, deployed here, deployedthere, sent out squads and recalled them, then lay low in ditches andwatched the movements of some of the enemy (horsemen and a machine gun)cautiously coming forward along a crossroad against the corner towardwhich we were heading, and which we knew to be held in strength by ourfirst platoon. They consulted, came on within range, and then sent out aman 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 atthe 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. Asfor the machine gun, it would not reconcile itself to capture till, asthe captain said, an umpire went out and picked it by hand. 

We were given another rest, this time by an odd-looking building whichCorder guessed was a creamery. The fact being established, our boys weregreatly excited, and some filled their canteens at wholesaleprices--surreptitiously, for the thing was quite as wrong though not soreckless as another performance I have seen, the filling of canteens atwells. If we escape typhoid from such water it will be because of theinoculation. 

Ordered on again, our platoon was detached and sent across country tocome 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 onand on and on, and grumblings became louder and louder as the men beganto suspect that the leader did not know where he was going, nor what hewas trying to do. Good David, mindful of our pact, tried in vain to cheerthe boys up; but no, they would grumble, and (as inexorably follows) madetheir work the harder. It was a long three miles over stiff country, witha fence, usually barb wire, every hundred yards--and bogs! "What made mesore, " says Knudsen at my side at this moment, "was that first swamp wecame to. It was perfectly visible, with a good dry meadow on either sideto travel in--but Jones had to bring us through it. " Fence, bog, fence, thicket, fence, small pasture with an inquisitive bull (we went acrosssmartly!) fence, rough climb over rocks: such was the order of our going, till at last we heard the captain's distant whistle, and found theremainder of the company resting comfortably by the roadside waiting forus. But there was no soft place for the second platoon, for on we went atonce, two miles more to camp, where the other companies had long sincepitched their tents, had fed themselves, and now were streaming outtoward 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 rathera dip in an ice-cold stream, below a broken dam. Picturesque, so manymen's naked bodies, undressing, bathing, dressing, with the rushingstream, the rocky bank, the overhanging trees. Then I cut my toe and hadto have it dressed at the doctor's tent, where I had a glimpse at anotherside of camp life. 

I met one of our fellows coming away grumbling. "My blisters were dressedby an artilleryman who disgusted me with his profanity, and who put theplaster on the wrong spot. " But I was tended, having a more importantwound, by one of the doctors. And after my experience I can declare thatall doctors are divided into three kinds. 

One was a volunteer, one of our own company, by the way, whose feethaving given out was transferred to the medical corps, and keeps anespecially kindly eye on all H company men. But he being busy, I fellinto the hands of the regulars, and had a chance to judge of the opinioncommon among the rookies--"they treat you like a horse. " Now regularofficers must be short and sharp with their men, and the doctors amongthem 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 themajority of men were neither cowards nor dishonest. He was considerate ofme and of the orderlies under him. But alongside was a scowl. A poor fatbandsman with a lame foot was not excused from marching the next day. Theorderly who had mislaid the iodine was scalped. The orderly who hadcharge of the medicine chest was also scalped. The man whose foot thisdoctor was dressing was so certainly a man of character and a person ofcivilian consequence that he was not scalped for presuming to turn hisankle; but I felt the certainty that under actual campaign conditions hewould have fared no better than the others. It was borne in upon me thata gentleman who is gentlemanly only to gentlemen is not a gentleman atall. 

Though I have not spoken much of them, we have our daily conferenceswhenever the weather will permit. Today we first had battalionconference, when Major Goring spoke of recent manoeuvres--and we men wereinterested to see that even he spoke of Friday as an extremely successfulday, and Saturday as an unusually hard one. Then supper, then bed-making(which is desirable before the light goes--by the way, I am writing nolonger in the afternoon but the evening) then regimental conference, whenMajor Downes spoke against time for an hour (and mighty well, upon thePhilippines and army experiences there) in the hope that General Woodwould come, which he didn't. Now I am writing while sitting upon a firkinof apples that I had sent from our neighbor Williams, waiting for thesquad to come and help me eat them. Very bad writing this, I know, by thelight of the fire, holding the paper first folded, then bent, thenskewed, anything to stiffen it and catch the light, while every moment Imust shift it as I move my hand along the line. 

The boys are gathering for a feed--the apples, Some honey, bread, shredded wheat, cream from the local creamery (Knudsen's inspiration), the first such feast since the hike began. We have invited our neighbors, Squad Nine. So, since there is no more to tell, I will close this. 

"Pass up your cups, " says Clay. 

Love to you from

 DICK. 

PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

 On the road to Ledger Corners. Tuesday the 3d October. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

I write on my back in the usual roadside ditch, our column having haltedafter firing has broken out in our rear. My pack was on wrong thismorning, hanging too low, so that the straps cut me; I was glad to stop, so as to adjust it. Usually it is no trouble: in fact in some of theskirmishes I have not thought of it at all except to remark how little itcumbered me. 

But the pack can be, I have found, a detriment in case of a fall. Yesterday, going through a boggy wood, with rocks and slimy fallen trees, I slipped and plunged forward. Without the pack I could have savedmyself; but the heavy roll, shooting ahead, was just enough tooverbalance me and bring me down among the stumps and boulders. Toprotect my face I twisted as I fell. This brought the pack under me, myhead was lower than my hips, the pack wedged in a hole, and I should havehad difficulty in rising had not the boys yanked me up. 

Our feed at bed time was a success. We were warned of a hard day tofollow, the march being extra long, and the road being so unsafe fortrucks (on account of weak culverts) that we must carry our own dinners, which we must eat cold. In consequence we were given this morning anemergency ration, consisting of a slice of Bologna sausage, two pieces ofdry bread, and two hard boiled eggs. These we put in our meat cans, withsuch chocolate as we could get from the buzzards; we are carrying themnow, and are wondering if the cooks will get to camp in time to give uscoffee. 

Behind me, after quiet, the fire has broken out again. The boys listencritically. "We shan't have to go back for that. " There is a wholebattalion behind us that can stand off any attack. 

(_Later. _) The hike today has been steady plodding, halting at theregular intervals, also at times of attack from the rear. At first theboys sang a good deal, new songs and old. But the last two stretches, though we have had continual jokes and laughter, have been a persistentgrind. For the first time we have had climbing, pretty steady from ourstart to the height of land, a rise of 502 feet, after which we stumbleddown a very stony track till we reached a better road at Halfway House, an uninviting structure between two unknown terminals. We had one finelook-off at the highest point, over a gently descending slope of miles toa strip of Champlain, and beyond, floating above the haze, the GreenMountains of Vermont. Now we are resting again, the boys talking, smoking, studying the map, and singing quietly. 

 In camp at Ledger Corners. At the mouth of my kennel. 

The day's hike, ten or twelve miles, is finished, a very drearyperformance indeed. The way was very dull; and though the boys were atfirst inclined to say they were glad not to be on skirmish duty, wehaving worked so hard of late, before the trudge was over we were alltired of the monotony, and would have been glad of a brush. And we gotjust as tired and hungry as if we had had an extra four or five miles ofcross-country work. At last after passing through a district whose onlybeauties were its few high views and the gorgeous colors of its maples, and whose general sparseness of people, unattractive fields, and ill-kepthouses (chiefly of plastered logs) became after a while depressing, wecame to almost the only smooth field that we had seen. The first of thetrucks, after its journey of thirty-six miles, was just arriving;nevertheless it was not long after we had pitched camp that coffee wasready, with which we wetted our dry snack. You should watch us veteranspitch camp. Every tent is erected in fifteen minutes at most, less ifrain is threatening. I always hurry off early for the hay, leaving Bannto finish pegging down, and to ditch if necessary. My haste saves delay;today I got into the hay-barn just before a quartermaster came and formeda line. I always lug away a full poncho; though the hay almost fills thetent at first it soon packs down, and I want this amount to make sleepeasy, and to make sure that even if rain gets under the tent, we shallsleep on an island in comfort. Tonight the weather promises to be fine, so that Bann did no digging except for sods to lay on the edges of thetent to keep out the wind. 

Afternoons are always pretty full. We are said to have our time toourselves--yes, and if conference on the manoeuvres is omitted (as today, when our battalion had no manoeuvres to confer about), it really amountsto something. And I have gained time by toughening myself, the rest Iused to crave at Plattsburg and on the range no longer being necessary. But I love to linger over the luxury of the swim--or rather the bath--ifthere is an accessible stream. There was none at Cherubusco, and to tellthe truth I didn't miss it, so weary was I, and the weather so cold. Butyesterday and today I enjoyed the chance to soap myself and souse. Nextif there is mail (and I can always depend on my letter from you) I liketo enjoy it and skim the newspaper. After that the rifle should becleaned, even on such a day as this when I did not fire a shot, for thebarrel has a habit of "sweating" which requires it to be cleaned out andoiled. And then hundreds of us fall to on our letters home, always in apublic place, with talk going on all about, and with men going by whopause and interrupt. 

For in our company, and I doubt not in all the others, there is thefriendliest feeling for each other, and for each other's fortunes. Weknow that So-and-so has had a sprain, that such a man is in trouble withhis digestion, that Hill has a fallen arch, and that Homans has terriblyblistered his feet and is these days riding on the trucks, poor devil. Those who have met at the hospital tent have a common interest. Thusgetting acquainted, we hail each other when we meet in the street, stopat each other's fires, compare notes, congratulate on recovery, sympathize. There are, too, the recognized jokers, men who are alwayslooking out for a chance to make a hit. And finally camp news is handedalong from man to man. 

With all this going on, afternoon and evening, a fellow is continuallyinterested and, you may say, busy. There is good feeling almosteverywhere, though it is interesting to see how the degree of it varies. 

You see this particularly in the solidarity of squads. There is somewherein the regiment, I am told, a squad that does nothing but squabble; themen have nearly all in turn been corporal, and no one will obey. Butmostly there is bound to spring up a feeling of unity, as the eight mensleep and march and manoeuvre together. This will differ according to themen's natural sociability or feeling of loyalty, with perhaps jealousy inone man, or officiousness in another. Occasionally you will find a squadwhose masterful corporal interferes too much with his men's personalfreedom--and that has to be adjusted by a little plain language. Sometimes a fellow is discontented with his squad; Randall, for example, doesn't feel himself appreciated by his mates, and seeks chums elsewhere. But none of his new intimates stay by him very long. 

Our squad holds together very well; we eat together when our tents arenot too long a journey from the mess tent, a matter of consequence with abrimming dish, and in general we have a constant eye out for each other'smovements. But more than this, we are taking Squad Nine into a littleconfederation; they are men of the most diverse sorts but very much of aunit, and all bright, witty, and ready to cooperate. Indeed, having asystem of fetching each other's hay and filling each other's canteens, they have a better squad organization than we. It has pleased me verymuch that our banter between the tents at Plattsburg has turned into thefriendliest of feeling, so that we naturally seek each other out. We gavethem a spread last night, and today are invited to another in return. 

The column on the march is an amusing thing. Taken in little, I have gotvery familiar with the backs and legs of the four in front, Bann'sspringy tread, Clay's sturdy tramp, the little stiffness that shows inancient Corder's gait, and the untiring litheness of Knudsen's swing. Beside me Reardon trudges silently, his hat always flopped a little overhis eyes, his head up. Sometimes I make him talk, and have pried out ofhim much of his family history. Beyond him Pickle goes on springs, cracking jokes like a little internal combustion engine. And David, nowvery tanned and wide awake, finishes our four. Without looking, we knowthe voice of each of our neighbors behind or in front, even so far as thewitless stutterer some squads ahead, or the flat-voiced constant queristsomewhere behind. But now when he raises his song his neighbors shut himup. 

Our company in column always remembers who commands it. The first song webegin to sing, and the last we give up, is the Buzzard song, to show ourloyalty. Incidentally the song has improved discipline, for yesterdaywhen a buzzard approached us with the inevitable chocolate, tobacco, andmatches, we passed him along down the line with the chorus, "Poor oldbuzzard, get away out of here, " though, to be frank, the wording issomewhat stronger. No buzzard will ever get anything out of our companyagain when on the road, even though we may be at rest. Other littletouches show our memory of the captain's injunctions. We have a sergeantwho in former camps was demoralized by drilling under other officers, andwho at times crosses his gun upon his shoulders as he marches. Then thewhole column shouts at him till he takes it down. And when some othercompany passes us, with men carrying the guns by the straps, we shout:"Porter! Suit-case men! Red-caps!"

It is fine to march in a column of men and know the current of energythat flows along it. However many miles you have marched, however tiredyour feet and back and arms may be, in the knowledge that you are one ofa disciplined regiment there is something that strengthens you and keepsyou going. For in one sense Route Step, when you may go as you please, isa fiction; we must still keep so close together that to preserve the stepand the cadence is almost a necessity, and though we carry our pieces atease, we still swing along together. And as you look along rising ground, and see the hundreds of men ahead, and know there are as many morebehind, all going, going, the knowledge that you are a part of thatmachine, and that to fall out would be to mar it and to cut yourself offfrom it, keeps you still moving on your weary pins. 

You see I am speaking of general things, because of particular eventstoday there is nothing to describe. The bathing today was most shockinglypublic, on both sides of the bridge in this apology for a town. Wheneverwheels were heard, men shouted "Cover!" and those in the water (which wasvery shallow) would try to get under. But I think the women folk had beenwarned to keep away, since none of them crossed, at least while I wasthere. 

(_Evening. _) Tonight we have had a talk from General Wood. I have notreported our conferences to you, they are so incidental, and indeed sotheoretical at times. But we have had a captain from the border tell usof the coming of the green militia there at the mobilizing of thenational guard, of their first helplessness under service conditions, full as every company was of new men. The work of getting this half- orquarter-trained mass ready for fighting was enormously more difficultthan our Plattsburg work; and the fact that these regiments, if sent intothe field at first, would have been helpless against the Mexicans, needsno explanation (disagreeable as the idea is) to every recruit here. Wehave at another conference been shown the detail work of supplying ourcamps both at the training ground and on the hike, and the immenseimportance of the work of the obscure quartermaster's department. Talkafter talk has impressed us with the amount of work needed to drill, toequip, to work into fighting shape, even a few thousand men; and there isno Plattsburg rookie who does not fully understand, and will not indetail explain to his neighbors when he goes home, the absurdity of Mr. Bryan's army of a million men which is to spring into being at the callof the President. It would very much relieve us to be assured that thegovernment is ready to equip them even in the least particular. 

General Wood has talked to us from time to time. Back at the trainingcamp he told us somewhat of our military history. You know our text-booksfeed us up on our military glories; but looked at through the cold eyesof the statistician we know now that these were achieved at the cost ofenormous and unnecessary losses, all from lack of system and readiness. Moreover there are certain military disgraces which need to be called toour attention, to make us resolve that these things shall not happenagain. Considering further that we have never yet had a war with a firstclass military power (with two at least of whom we are in controversynow) and remembering that not only has our national guard proved afailure at this crisis, but that the new enlistments in the regular armyhave not come to pass, so that it is many thousands below its paperstrength, we are now at the point of asking ourselves what we are to doto meet the military necessity which will some day suddenly come upon us. We believe it is coming; no soldier will deny it or can more than hopeagainst it. Therefore we must prepare--but how?

--It is time for our spread; Squad Nine has come not merely with campdelicacies, but with cakes and candies from home! So I will break offthis gloomy epistle with, as usual, love from

 DICK. 

_P. S. _ Still come the variations of the story of the clip of ballcartridges. Someone knows somebody else who found it among his cartridgesone morning and slipped it into another man's belt. Thus the clip, andthe story, travels. 

PRIVATE GODWIN'S DAILY LETTER

 Cadyville, N. Y. , Oct. 4, 1916. 

DEAR MOTHER:--

We were up today as usual at half past five, those who were lucky risinga little earlier for more comfortable dressing. And yet, after all, tenminutes is enough for those few observances which may be dignified withthe name of our toilet. The pint and a half in the canteens allows us ascrub of the teeth, and a rinsing of the face and hands--no more, especially if we are to have anything to drink on the day's march, forthe morning, with an empty water-butt, is no time to replenish thesupply. Pickle, having a budding mustache, carries a pocket mirror andcomb, and so can arrange his hair; but the rest are usually satisfiedwith a hasty smoothing with the hands--and since the hat goes on at onceand stays on, why not? Because of the cold, all sleep in their stockings, which saves morning time, besides preventing bother in the lacing of thetrousers. (It is at night and at the swim that stockings are changed. )Thus in the morning only the shoes and the leggings must go on; we arealready in our sweaters, and so are soon prepared for the firstformation. The cartridge-belt and rifle are dragged out from the strawand laid ready in case they are called for; then one can proceed withpacking the squad-bag, and with striking the tent and separating theshelter-halves. Old Bann is a wise one; he always begins by securing hisfive tent-pins, and so leaves to me the responsibility of rummaging outthe remaining five, of which one always dodges me for a while. 

The second call sounds, to be followed by the first sergeant's whistle. "Corporals, get your men out! Belts and rifles!" There is snatching upand buckling, then there is scientific delay over packing, with eye andear to the exhortations of sergeants and squad leaders; but at last eventhe slowest are on their way to the head of the street to take theirplaces. The corporals are calling the numbers of their squads, "Six!""Nine!" "Twelve!" and with anxious eyes are watching for their belatedmen. The line forms: there is a gap here for a smoking fire, and othergaps that mean absentees. Rear-rank men step forward to fill the placesof their file-leaders, and as the assembly sounds the front-rank men areglad to slip, unobserved, into the vacant spaces in the rear. "Report!"--"First squad, present. " "Second squad, private Smith absent. "Smith, hurrying up, curses under his breath. "Police duty today, " heknows, and makes a grimace at private Brown, who has found his place inthe fourth squad just in time. 

Once the reports are in, the first sergeant orders "Inspection--Harms!"With a rattle the guns are tossed up and opened; with another rattle, atthe next command, they are closed and snapped. The sergeant salutes thewaiting lieutenant, whose commonest proceeding, now on the hike, is towarn us of an early start. Then perhaps he orders "Stack arms!" and wegrumble. A nuisance to have, in the company street, a line of stacksthrough which we may not pass. Then, dismissed, we return to our packing, always with an eye to the forming of a line at the cook tent. For no onewants to be late in that line, yet all wish to get forward with thepacking. There is, on these cold mornings, another consideration: it ispleasantest to eat breakfast in sweaters, which we know must be discardedfor the march. If the officers or sergeants come with "Hurry up thoseblanket-rolls!" off the sweaters must come, and the rolls are made. Otherwise, at the mess-call utensils are snatched up, and the men hurryto the head of the company street, to form the double line, and to beglad of the extra comfort that the sweaters give. 

The meal disposed of and the meat-cans washed (or rather rinsed) theremaining packing is quickly finished. The rolls are made, the squad-bagsare stuffed full, and both are carried to the trucks. The packs are made, and the belts, heavy with the fresh ammunition that has just been handedout, are hooked to them. A swing, a boost, a hitch or two, and ourpappooses, our constant companions, are with us till we make camp, sevenhours or more later. Then the whole company street is policed, and thehay piled in big cocks on which, in the early sun, the men loll duringthe last few minutes before the bugle calls. 

Our second battalion was first in ranks this morning, drawn closetogether to hear the words of the major. There was to be, he presumed, arencounter, or meeting engagement; he merely had sealed orders, to beopened at a certain spot on the route. Our battalion was to start first;he advised all officers to study the terrain as we passed along. And thenwe were off, while the first battalion was decorating its hats withwhite, and jeering at us as future enemies. 

The trucks were a mile ahead of us; we saw the dotted line of their khakitops marking the road that led out of the high basin in which lay thecamp. As we too climbed the steady slope to the southeast we were willingto leave the dreariness of its unkept farms and get among the woods. LyonMountain, on the west, slowly drew its colored bulk behind the shoulderof a nearer hill while we came closer and closer among the maples. Theshallow notch over which we passed was high and open; nothing overhungus, but the tawny tapestry of the woods ran up gentle slopes to the rightand left, and the few evidences of farming, save for the all-present wirefences, faded quite away. The slope grew stiffer, but there was noslackening of pace. Heads bent low, chests began to labor, and the sweatrolled down. A welcome rest relieved us; then up we started and went onagain, at each change of grade looking for the downward turn, and eachtime disappointed till--ah, there was a corner, and on the slope beyondwe saw the column descending amid dust. Then we too turned the corner, and faced the view. 

It was not wide, for the woods by the roadside (brilliant in the sun onthe right, subdued in the, shade on the left) limited it to a V. Belowwas the valley, and beyond and above it, piling ridge on ridge, rose thehills, climbing to the shaded blue peak that loomed in the very middle. It was a picture, striking and complete. 

In vain I looked for the lake, which in all our earlier landscapes showedbetween us and the hills. Then a reference to the sun showed that I wasstill looking in a southerly direction. Further, this great hill, so highand clear, was both taller and nearer than the Green Mountains could be. Someone behind me said "Whiteface, " and I knew that I was lookingstraight toward the heart of the Adirondacks. 

Again we made a turn, and the view broadened out. To the east the wholelandscape sloped toward the sun, against whose rays the brilliance of thewoods faded, though still amid the green one could see, to north or tosouth, the yellow, the orange, or the dotted scarlet of the flamingmaples. The easterly view was less distinct; in the distant blue thehills flattened to a fairly low horizon. 

But while, still marching, I idly gazed, my eye was caught by an oddtrick of the sun which, now at nine o'clock well on its upward way, yetseemed to illuminate the bottom of a cloud that hung near the sky line. It was a sunset effect impossible by day, but there was the distinctlygleaming band. And then I knew--Champlain! It was the lake, turningfaintly silver further north or further south. What I had thought to be acloud was distant haze. And above it hung, at first unnoticed, the faintblue silhouettes of Mansfield and its neighbor peaks. 

As we marched down the slope my neighbors, mindful of what was to come, said "Gee! Suppose we are to climb up this again?" But apprehension wassoon lost in the interest of the town we now entered, whose greatbuildings (in which each squad threatened to leave its most obstreperousmember) had been visible for some distance. Dannemora seems to be a townwhose prosperity, in this out of the way place, depends solely upon thegreat prison that stands in its midst. We marched along beneath the hugewall that forms one side of the main street; it rose in places fifteenfeet above our heads. Dust! dust! A school was let out; its scholars camestreaming uphill to watch us, and to tag along beside us even after wehad turned away from the great hospital of the prison, and were once moreamid farms. Other school children were waiting for us along the road. Wesaw very little of the buzzard in this population; they handed or threwus apples, and the boys even undertook to fill canteens--the same oldtrick which the officers failed to detect. 

Still we tramped on amid the dust which rose around us; if Saturday's wasthe wet hike, this was the dusty one. As we neared a crossroad we weregiven the command "Attention!" So we came to the right shoulder andstraightened our ranks, that we might look better as we passed theGeneral. Another quarter mile (we were an hour beyond Dannemora now) andthe familiar motorcyclist, our messenger in so many skirmishes, darted byus to reach the captain. We grunted. And then "Squads left--march, company--halt!" We found ourselves facing the wall of bushes. "Prepare toload!" Who, we wondered, would accidentally fire now? Ah, the distant popwas from the next company, and we heard its men angrily jeering theirclumsy mate. 

Squads-left again, and now we were starting back on the way that we hadcome. Uphill of course, but we feared that worse was to follow, as weremembered the ridge that we passed some little distance back, andrecalled the advantages it offered for defence. To be sure, J Company wasnow nearest it and should secure it, if the enemy were not too close. Buta burst of shooting, not very far away, apprised us that they werealready at hand. And then came the expected order, "Double time!"

The pace in double time, say the regulations, is thirty-six inches long;the cadence is at the rate of one hundred and eighty steps a minute. Itis not a run. I have heard the captain call back a lieutenant and hisplatoon: "I didn't say Run; I said Double time!"--"An easy run, " says thelittle blue book. An easy run! With eighteen pounds on the back, andeight around the waist, and another nine in the hand--an easy run! Oh, inthat dust, and up that slope, it was pound, pound, pound, till my heartthumped 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 burstof relief I got my second wind. But poor Corder! Three times, as Iwatched him laboring in front of me, he flagged. Three times he visiblymustered his powers and pounded on. The fourth time he was spent. He hadalready stepped out of the column, to let us pass him, when I heard thewelcome whistle. "Halt!" Corder had strength to take his place again, wewere hustled into the ditch for cover, and I found a grateful position onthe ground. There was no talk; everyone was too busy with a shortness ofbreath. 

The firing in our front was now more systematic, and was spreading to theleft. 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 ashort distance, and the line swung out into the road as it turned to theright into a field. Suddenly there was the major, ordering us back intothe 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, asobediently I ducked aside and left him in the position of danger. Aploughed field brought us to a walk; we climbed a stiff ascent, thenfound ourselves facing a nasty bit of thick wood, through which we wereordered 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 wealigned ourselves behind the top of a little rise, where we mightcomfortably 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 theenemy coming, saw at length the white hat-bands, opened fire, and heardhis heavy answer. The firing slackened on our front, strengthened on ourright, and our platoon was again detached, to take care of this newdanger. As we waited at the edge of a wood, while the major held us fororders, a half-grown robin, with speckled breast, nervously flew about usas if he wished to take refuge from the noises that distracted him. Intothe underbrush we plunged again, were posted here, and fired; were sentthere, 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 arear-guard, to fire upon the enemy if he appeared across a littleclearing. It was evident that the enemy's intentions could not be guessedin advance. I heard very rapid firing at my back, and a burst ofcheering. Then the bugle blew, and the whistles sounded everywherethrough the wood. Of the enemy I had had few glimpses, and in general Irealized that the confusion had been extreme. 

As I plodded through underbrush to rejoin my company, I came across somewhite-banded fellows who, with fixed bayonets and heavy breathing, hadevidently 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 fromthe woods and fixed bayonets in the open, and we fired at them for fiveminutes, at a hundred and fifty yards, before they began their charge. Ofcourse they stopped at fifty yards from us, the rule, you know. Then ourlieutenant asked theirs what his men wore to make them bullet-proof, andwe 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, andwe're sure of them, anyway. "

Well, fighting in the woods is "impossible, " as the major explained to uslater at conference. Apparently if it must be, it must, but there can bevery little science in it. At the conference our officers explained whathad happened at different parts of our line, and we were all sure that wehad won. But I noticed that the two battalions held their conferencesseparately, and concluded that the same consoling deduction was beingmade at the other discussion. Yet one idea must have fixed itself in themind of every thinking man there: we were too green, and some of ourplatoon-leaders were too green, for effective work under suchcircumstances. Once or twice on our skirmishes we have known that we didwell, and after the wet fight toward Cherubusco our captain ventured thestatement that he could make us soldiers in six months; but today I thinkhe would have doubled the period, for it was plain that a veteran enemydetermined to push his lines forward would have made short work of us inour confusion. 

One thing I learned which I shall remember to my private advantage. Thenext time I find myself firing from behind a snake fence I shall notcrowd forward into one of the corners. For that brings one's ears evenwith the muzzles of the rifles to the right and left, and the result isdeafening. 

We had delighted the foot-loose population of Dannemora, and perhaps hadtantalized the poor fellows behind the bars; certainly we gave profitableemployment to a score of professional buzzards, who turned up with theirbags to search the woods where we had been firing. As for ourselves, wewere soon on the road again and hiking in the dust, through country whichwas still too deserted and unkempt, with its brush pastures and scatteredlog houses, for the taste of a New Englander. At dips and turns of theroad we saw the drab column winding before us; we passed throughstraggling Cadyville and came at last to the unwelcome macadam. Our feet, used to the gravel roads, found this unyielding surface tire us more in amile than the other could do in five. I admit that I was thoroughly gladwhen at last we saw the camping ground, turned aside into the greengrass, and pitched our tents. Some strap of the pack having slipped, theweight had irked me more in the last hour than it had done in all thenine days of the hike, and it was with great relief that I swung it frommy shoulders. 

Another proof of the mathematical formula that Food Indulgence equalsIndigestion. A gormandizer from a neighboring squad has lately been verysavage on account of dyspepsia. Yesterday he crawled out of bed with thesourest expression and would scarcely respond to greetings, spoke of hisstomach, and intimated that he would ask to ride with the baggage. Yet hemarched with us, preserving so gloomy a silence that Corder, experimenting, hailed him four times before he would answer. Then hevouchsafed, "Every step I take my stomach hurts me, " and so he stalkedon, alone amid the jollity of the marching column. We had reached camp, and were pitching tents, when I heard his bunkie demanding hiswhereabouts. He had disappeared, leaving his mate to do his work. Butbefore long I heard his voice, entirely bright and happy, say "Sixtycents!" and there he stood in the midst of his squad, triumphantlyholding up a big mince pie. 

Today the poor man was down again, wrapped in gloom. Again he threatenedto ask to ride, but again he managed to subdue his pains. Said I, "Isuppose 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 ourdiet. " One has to respect misery, however caused, and I bothered him nomore. 

But David has managed to subdue Pickle, who goes no longer to thebuzzards' counters, and though he complains that the struggle is hard, headmits that the results pay. No more pains for him. So yesterday, thoughat the sight of the crisp pie Pickle's eye wandered toward the pastrybooth outside the gate, when he caught David's warning glance hecontrolled himself and went on with his work. 

It was here at Cadyville that, for the first time since leavingPlattsburg, we were able to have a real swim, or rather (since the waterwas like ice) we found depth enough and room enough for all. Over ameadow and down a bluff a path led from camp to a big paper mill whichstood above a gorge of the Saranac River. The huge pile of pulp, at whichmen were picking and prying with pickaxe and canthook, ought to be a goldmine in these days of high prices of paper. Beyond was the dam, higherthan a house on its clear side and (so we were told) of equal depth onthe other. Along the sides of the big basin there was room for the wholeregiment; and the dive from the dam--how the men yelled when their headscame out, and how they swam to get ashore again!

Our last afternoon in camp! We felt that we had earned repose after aday'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 cleaningof it. As we wished to hand the guns back in good condition, and as mostof our patches and oil had given out, many of us took the friendly offersof the regulars (cavalrymen, bandsmen, cooks) who did the best business, working in pairs, that they had yet done. Even David relaxed the severityof his self-discipline, and handed out his gun and his quarter-dollar. Welolled, we talked thoughtfully, we already regretted. Men exchangedaddresses, and made appointments for the distant future. I noticed thatthe squad kept pretty close together, as if knowing that soon it mustseparate for good. And now, rather seriously, the men are getting readyfor the last Retreat. 

 (_Evening. _)

We have had our final conference, in a little amphitheatre at one side ofthe camp. As the dusk fell the General talked to us for the last time. Hetook up the subject of preparedness where he left it yesterday--what arewe to do to face an emergency, all our present methods failing, theemergency, if it comes, sure to be so frightful? The old volunteer systemhas 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 inEngland now. The volunteer system is unfair--why should one man fight foranother equally fit? It is therefore undemocratic. There is only onething left, universal training for all young men, and conscription in warof all of military age. 

Two years ago I should have recoiled from this; a year ago I should haveshaken my head doubtfully. Today I see with relief that there is thissystem to save us at need. It will save us whether there is war or, as weall hope, peace. You know how I have worried over our national futurewith this immense immigration, which yearly is less assimilated. The onething which will teach the young immigrant American ideals and loyalty tohis new flag, is service with all other young men for the same greatpurpose. How can they stand nightly at Retreat before the flag, hear the"Star Spangled Banner" played, salute the last sight of the colors--howcan they do this for but a single month and not feel pledged forever todefend the old flag? I tell you, mother, when I realized tonight thatthis was our last Retreat something gripped my throat and brought thewater to my eyes. Nor was I the only one, to judge from what I saw aboutme. 

So when the General asked us, as I suppose he has asked previousregiments, to vote in favor of universal training, every man of usshouted Ay!

I have asked some of the squad if they mean to come again next year, incase the universal training movement does not put the training camps outof business. The answer is Yes, if they can get away again. Knudsen meansto be in the cavalry; he would have gone with them this year if theregulations had not required first a period with the infantry. David Ihave not asked yet; but Corder will come back in spite of his years. "ButI must go with the quartermaster's department, " he said; and when I askedwhy: "It's plain enough that if I can't keep up in a charge I ought to gowhere 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. Sothat's my job in the next camp. " It's plain he'd rather march in theranks, but he will change rather than leave the preparedness movement toget along without him. 

During the afternoon there had been piled truckload after truckload ofcordwood at the end of the company streets. As the conference broke upsomeone lighted the heap, and soon the flames, before the wind, wereleaping forty feet in the air. I took your latest letter from my pocketand 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 ina snake-dance around the blaze. As the bonfire dwindled to an immenseheap of glowing coals, a deep semi-circle gathered, sitting above it onthe hill, sang the songs of the hike, and called for solos from favoritesingers. Chums walked up and down near the fire, or in the furtherdarkness lay in front of tents and talked plans. Little groups gatheredhere or there, then restlessly broke up and shifted as men soughtacquaintances for a last word that might be impossible tomorrow. In thisshifting kaleidoscope of men I was glad to find Hale, cured of hisbronchitis, and with a tale of how at the hospital they locked up themen's clothes, as the only way of preventing them from escaping too soonand rejoining the hike. The camp has been one last buzz of personaltalks, 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 forit; I shall be turned out of here. Otherwise I should stay a monthlonger. Never had such a good time in my life. Oh, yes, I remember I'vegrumbled 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 ofthe muscles and toughening of the hide, give me Plattsburg. If you haveany 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 afterall. 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 comehome, like I asked her to. 

I swear I feel sorry to leave the squad. I've scarcely enjoyed this lastnight at all, and though I've made as much noise as anybody, it was so asnot to show how bad I feel inside. I hate the idea of not seeing thecaptain again, and the Professor who bunks with me, and especially Davidwho marches side of me. So I've come away from all the cheering andsinging to write to you. David has asked me to write to him. And he meantit, too. 

I'm not gloomy at coming home, you know. Really I'm crazy to see you allagain. But if once in a while you see me sitting kind of lonesome, you'llknow 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 thislast day, I do so wish to leap to the end and to tell you great news. ButI will be firm. 

I was up early this morning, as I so often am. There is always thedistant cavalry bugle to rouse one; it blows first. Seeing the embers ofour 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 thetinkle of pots at the cook tents. Even when reveille had blown there wasstill for several moments this sleep-drugged quiet, in the first light ofdawn. 

Then there blared out the music of the full brass band in the openingcrash of "Hail, hail, the gang's on deck!"

Silence no more. Yell upon yell, shout upon shout, cheer upon cheer--andfor a space the brass could not be heard. The noise subsided to singingand to laughter, the music again held sway, and the camp, springing toits work in high spirits, was beginning on its last day. The lastpacking, the last mess together; then as the companies stood in line forthe 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 howlingdervishes, and followed by as many others, little Cupid (my secondglimpse of him) struggling along in the rear. Then we were beginning ourmarch, cheerful though on macadam, and though we had learned that oncemore 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 righta mountain with its lower sides glowing red. Not many miles to go, and wewere glad as we covered each one; but at last we heard behind us therifles of the cavalry, and turned to fight with them a rear-guardengagement. 

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 underthe point blank fire of our whole platoon, tried to outflank and attackus--but an umpire attended to them. Yet after all there must be samenessto 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 hadset out to meet us, and on the northern road were a number of cars, fullof fluttering females. On the southern road stood but one. Now we weresupposed to be retiring before a superior force; but their dispositionoffering an excellent chance to give them a jolt, our company was sentthrough the southern fields against their flank. There was much standingstubble and high weeds in the field through which we stole silently byrushes, Kirby behind us and urging us on, using only short blasts of hiswhistle as signals, and the vibrant tones of his penetrating voice. Wewere less than a hundred yards from the enemy and he had not discoveredus; every man of us kept low to the ground, and never before had thecompany worked so like a machine. Our squad was on the outer flank, coming along the broken roadside wall, when I heard someone say from thelone 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 watchus. With him were Vera, Frances, and their hosts the Chapmans. 

The captain came close up and spoke to us. "Corporal, has your flankguard 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 squadacross. Forward now to the line of that row of apple trees ahead. " And atBarm's "Follow me!" we slipped ahead not merely to the line of three oldtrees, but also to the position of the waiting motor, which was justabreast 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 sleepyplatoon under a sergeant. We chuckled. But then a gun went off in ourline somewhere on the right. We swore. Ahead of us the enemy broke into acrackle 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 sharpand angry crack, followed by a tearing snap right over my head. 

Surprised, I yet recognized the noise of the passage of a bullet. Asecond time!--and then, familiar as I am with the legend of the clip ofball cartridges, I instantly knew it to be true. And again--Crack-snap! Iheard the old colonel crying to the ladies, "Down!"

Then a long blast of the captain's whistle. I knew he was on his feetbehind me, then heard his voice through the sputter of fire that wasbeginning from our own line. "Cease firing!" Over my shoulder I looked athim, a fine manly figure in the attitude of command, one hand stretchedthreateningly toward the line in front. 

Then, as the roar of our guns burst out on the right, his hat flewbackward, I saw blood start out on his temple, and as if an axe hadstruck him, he was down!

Quickly as I was on my feet, someone was quicker. A flash of white wentpast me, and there was Vera on her knees, gathering into her lap the headof the fallen man. I heard her little moaning cry. 

In the few moments that followed I stood stupidly helpless. Our firestopped suddenly, as the sergeants enforced the captain's command. Thefire stopped in front. In the little circle of the branches of the oldtree we were quiet as--yes, as the grave. Vera, holding the captain'shead fiercely close, looked wildly round for help. It was Frances whoslipped by me and with her handkerchief wiped away the blood that stoodupon 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 quitesimply, "Are you all right, Allan?"

Was he all right? Was he in heaven? At the look on his face I turned awaywith sudden tears in my eyes. The rest, I know, also avoided that solemnprivacy. As it came about, mother, I turned toward Frances, and she, quite overcome, to me. In such a moment of emotion, things happen. As sherested 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 haddrawn the squad quietly out of the shade of the tree. They were looking atthe 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'dbetter ask your friends here to bring you to the surgeon. --Call your mentogether, Mr. Pendleton!"

The lieutenant, pale as the captain, yet looking very resolute, steppedup to him and wrenched his hand, bowed over Vera's, turned about and blewhis 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 thetonneau, where they established him very comfortably between the twogirls. It was not till I had got a smile from him and a proud look fromVera that I went to my place in the company. As I went I saw out of thecorner of my eye the major and his staff holding an inquest on theplatoon that had fired on us. I wondered who had had that clip of ballcartridges. 

But they never found out. We rested for a while at the crossroads, and Ican tell you I had to stand some banter from the squad after the motorhad shot by us, with Frances's handkerchief fluttering to me. There wasvery excited speculation as to the penalty for shooting the captain; somewere for a military execution when we got to camp, with burial on thedrill field. But the major came and told the lieutenant, and he passedthe word to the company--the men who fired on us had used up all theircartridges and moved from the ground before they had been accused of theuse of ball; no one knew, apparently not even themselves, who had firedthe dangerous shots. It might happen, you know, that a stupid or excitedman might load with ball and not be aware of it. As for me, I'm notfinding any fault, nor are certain others that I could name. 

The march in to camp? To tell the truth, I don't remember much of it, forI was thinking a good deal. One poor chap we passed as he waited for thehospital truck to come along and pick him up, a disappointed man offifty, who held his head down and would not look at us as we tramped byin sympathetic silence. As we entered the residence quarter ofPlattsburg, where people lined the streets, the whistles blew Halt and wewere waved to the two sides of the street: "Fall out to the right andleft. " We dropped down on the grass all around a rock where two prettygirls had ensconced themselves to see us pass; instead, we saw them run!Then on we went through the town, marching at attention, with everybodyout on the streets to watch the last of the rookies of 1916. 

But when we reached the post there was evidently to be a March Past, forthe band was playing ahead of us, stationed opposite the general and hisstaff. We braced ourselves up, swung into line--and there was the captainin front of us! Very pale he was, with a bit of white bandage showingunder the hat that had the hole in it. But he was firm on his feet. Whata yell for a moment we let out! Then like veterans we followed him withhis old familiar stride, and if there was a break in all our line--no, Ican't believe it. We saluted the general, the lieutenant broke us intocolumn of squads, and then we gave Eyes Right to the captain, who stoodat salute as we marched by. 

The break-up was a heart-rending affair. So much had we been delayed bythe unexpected skirmish and the little investigation that there was onlythe smallest amount of time to turn in our equipment, get our baggage, and catch the trains that would not wait. So in the scrabble were no realgood-bys, no friendly little chats about the past and future, noappointments for reunions. I did not even shake hands with Bannister ashe hurried to the boat that for some reason was his means of gettingaway. There were just two little events that I can describe to you. 

As we marched into camp David was uneasy, and acknowledged frankly thathe was afraid his mother would be there to take him home in the motor. But the familiar strawberry limousine was nowhere to be seen, and as weswung into the company street we saw not David's mother, but his fatherin his ancient Panama and his wrinkled business suit. The boy shouted hisdelight, and when we broke ranks he dragged his father to the tent andintroduced him to as many of us as he could pin down for a moment. And alittle later, catching both Knudsen and me, he kept us in the tent whilehe reminded his father of a promise. "You know, father, you said you'dgive me any kind of an automobile I wanted, if I stayed through thehike. "

Mr. Farnham had been deeply pleased, you could see it in his face, thatDavid had grown so manly. Consequently he was the more disappointed atthis prompt practical demand. But though a shade crossed his face, heanswered kindly, "You've earned it, David. "

David put a hand on my arm, and on his other side drew Knudsen a littlecloser to him, as if for support. "Then, father, I want a Ford!"

"A Ford?" cried his father. A Ford! thought I--a four hundred dollar carwhen he might spend his thousands?

"Yes, " said David, a little unsteadily. "I want to learn to take oneapart and put it together, and then I want you to send another Fordambulance to France, with me to drive it. "

A glorious smile broke over the father's face, of pride, and fondness, yet also of possible sacrifice of this son who was now first showing hismanhood--for there is danger in that ambulance service. I saw the storywas true that Mr. Farnham has been sending ambulances abroad; and sawalso that David had been afraid of his father's opposition to a schemewhich he had been hatching in secret. So he had felt the need of mysupport and Knudsen's. But the father held out both hands to his boy, andKnudsen and I slipped quietly out of the tent and walked together, without saying a word, down to the edge of the drill-field. 

Said Knudsen then: "Since it's settled now, that silly mother can'tinterfere. "

I was feeling pleased that though at first I had studiously neglectedDavid, he had needed me now. Knudsen's mind travelled much the same road. 

"A good investment, " he said, "the trouble we've put into thatyoungster. "

I had a little talk with Mr. Farnham before the train went. He wasoverflowing with happiness. David had somehow got the idea of service, and unknown to us had been planning his life by it. First to help in thisemergency in France, then to find some way in which a rich man could givehis time to his country, in some branch of public service. It was fixedin his mind that next summer he must be at Plattsburg again, working fora commission in the reserve. Beyond that he would need his father'sadvice and help. 

"So there's something more in life for me now, " said the father, "thanthe mere making of money. "

It was in the midst of all the hurry and confusion of our getting readyto go that I heard a great shouting at the head of the street, and goingto see, found the captain there, and Vera watching from a littledistance. He had come to take personal leave of those he knew best, shookhands with every one, called scores of us by name, thanked us all for ourhelp in his work, showed in his face his great new happiness. When thosewho pressed upon him first had gone away, driven by the necessity thatwas on all of them, he called me to him and made me promise not to leavewith the rest, but at least to stay overnight--for we were to be brothersnow, he said, and must know each other better before we separated. Whilea new group came and talked with him I went to Vera. 

"Frances is waiting in the car outside, " she said, scarcely glancing atme, but with eager eyes watching the captain and the men who stillpressed upon him. 

"Is he popular now?" I asked. "Do the men love him? Don't you approve ofhim a little bit yourself?"

This roused her into giving me all her attention for a moment. "Oh, Dick, " she cried, remembering, "if it hadn't been for what you said tohim, perhaps--!" She couldn't quite express the tragedy that would havefollowed. 

"Perhaps it would have taken a little longer, that is all, " I said. "There, watch him, do. " For in spite of herself her eyes would stray backto him. "Frances will be nice to me. " And Frances was, until I told her Imust go back to the boys. 

There was a minute or two here and there that I could get from the busymen. But mostly I helped them get away, cleaned their guns, handed intheir stuff, helped them pack, lugged their baggage with them to thetrain. Knudsen and I and Clay had one last short walk together, up anddown the embankment beside the train, soberly vowing friendship for thefuture. Then the conductor gave the signal, they climbed aboard, therewas a short half-minute of waving of good-bys, and I walked back aloneacross the empty drill field. 

I am sitting now upon my bag in the tent which has so often rung with ourlaughter or buzzed with our talk. Here are the ridges and hollows made byour feet, over in the corner are Clay's old shoes, and near me lie threeempty shells that David threw out of his pocket. Our equipment is allturned in, the buzzards in our absence carried everything else away, andthis lonely silence is more than I can bear. In a few minutes I shallclose this last letter to you; then Frances will come in the car to takeme to a telegraph office, where I shall wire you that she and I arestarting home tomorrow with the Chapmans, and shall not be home for threedays more. As I shall hint at the reason, you will understand and willforgive me this delay. I know, dear mother, that your heart always waswith Frances, after all. 

And so good-by to Plattsburg!

 DICK