Plattsburg, 20th Sept., 1916.

DEAR MOTHER:—

It promises today, Wednesday, to be showery once more, so we are making up our packs with the ponchos out, ready for use. Post-mortems of yesterday'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 his tent, feeling very much insulted because someone at breakfast called him a grabber. Apart from him the street is humming with talk, as the boys make up their packs upon the hard-trodden sand.

It is a very amusing thing, this confusion and talk of the street, as men on errands make their way among the kneeling figures, the police squad tries to do its work, the sergeants pass, and jokes or criticism are bandied about. We are becoming very well acquainted, except for those who have not the habit of noticing their neighbors. There are a couple of men who have for ten days sat opposite me at table, and yet do not know me when we meet outside. But most of the men are very companionable. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that the opportunity has not been very great. Unless a man is Number One or Number Four in his squad, he is likely to be swallowed up by it. I have felt very fortunate to be Number One, 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. Since Bannister has neglected the advice, given by the captain, to shift the men about, I am glad that I have had this advantage, and am more lucky in getting a wider acquaintance than is possible to some of the others. For as you have seen, we eat together, march together, dress and sleep together, the squad being the unit on which everything is based. Captain Kirby has said that when we rest on the hike squads must sit down together, so as to waste no time in falling in.

But the shooting has done a great deal to break down this isolation. It was 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, with everyone they met. Men in squads widely separated in the line got quite chummy over their misfortunes, and grew friendly in encouraging each other. The scorers and especially the coaches met many new men. So at the table and the camp-fire the talk is now much more personal, and I think that from this time on the company will be more of a unit in feeling, if not 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, and today we have been put through a course of sprouts that has taken away any conceit that we might have had. This morning he gave us ten rounds of blank cartridges and took us out into our usual ground, the Peru road and the fields adjoining. First, in anticipation of tomorrow, by platoons we were given rapid-fire practice, sitting and firing our ten shots at a count of ninety seconds. To our delight, it being a little windy, the big paper target had to be held by a couple of the sergeants, one of them being Loretta, at whom most of us aimed. (Some day I shall find time to tell you about him.) This practice was valuable to me, helping me with my squeeze. It was amusing to watch the other men fire (cool and clever, or nervous and clumsy) and to listen to a little echo close behind our backs as we waited, like a bunch of firecrackers going off all by itself.

And an incident. Before leaving the ground I gathered up ten shells and some clips, to practice with at camp. After Recall I went to the end of the company street, made up my clips, and had nearly finished simulating the shooting of the second one, when we were called for calisthenics, and I 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 flew out, right at the feet of the first sergeant, much to my disgust. When later still I came back and found it, I discovered it to be not an "empty" but a "blank," which someone this morning must excitedly have pumped out of his gun unfired, and left lying for me to pick up. Lucky I didn'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 with anything in it, even though I had supposed it to contain but an empty shell. I don't intend ever to do such a thing again. There is another trifling mistake we are liable to, as illustrated today. Halted at "company front," that is, with the two ranks in long lines, the captain ordered us to load. At the command the men half turn to the right, but keep the rifle pointing forward and up; the rear rank men also come close to the front, so that the muzzles of their guns are in advance of the front rank men. Standing thus they open the breeches of their guns, thrust in the clips, shove the bolt handle forward and turn it down—and then somebody's gun goes off! So you see why the rear rank men have their guns where no one will be hit, and why the captain stands off at one side. My, but he read us a lecture this morning! "Who let off that gun?—Mr. So-and-so, some blunders are crimes. That was one!" And a few more well chosen words. One hundred and forty-nine of us were glad we hadn't made that little slip.

After our firing the captain broke the company into two, and took my half himself. Then he proved to us that in skirmish drill we had forgotten all we had ever known, briefly expressed his opinion of the corporals, and splitting us into squads, told the sub-squad-leaders to take command. Now Reardon, who has drilled at Number Four in the rear rank since the formation of the squad, is by virtue of that position the corporal's substitute, and he manfully tried to lead us. I saw in a moment, first that he knew twice as much as I about the drill regulations, second that never before having given an order, he could not do himself justice. Further, with the captain in that mood every man of us was scared. So presently the captain, after a few beheadings in other squads, came and watched ours for a minute, sent Reardon to his place in the ranks, and as his eye roved over the rest of us, picked me out, probably as being the only one whose name he knew. "Mr. Godwin, put the squad through the skirmish 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 the precise words of the drill book was more than my memory could compass. It was very interesting, even quite exciting; continually I racked my brain for something to do next in which I should not make a fool of myself. We got back into company formation after a while, and the captain tried the line in a skirmish advance; then abruptly he put all the corporals back into their places, and my little reign was over.

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

Nor can it be at all easy for our two officers to find, in the midst of all their work and among so many men, the one man in every eight capable of leading the squad. In the early stage of the school of the soldier it was not difficult to find those men who could best handle their guns and drill others in the same simple art. But such a test, even if mentally sufficient, does not take in the moral qualities necessary for the handling of eight men, keeping them up to discipline, seeing that they understand and are at all times ready for their work. Experienced sergeants might make this quickly possible, but our sergeants, even when they have been here before, are mostly very new to their duties. I take it 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 in the manual, then took us down on the field and explained battalion parade, after which he put us through and through and through its simple evolutions, 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 do the customary movements of the manual in unison. But try as we might, we couldn'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 passed unnoticed; in fact, our part of the line attracts very little of his attention, so I conclude we do fairly well. Yet in the picture which I send, of the captain looking at our squad as we march company front, the camera has caught Squad 8 in a great mistake. The sun, as it lies exactly along the line of the company, with only the right hands and knees in full light, shows my part of the line pushed wholly forward out of the shadow, and the Captain looking at us in disgust. His attitude shows his fighting quality. "The scrappiest captain in the army," says Knudsen. So often 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 on such an occasion as today's final parade! Suppose you were where I so often wish you, at the top of the slope above the field, which in spite of certain unevennesses would look to you fairly level. You would see the band march down and take its place in the left corner; then away to your right the companies would appear in their separate columns, and perhaps you would think they were very interesting as they halted and waited. Then when the major came and took his stand below you, the music would strike up, and the three companies would march straight onto the field, along the bottom of which they would one after another swing into line and stand in apparently beautiful order. Then an adjutant with a clear high voice would give orders, and the men would present arms, come to attention, and then to parade rest. In this position they would remain while the band, playing a march, would go down the whole line and back again, the music, when they were once more in place, abruptly stopping. Then the officers would gather and march forward in line, they would return, the major would call a command, and the companies would all break into squads, the rifles coming to the shoulders. To the right they would pass, turn up the slope, and then one by one would again swing into line and pass, with more or less beautifully wavering fronts, before the major. The first two companies would evoke applause from the spectators; the third, in which you would see a familiar face, would rouse none—and though you might clap your best, in this case you are but a ghost, and no one would hear you. Then the companies would for last time break into squads 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 went this way.

Down out of the street we marched into the field, I a small part of a big machine, very much afraid that I might make some blunder. The men's feet thudded in unison on the sod, and to each tramp came the rustling echo of our stiff breeches, always an accompaniment to us as we march in good order. We waited, we marched forward to the music, we heard the captain give 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. Just grazing the last of them, as these rear-rank men filed to their places, I stepped into my position in the front rank just as the corporal finished counting "Six" below his breath, and at "Seven!" the whole line, which had been waiting for us Number Ones to complete it, strode straight forward. "Company—!" and we took this last moment, each out of the corner 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, to align the rank.

Such eager work we make of it—"Forward on the right—back in the next squad—Frothingham, you're too far forward—tell Neary to get back!" Such commands, all under the breath, run up and down the line. At last we are in place, the Captain says "Front!" and takes his place before the middle of the line, facing away from us. But he says in reminder, "The next command 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 had been warned to ignore it. But some of the men come to parade rest. The captain hears, though he cannot turn to look. "Stupid!" he hisses. "As you were!" Then comes the command for us all, "Parade—rest!"

It was very comfortable, waiting while the band marched up and down. We were not much stirred by this; we knew by heart all the few tunes; we thought the drum-major very tiresome with his bent head and his elbow jogging for the time. But there was, above the ugly mess-shacks straight in front, the finest sunset to look at: angry clouds to the right, to the left wide reaches of pure blue, with tiny white clouds stretching in rank to infinite distance, and in the middle the yellow glow of fire behind broken masses, through which shot, not beams of light, but rather, it seemed, 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 would particularly disgust him, for at previous practice, taking a gun from a sergeant, he stood in front of us and said, "Let me show you how Rip Van Winkle here in the second squad comes to parade rest," and gave us a ludicrous example of slowness and slovenliness. Then he illustrated, in briskness and correct position, just how we should do it.

Returned to his place after saluting the major, he said, looking straight in front, "Your next command is Squads Right." The major's big voice boomed: "Pass in review—squads right—March!" I turned sharply to my right, marked time, and when the other three had come into line, together we stepped out. The band blared out, we were in step, and so approached the corner. "Column left!" and we did our best to turn correctly, though nobody could see. Then we marched up the slope, knowing that the real test was now coming. "Squads left!" and as the rear rank man made way for me, I stepped into place, and in one line we all strode out together. To hold the line straight! You on the top of the slope may have cried "How pretty!" at the rifles all with the same slant, the hands at the same height, the heads straight front, the feet—one, two! one, two!—in perfect time with the music. But with us in the line there was intentness to remedy any unevenness, strain to hold ourselves just right. We could not look except out of the corners of the eyes; all was done by the touch of the elbows. For a few yards, rods, it was good. We safely crossed a slimy patch where a great puddle had just dried, through which on Monday I tramped ankle deep, and where now a fall would be natural. Then—ah! we expected this! Frothingham, I, Knudsen, found ourselves marching alone, the other men out of touch with us, having drawn away to the right and left. I heard my mates grumble, I knew what I was to do: spread myself to occupy all possible space and march straight onward, for—there! they were back again, surging from the left and right, back in their proper places, and the line had not really broken. "Good!" murmurs Knudsen. "Hold it!" exhorts the captain over his shoulder. Then "Eyes right!" and thus saluting as we passed the major we could see, or thought we saw, a perfect line. "Front!" We swept on; we listened. The ladies had clapped the first two companies, but there was no applause for us. Had it then been bad after all?

Back to the street we marched, and formed in line. Lieutenant Pendleton came and spoke to the captain, then walked away smiling. "The lieutenant says you did well," said the captain briefly. But he was so short that we thought him grumpy, especially since the lieutenant had never before been seen to give us anything else than his little ironical smile. Yet at company conference, in the evening, one of us ventured to ask the captain if we really had done badly. "No," said he. "I was pleased with you. You did well. The major said you did best." So the lack of applause meant nothing. I saw men whose home affairs are so large that this might properly be small to them, look at each other in relief.

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

And Vera is after him now. After conference I was writing in the company tent, the inner one, while the captain still talked outside to half a dozen men. To my surprise a bell rang behind me, and while I sat looking at a curious instrument on the post, wondering if it were a telephone, the captain came in, took from it a strange receiver-transmitter, and spoke 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 out again. Vera told me that Mrs. Farnham has written her, asking her to keep an eye on her darling, and I was to send Lucy to call. I warned her she'd much better leave him alone, but she laughed and insisted. The telephone was in that state, or she spoke so plainly (you know how it occasionally happens) that anyone could have heard her even in the outer tent. When I hung up and went out, there was the captain just saying good night to the men, and the table and benches would not let me slip by before he turned and saw me.

You know there are moments when eyes meet and seem to catch, and it is difficult to pass without speaking. That is why, I am sure, the captain said: "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, by the instant change in his face to one of deepest gravity, what he supposed me to mean, I added, "She broke the engagement a month ago."

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

"Thank you, captain," I said, and got myself away. I don't mind having told; indeed I did it deliberately, quite for the good of his peace of mind. It's always a relief to strike one rival off the list, and if ever he gets really interested in Vera he'll find plenty of others blocking the 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 for advice, and that wily person said, "Go in the afternoon and perhaps you'll miss her," which relieved the boy considerably. Our time is too horribly full for social calls.

Tomorrow evening there is to be a company boxing match, one-minute rounds, no decision given. It is said that Randall has entered, and Pickle remarked thereupon, "I'd like to have the laying of him out." "No fear," said Corder. "Randall is to box a man he knows, for points only, very gently." "Yellow," said Clay. Lucy said nothing, but looked a good deal. 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 my practice shots to make my sighting sure, and now with time to wait before my rapid-fire test. Imagine the usual confusion, the heavy rapping of the shots, the calling over of names, and the buzz and laughter of the men waiting near me. A perfect morning, the dew just burning off, a little breeze from the lake, and not a cloud in the sky.

We are shooting from the two hundred yard mark, sitting position, and since I have watched a few rounds, I am able to tell you the way of it.—As the guns become silent with the disappearance of the targets the Lieutenant calls, "Next men up!" Those who have just shot rise and nervously stand aside, to watch the scoring of their ten shots. The new men, while loading and locking their pieces, also watch the record of their predecessors. Passing behind D Company a few minutes ago, I saw the flag cross one target six times. I did not see the beginning of the score, 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 lieutenant responds to his men, "Unlock your pieces." To the waiting men the interval is long. Then slowly the blank targets begin to sink and the tops of the true ones to rise. It is the signal. The men drop to the sitting position and settle the butts in their shoulders; the muzzles rise, 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 the muzzles and at once disappears. Beside each shooter kneel two coaches, one calling the time, the other exhorting, warning, entreating. A distinct lag in the firing between forty-five and fifty seconds—the men are loading their second clips. Then the fire gradually quickens to the full rate, the coaches urging the slow ones on, holding the hasty ones back. The fire slackens, and seems stopped, when as the targets sink at the ninety seconds, two last hasty shots slap out. The round is over. In the brief time the three dozen men have fired three hundred and sixty shots.

(Later.) My turn approached, and I stood waiting, the sling clasped on my 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." Then the 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 lately said, 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 coach said, "Plenty of time." So I sighted and squeezed my best, felt that I could call the bullseye, and pulling out the bolt for the last time, to show 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 came the white, again the white, again the white, again, again, again, then three times the red, and once the black. I still waited, having lost count. Would the flag come now? But no, the target sank, and my coaches congratulated 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 hundred yards and moved back, carrying benches, racks, chairs, flags, everything, and began over again at three hundred yards, prone. The men were mostly very much on the stretch, and I admit that I was, for while I now was practically sure of my grade of marksman, I might, by shooting especially well, even become a sharpshooter. Lucy was in a similar state, marksman being within his grasp. Randall was swaggering; he had been shooting well. But Knudsen was very anxious, surprising in so cool a fellow. "To be Expert," he said, "I've got to make a fifty. Confound it, I'm afraid that shot I sent into the wrong target will ruin my chances. I need the little leeway it would give."

Well, he missed it by two, and that little error undid him. Lucy got his grade of marksman, and his excitement was delightful. He sought out each member of the squad and called for congratulations. How disgusted his mother would be to see him with his hand on Pickle's shoulder, discussing the score, for really, don't you know, socially Pickle is less than nobody! 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 him marksman, but he lost his chance. Loretta—

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

Well, he has been very busy with the shooting, making a good record himself, and helping, as all the sergeants did, with the scoring. Needing a scorer at one of the targets, he took poor Reardon and put him at work just when his last turn was coming on, and in spite of the fact that he had already served long hours at the job. Reardon protested, Loretta promised to let him have his turn, but when the shooting was all over there was poor Reardon still at the desk, and his last round was not fired. We noticed that on the way back to camp he was very silent and cast down, but we did not know why till we were cleaning our guns in the tent, 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 came into 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 to qualify. It's perfectly true. Loretta told me so."

"Loretta told you so!" echoed David. He was quite white and shaking at this 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 him then, I will!"

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

The fellows have been in the habit of cooing at Loretta as he passes their tents. His pet name precedes him down the street, the coos come from the shadowed interiors. It has been meant harmlessly. But this story of Reardon has spread rapidly, and I thought I detected a snarl in the cooing 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 I went swimming in the lake, as I do daily, though under certain difficulties. The beach is very stony and bruises the feet, and the piers that have been built at our two bathing places are quite inadequate, both as accommodating too few men at a time, and next as not going out into deep water. Perhaps early in the summer the water at the ends may be up to one's shoulders, but now it is scarcely above the waist, and none but the cleverest and most venturesome dare to dive. So many would like the diving 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 some of the men are giving up their swim. We often have surf here, when the southeast wind quarters across the bay all the way from Burlington, and then the fun is notable.

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

The list of company officers has been published. Two of our best sergeants becoming lieutenants, other sergeants have been named, and the list of corporals and sub-squad-leaders has been fixed. In our squad Bannister and Reardon stand as before. Ban quietly told us that he was glad 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 corporal in the Civil War." And good Ban forgot us as he thought of the satisfaction of the old man at home.

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

We were also given additional facts regarding the hike. Having so small a regiment, yet having the baggage train of the large August camp, we are to 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 to leave, and David is wondering how he can carry all his exquisite appointments.

But he has just come out strong. Company conference being over, there was held the boxing match which one of the sergeants has been promoting, and the whole company (officers discreetly absent) formed the ring and applauded the heroism. Much of it would not interest you, yet you could have stood a glimpse of it—the circle of men, good-naturedly applauding, the heavy shadows under the overhead light, the gray-green uniformity of men 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, furtively trying to stop.

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

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

Someone caught me by the arm, and there was Knudsen, very angry. "Why didn't you stop him?" he demanded. "He never can stand up to that fellow." 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 after David, to act as his second.

Oh, I coached him all I could, and in the rests I helped the gasping boy in every way I knew how. The rounds were short, but too long for him in his 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 stood no chance whatever. Yet the boy's insight was correct. No sooner did Randall see before him the lad's unmistakably eager face, and know from David's first rush that here was a fight, than he was flustered. So as boxing the bout was nothing: neither could hit clean, parries were clumsy, much was accident. David's very ardor betrayed him, and he came back 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 slight David staggered when the blows came home, yet always he came back. His panting persistence, his determination to strike, were too much for the other. He held back, and David came on; he drew aside, and David followed him; he struck, and David without parrying came right through, and landed blow after blow somewhere.

The men were yelling presently, here was so evidently grit against mere muscle, spirit against flesh. Randall grew angry and hit hard, but he was wild; he grew afraid and tried to clinch, but his rush was feeble. David jabbed him repeatedly in the ribs, drew off, and for the first time in the three rounds (the referee was just calling time) hit Randall neatly—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 and fall at full length, but he only succeeded in sitting down. Shout upon shout upon shout! Then we of the squad took David, groggy with his own efforts, rubbed him and fanned him and swabbed him, and finally walked him off between us.

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

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

Pickle, without any ceremony, pushed in between. "Cut that out! His name is 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 stood upright. He had been smiling with satisfaction; now he looked happy. He put 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 was dead and buried.

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

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

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

The question was perfectly fair, for the men had been pumping him; and they responded at once. "I count on eight thousand yearly from my factory," 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. As you can imagine, these were all men older than the average rookie. They wear their uniforms badly, some of them, being no longer lithe and lissome; and yet the forty thousand dollar man was lean and hard as an Indian. I had so far known him only as a sportsman who loved to talk about big game. The captain, as he listened, nodded gravely at each statement, and when the last had spoken turned his eye on me. I could only tell him the truth—twelve thousand as my salary, and perhaps an equal amount on the side.

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

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

Love from

DICK.



LETTER FROM VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER FRANCES

Plattsburg Post, Thursday, Sept. 21.

DEAR FRANCES:—

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

But if the lieutenant is the kind that takes you by storm, Captain Kirby is one that will lay siege. He doesn't come so often as the other, he doesn't stay so long, he doesn't say so much; but he is the kind that sticks. I may be able to stave off the lieutenant, but I shall have to have 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 with Dick? 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 cap of the tent, loosening also the cords. If we don't attend to these latter as soon as rain begins they are likely to shrink and tear the canvas, or perhaps pull up the tent pegs. And if everything holds till morning, then the job of loosening the ropes, even with three men to each, is considerable. But I was in time. In the morning it was cloudy, but we had dry 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 we stood expectant at the doors of our tents, waiting for the whistle. We awaited the order, "full equipment, ponchos over all," but the call came, "non-commissioned officers, with their drill regulations, at the head of the street." The corporals and sergeants went, the privates in the tents cheered madly, and now we are awaiting what may happen next.

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

To begin with we are trying to do, as the captain acknowledges, more than could be hoped of ordinary recruits, we being (ahem!) of the intelligent class. But intellectually we are uneven, some of us plainly not being born to be soldiers, so that with the best of will they lag. Again, the Plattsburg movement has reached the stage in which the men have not all come with the same impulse to serve the country, a considerable proportion being, as it were, substitutes, being sent by the public spirit of employers who cannot come themselves. The motive is excellent, and they choose, I make no doubt, the best men available among their clerks. But not all of these are suitable material, some being here for a lark, and some being too young to be serious. Such fellows impede the progress of the others. When the movement takes still wider scope, or when we reach the stage of compulsory general training, evidently the leaven that pretty successfully leavens this lump will then, being much diluted, have harder work to do, and to make the mob into a regiment will take double the time. Finally, I have already spoken of another of our weaknesses, the inexperience of our non-coms. Most of our corporals are here for the first time; many of the sergeants, though familiar with the corporal's job, are new at the higher work. Indeed some of them have never worn stripes before. They are therefore so necessarily intent on guarding against their own mistakes (which still are plentiful) that they can't give enough attention to the blunders of the men. Nor, as I have said, do I think that the professional non-com will help us here, unless specially chosen for understanding the Plattsburger. The martinet drill-sergeant whose severities the docile German may bear, would never be tolerated among us. What we need is to make it a matter of pride for the veterans of one camp to come back and serve as corporals in the next and as sergeants in the next. With regular non-coms in the way there is no chance for the civilian to make himself a valuable reserve man; but if he can be tempted by promotion to come again and yet again, he is not only now serving the training cause better than anyone else can, but he is building up a body of responsible men whom the country can call upon at 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 work strenuous, 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 their conference with orders for us to wear sweaters and ponchos. Being put into close battalion formation, we were informed by the major that an enemy had landed at Keesville, some twenty-odd miles south, and that we were to march out and get in touch with him. So our three companies followed the first battalion along the road to AuSable, having out the proper patrols—point and communicating files and rear guard, with combat patrols—and we found ourselves on a real hike.

It was tramp, tramp, tramp on the hard macadam all the way. Now remember that though we have been on hard roads some part of every day, we have mostly been on gravel or the turf of the fields and the parade ground. So we 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, and were feeling the weight of our sweaters when the clouds closed in and a shower came. Thus it changed most of the time. Every forty-five to fifty minutes we stopped to rest, spread our ponchos, and lay down. To be exact, after the first forty-five minutes we rested fifteen, and after each succeeding fifty we rested ten. We marched nearly four miles, then turned back. Our company was now second in the column, but none of the patrol duty fell to me, for which I was rather glad, as a heel began to bother me.

A man from Squad Seven fell out from the column. "This finishes the camp for me," he said ruefully as he left us. He has rigid arches, and it seems that the doctors have warned him that he could not stand the marching. He sat and waited for some kind motorist, and after an hour passed us, comfortable in a limousine. There were others among us who got pretty 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 the advantage of those who felt weary. Some of these blades spying a couple of bold damsels, cried "Eyes Right!" at which they giggled. But the captain made us march at attention, and explained, when we got back to camp, that we were expected to mind our manners in the presence of the other sex (or as he put it, persons in female attire) else we might be sure 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, wet from inside and from out, was glad to wash and change and find leisure to inspect 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 escaped the work of helping to make up the shooting records, also (perhaps not so foolishly) when the typhoid sufferers were taken to be inoculated for the third time. But while the captain supervised the company clerks, the lieutenant, in anticipation of a regimental parade, took us out on the field. See how carefully it was done. As we were but the fraction of a company 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 all around me. He was as hard to please as the captain; once, looking back along the line as we marched company front, he said, "The ancestors of this bunch certainly must have been a lot of snakes!" But I'll venture to say that none of us, after this, will forget how to oblique in making the turn.

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

There was then just time to change for the parade, which was partly interesting, partly tedious. Thanks to the lieutenant's drill, we made no mistakes, though at one time we had to make our way at company front among the boxes and barrels strewed in the neighborhood of the quartermaster's shack. Lieutenant Pendleton briefly said, when we were back in the street, "You did well." And the captain, who left the scoring long enough to watch the parade, joked us on being mountain goats.

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

DICK.



EXTRACT FROM THE LETTER OF MISS MAMIE MARSHALL TO HER FRIEND, MISS ROSETTA JONES

... And I waved a handkerchiff, so some of the men cried Eyes Rite They were awfully hansome especially one with a curling black mustarsh but that horrid captain Kirby stopped them from looking at us and the whole colum 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 few hours at most, with intervals for drying. But it rained steadily all last evening, drummed on the tight tent all night, and was still heavily at work when the bugler failed to blow his horn this morning. Watches not being at all uniform, men got themselves out of bed at their leisure. The first sergeant did not think to wake us, and then was disgusted when many of the men did not turn out at the first call. Those who were there made a crooked line around a great puddle which stood in the depression between 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 usual things for a hike." Knudsen came back grumbling: "How were we to know that we are going on a hike?" The word was passed along: "Packs," "No packs." "Sweaters," "No sweaters." Then it was said that we were to wear handkerchiefs in our hats, sure sign of a sham battle pending. So at last at the whistle we turned out with sweaters, packs, ponchos ready (for though it had stopped raining we did not feel safe) and some of us with handkerchiefs twined in our hat-bands. Once in line we were sent back—"No packs, no rifles." Again we came out and lined up again, only to be sent back once more. "No sweaters." By this time it was rumored that we were at last to take the oath, and this was confirmed by the sight 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 sweaters on? Why not?" "Got on woollen underwear? Get cotton. You can't take the oath in wool." So at last we were in line again, and then the captain began to look through the slips. "Here's a man written his name twice differently. Make out a new slip.—Here's a lot of men have signed with lead pencil. It's got to be in ink or indelible pencil." Here he was met by a lawyer, who had signed in pencil, and said, "A pencil signature is valid." "Not here," said the captain, sticking to the regulations, and the slips had to be changed.

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

—I must break this off to describe what is going on, which is too interesting to ignore. For the second time this afternoon we are shut up in the dark tent, everyone having fled before a pelting shower. We were first aligned for calisthenics, but were dismissed on account of Shower No. 1, a driving rain that lasted half an hour. Now we were just ready for parade—think what it would have been on that slimy, soggy ground!—when the approach of Shower No. 2 sent us all to cover. It is pelting furiously; Pickle and Knudsen, with the intrenching tools which luckily were served out to us this afternoon, are digging frantically to keep the water away from their suit-cases. Through the tied flaps of the doorway Clay has been yelling at Squad Nine, our opposite neighbors, and there 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 taken Pickle in hand, and is showing him his mistakes. It is thundering and lightening. "I don't see," says David with slow wonderment, "how it can rain much harder." Now Knudsen, at the door, imitates the first sergeant's whistle and alarms our neighbors, who peer anxiously out. "Corporals, get your men out!" cries he, laughing heartily as the others consult. "They look like a bunch of dogs," says he, "with their heads sticking out of their kennels." Now it slackens, I hear laughter in the street, and in comes a neighbor. "Boys, it's a scream! There's four inches of water in the next two tents. Their baggage is all afloat."

(Later.) The rain slackening just then, out we all swarmed, the whole street becoming alive with men, who with shouts crowded toward the great puddle which completely filled the breadth of the street, and had flooded tents Four and Six. Looking into these, I saw the glimmer of lantern-light reflected on water, the beds moved about and piled with baggage. The sandy soil can drain an ordinary shower, but this was too heavy, and there was but one thing to try. Yelling, some fifteen men got out their intrenching tools and began to dig a ditch to lead the water off to the field below. At first I thought they could not do it, for the ridge was at least two feet above the level of the puddle. But leaving enough earth to form a dam, the men in a line so vigorously worked the strong little shovels that in scarcely more than five minutes they were ready to break down the dam. They broke it, the water came pouring through, and with cheers the men kept the channel clear. With great brooms the men of tents Four and Six swept out their domiciles, other men dug the channel deeper, still others on the further slope kept the flood from the other tents, and as we formed for supper (the two parts of the company on the two sides of the dividing puddle) the lake was more than half drained away. By the time we came back from mess the puddle was clean gone, and the captain was devising means to get the men of tents Four and Six in dry quarters for the night.

And now to take up my narrative, earlier broken off.—The major, as we were assembled for the oath, said a few words in explanation of it, then read 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 we acknowledged our signatures on our slips. So I am now enlisted in the army of the United States, bound to obey the President and the Secretary of War, and entirely at the mercy of our superior officers.

But they have been merciful to us today in sparing us two soakings, and I have had my own personal share. While we were standing, waiting for the major 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 have always meant to take it, sir." "Oh," said he, "then I was misinformed. Well, that is what prevented me from making you sub-squad-leader, and I'll do it today. Just say nothing about it beforehand." So I saluted and stepped back. When we were lined up in the company street again (having first put our sweaters on by our own decision, and then having taken them off by order of the major, who presently took us to regimental drill on the parade ground) the lieutenant announced, "Mr. Godwin will be sub-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 other men moved to numbers two and one. In that order we drilled, and good Reardon showed me his duties. To make sure that the change is permanent, Bannister asked the captain, and here I am installed in a very minor office.

I am out of the front rank now, but the parades, which it is interesting to watch, are all over, and I shall get acquainted with still another set of our neighbors. On the hike I shall still march on the outside of the column, which gives some freedom of action, and as Knudsen contends, better air. Reardon is very nice about the change; the boys all recognize it as coming from my bluff at giving orders. Yet Reardon showed, as I drill 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 to perfection) "yer shan't git my job!"

"Coming strong!" I answered.

Knudsen, with the energy and tact which characterize him, has reorganized the squad on the basis of this change of mine, moving the men about so that he has David as his rear rank man, which means that they sleep in the 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 him and offered him the position of equipment sergeant, or some such title, which means some minor responsibility and a seat on one of the baggage trucks. Corder, in a panic, begged permission to stay with the squad and carry his gun; and the captain, saying how disgusted the bugler was with his new job, and that two disappointed men in the company were more than he could stand, let him off. Corder, after telling us the tale, got out his 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 the thing has turned gray and makes me seem old. It's sickening to have the fellows so thoughtful of me. Godwin, if ever you get respectful, I'll slay you."

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

The forehanded among us (and yet after all we are at it pretty late) are making maps for the hike in imitation of those which the officers have posted for us to study. At the Exchange can be bought contour maps of all this region, covering the whole area of the hike. These we are cutting out in squares and pasting on linen, cheese-cloth, or even mosquito netting. Then we mark on them the camps, the route, and all along the way the important crossroads within a mile of our march, which we number according 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 should have brought with me proper cloth, glue and shellac for this purpose; for of course the rush for these materials has practically used up all neighboring supplies.

Between showers today we have begun our preparations for the hike, directions concerning which were read us. We have turned in our condiment-cans and bacon-tins—so much less weight to carry. David is in secret dismay over the small equipment which is allowed us, and has spent many long minutes over the beautiful little sole leather trunk which he keeps under his cot, and which contains so many knickknacks. He has been making little piles here, and little piles there, and then, with knitted brow, changing them all about. He has not asked for advice, and none of us 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 there rose in the tent a great clamor for patches, of which we had none, nor the store tent either. David was absent, and Knudsen, saying "I'll get patches," asked Clay for his surgical scissors, and going to David's cot, took from the great collection of conveniences which the boy still hoped to take with him, a set of his beautiful silk pajamas. The jacket Knudsen tore into strips (we all the while watching in pregnant silence) then cut them into squares, and when David returned we were all at work on our guns.

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

"Plenty," said Knudsen, and handed him some made out of the gaudiest part of 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. Then he stuffed into his trunk the other pair which he had intended to take with 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, where volunteers come exactly as to our infantry regiment. Well, Corder came back from the medicos lately, where he went to visit a friend, with a great tale of the mending of a cavalryman's broken jaw by one of the volunteer surgeons, a Boston dentist. Corder, being professor-like in appearance, was not detected as an impostor, and stood close at hand in the ring of doctors who watched the clinic.

"It was done under field conditions," said he, "the operator using only an alcohol lamp, a small pair of nippers, and about eight inches of ordinary electric light wire, which happened to be handy. The insulation was scraped from the cable, and its various fine wires were burned clean in the flame of the lamp. The rookie was then put on a table in the company street, and the doctor took a turn with one of the fine wires around a tooth behind the break, twisting the ends together. The same was done with a tooth in front of the break; and then in the upper jaw wires were twisted around teeth above the lower two. An assistant then held the broken jaw in place, and the doctor twisted tight together the wires from the lower back tooth and the upper front tooth, and then those from the upper back tooth and the lower front tooth. He cut off the ends, made all smooth, and the work was done, all in a very few minutes. The jaw could not move, and was bound to heal perfectly. The doctors all said they never had seen anything so simple or so clever."

We thought the same; Clay, as a budding doctor, was envious of Corder for having 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. He can get any liquid, or even a cereal or a stew, around behind his back teeth, 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 sky clearing, I went this evening to say good-by to Vera, which I had half promised to do. David, by the way, to whom a social duty used to be sacred, called yesterday afternoon, as Knudsen suggested, and was manfully relieved to find her out. But I found her in, and alone. She told 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? There was a delightful old colonel there, who rather took to me, and when on the coming of Lieutenant Pendleton I naturally tried to make myself scarce, the colonel took me into his study to show me the service pistol that they used in his day. And when finally I took my leave of him, on my way out (missing the front door and blundering into the parlor) I ran into the most distressing sort of scene.

Pendleton and Kirby were both there, and the captain having his hat in his hand, I imagine he'd only just come. The lieutenant was fiery red; I think I know the look of a man when he's been turned down, and I saw it in his face. Vera was in that cold and lofty mood of hers when nothing counts but the idea she has in mind; no one seeing her so would think she ever again could be gentle or tender—poor Vera, with all her struggles to perfect herself, and yet with so much manner, yes and so much headstrong will, hiding it all. It seemed as if she had called the captain to witness, perhaps to agree in, something she had just announced; you know it, mother, that old idea of hers that caused me such years of effort. I heard the words just as I parted the curtains, and they 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 and looking 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 quickly and silently as I could.

I went across the parade-ground and walked up and down by the lake, to still my many memories. Poor Vera! She is still groping, having a woman's instincts but yet suppressing them. If only the right man could show her her 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 not understand?

On the way back to camp I went through the woods, and there I passed the poor lieutenant, walking with dragging step, still with his head upon his breast. But when I came to the company street, there in front of his tent stood the captain, a different picture. He was as straight as a—well, as a soldier, which he was, every inch of him, with his head up and his jaw set. I saluted, and he returned the salute, always with that searching look 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 of with the Chapmans in their car. For I can't get you here a minute too soon, nor have you too much to myself. The Chapmans say they want to see a hike camp, and how can I excuse myself from going too?

Everything has gone wrong, quite wrong. I thought I could keep the lieutenant off, but I did not realize what a soldier is. Last night he had to have his answer, and I was telling him as gently as I could, when the stupid servant opened the front door to the captain and let him make his 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 to get rid of him too. For the man frightens me, Frances; I never met one who was so steady and so determined and so strong. Maybe I blundered; I don't know. But I can't have him getting to know me any better; I want never to see him again. So I said (I know I stiffened horribly as I said it, the thing was so uncalled for and so un-nice) "The lieutenant and I were just discussing army life, captain, and how little it has for a woman. For a man ought to be able to offer the best that there is." It hurt 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 I meant it why shouldn't I say it? Let him hate me, if only he lets me alone.

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

Longingly,

VERA.



FROM DAVID RIDGWAY FARNHAM, 3D, TO HIS FATHER

Plattsburg, Sunday the 24th.

DEAR FATHER:—

I am writing just a few lines to say that we are off tomorrow on the hike, in light marching order, and with very little bagage. I shall not even take my pajjamas. But I'd rather you wouldn't tell mother this; it would upset her. Will you tell her that I'm really too busy to write, but that I'm in very fine condition, and she's not to worry about me? And she said in her last letter something about taking a trip up here so as to be near us on the hike if anything should happen to me. This is really what I'm writing you about. Please stop her, father. I'd really rather she wouldn't even be here when we break camp to take me home in the car. For I'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 our squad. Perhaps I didn't know how to get at them at first. Even now I don't suppose mother would see anything in them; yet I'm sure that if I could introduce you to them you'd understand why I like them.

Just keep mother from worrying about me on the hike. I shall be all right. 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 clouds threatening more rain. As before, I did some washing before breakfast, and now have on the line considerable of my laundry, which I am anxiously feeling of from time to time. If it does not dry, then I shall have to buy some new things for tomorrow.

There being no duties today, men are neglecting church and getting ready for the hike. We must turn in our mattress covers, pillow slips, barrack bags, and for those who do not wish to buy, the overcoats. The captain has sent out word that overcoats may be bought, and I have secured mine by 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 their surplus in their arms, while I take advantage of their necessarily slow progress to write this to you. One of my pillow-slips I shall retain by the sacrifice of seven cents; it shall serve as a bag to keep my extra things together on the march.

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

Word has just gone down the street that we must pack this morning for the hike, and give our bags in at the Y. M. C. A. for storage. So we shall be 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 wonderful what the Y. M. C. A. does for us, giving to all who come every kind of information, cashing our checks, supplying pen and ink and paper to the epistolary, and giving minor helps constantly. It is to them a very burdensome expense, which they have no fund to meet. I shall leave something behind to show my appreciation.

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

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

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

In my pocket the foot-powder which it is my duty to carry as sub-squad-leader. (The other men carry the intrenching tools and the wire-cutter. The corporal carries nothing but the weight of his responsibilities.)

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 in an o. d. shirt (it dried today!) a towel, soap, tooth-brush, shaving things etc., a pair of socks, and my map.

In the pillow-case in the squad-bag, shoes, trousers, change of underwear and 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 back for our coats, we who have bought ours have deposited them at the store-tent for this purpose.

My map I have at last finished with much clumsy care; dozens of us have spent hours today at the Y. M. C. A., absorbed in this work, which with the accurate inking of the route and crossroads, has been rather minute. The numbering of many crossroads is very significant of the skirmishes 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 or digestion, or else from natural business reasons. The company is sad to learn that we start without Loretta, business calling him home for a few days. But we shall be glad to see him when he comes.

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

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

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

Then, saluting, I was off. By the gleam that had sprung to his eyes I knew that he understood me, even though he said nothing. For of course he has been wondering whether after all I have a chance with Vera, and has been 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 the parlor. I have told you, you remember, that one of his qualities is a strange gentleness. He told me, in that manner of his, that he would take only a minute of my time, and while I sat perfectly tongue-tied before him, as if I were a schoolgirl, this is what he said, without any passionate declaration, or any self-assertion.

"I came last night, Miss Wadsworth, to tell you that I loved you. You saw it and stopped me. There seemed no answer to you then, but I have found one 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 that there is. I came to offer it. Our army women serve their country, not as we men do, yet they do serve the flag, and unselfishly. There is really nothing better that can be done by man or woman.

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

Then he went away. I could not stop him; could not try to explain. How could I say anything against those awful words? Besides, he spoke with such a thrill as if he were showing me his religion. A dreadful simplicity of belief! I know all his words by heart. All night long I have been saying them over and over; and when this morning I heard the drums, 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) to have the two halves of the company line up facing each other, and to hear the captain command, "Form for shelter tents!"

The file-closers scurried round and got into the vacant places. Every man gave 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 four paces backward.

"Harch!" Both ranks faced away from the cook tents, and the lieutenant began to count, "One—two—three—four—One—two—three—four!" and at every One a pair of men, front and rear rank bunkies, stepped off together, till the whole company was marching by pairs, at intervals of four paces, and the captain thundered orders to the guides to march straight.

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

"Pitch shelter tents!" Out came the bayonets of the front rank men, and were 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 and dragging out the shelter-halves, the pins, and the ropes. Bann and I laid the long sides of our halves together, lapping the upper one away from the wind, and buttoned them along (how glad I was that we practised this yesterday, found where a loop was missing and some button-holes torn, and made everything good!) The ropes were tied in the loops, Bann's rifle was stood beside his bayonet, the muzzle beneath the front loop; we aligned our sloping ridgepole at right angles to the street, drove in our front and rear pins and tied the ropes, and then I, creeping into the tent with my bayonet in its sheath, set it upright under the end of the ridge. Then quickly we pegged down the sides and back, stretching them well out, laid back the front flaps of our kennel, set our equipment in the double doorway, passed the inspection of the lieutenant, and felt proud. Then mess, with its stew and its vegetables, its bread and butter, and even with milk, which we are warned we may never see again. Since when we have been retrospecting, doctoring, washing at a poor apology for a brook, and making ourselves comfortable in anticipation of Retreat and of the night.

Remarkable things, these shelter tents, just broad enough at the front for the shoulders of two men, and at the back for their feet, with a further recess for the equipment. Along the edges can be stowed the toilet articles and such things as need to be handy, with the spare rifle. After removing all boulders from the floor, and digging hollows for our hips, we have carpeted with straw, bought of a thrifty farmer who hauled it here and sold for twenty-five cents per poncho- or blanket-load. We now know a little better the meaning of the term buzzard. 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 am a restless sleeper. On my tummy on my sleeping bag I am writing to you now.

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

I can imagine difficulty in pitching tents under other circumstances than are provided by this ideal afternoon. In the rain we shan't care to have the tents face the wind, nor shall we enjoy setting up tents in a gale, when we shall also hope for better holding ground for the short tent-pins than we find here in this gravel. As it is, we have piled stones on the pins today. Some fellows have ditched their tents, but Bann and I don't see the need of that except with more of a threat of rain than is given by this cloudless sky.

Now if you can imagine in a field, sloping gently to the west, some four hundred and fifty or more of these pup-tents, with a thousand men or less swarming around and in them, some coming back from a bath in the brook, some cleaning guns, some making fireplaces for an evening fire, some napping, some writing; if you can hear much talk and laughter, the chopping of axes at the cook tents, the call "Corporals, come and get your mail for your squads!" then you can understand what a lively, busy place this is. Just across the fence is a camp of cavalry; there is a squadron in our field also. Running across the heads of the streets are the big cook tents; close by are the tents of the Y. M. C. A. and the Exchange and the photographer; elsewhere are the officer's big conical tents, each with the luxury of a stove; and in still another spot is the doctor's tent, not far from the shelter-tents of the band. Men are idling everywhere, and working everywhere also. The long line of trucks is drawn up not far from the field entrance, and the drivers are tinkering them for tomorrow.

But outside the sacred enclosure of the camp, yet as near as they can squeeze, are the buzzards, each with his little outfit for following the hike. A scrawny horse, a little tent, a board on two barrels, a big sign—these with indigestibles constitute their outfits. In the camp wander men with baskets, or boys with boxes, selling fruit, tobacco, and chocolate. There are the farmer folk, too, gawking about at the show.

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

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

Concerning the hike, these facts. My feet are unblistered, though at one rest, being panic-stricken, I hastily filled stockings and shoes with foot-powder. At another time I found the pace telling on me, and was sadly thinking that I was still too soft, when I heard grumbling all about me. The step had been quickened, and all were feeling it. At the grumbling Corder turned to me a face of relief. "Thank Heaven!" he said piously. "I thought I was growing old." Our route was through the edge of Plattsburg, along some miles of highway, and then by gravel roads to this camp near Ryan's Grove, which is a fine sugar bush on the hillside below us. After only eight miles of road, there were very few of us that were not glad to get here.

Our system of serving food is curious. Each man has knife, fork, spoon, canteen cup, and meat can. Falling into line at the bugle call (in no order, every man for himself) the knife, fork and spoon are stuck into a legging, and perhaps, until we reach the serving places, the canteen cup is also carried there, by the handle. The meat-can is an oval sauce-pan with a shallow top, over which shuts down its folding handle. Opening this, one carries in one hand the can and cover, in the other the cup, and filing past the cooks, who stand in line, one receives from each some part of the ration. Then we retire to the most convenient spot to eat, if we are hungry come for a second helping, and if we are lucky, get it.

Of the dish-washing, since I know your passion for cleanliness and absolute sanitation, I spare you the details, except this significant one. The cooks having retired for their own meal, I saw one fellow wash his meat-can in the abandoned coffee barrel, mistaking its fine rich contents for the dishwater.

You should have seen our field at the coming of the dusk: the dying sunset, the silhouetting of the upper tents against the sky, the coming out of the many fires, and in the light of their flames, reflected in the drifting smoke, the lively picturesqueness of the camp. This is all accentuated by the dark. Such coming and going, such talking and greeting, such stumbling in the shadows and peering against the fires—well, I never could have imagined it.

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

DICK.

Postscript. A rumor is running through the camp (we are specially warned not to believe rumors, but this one is borne out by the behavior of the officers) that someone in the regiment has a clip of ball cartridges, "swiped" from the range. The officers went down the line at Retreat, and besides inspecting the guns, made every man turn out all the pockets of his cartridge belt. Nothing found.



PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

West Beekmantown. Tues, Sept. 26.

(The first section of the letter is a mere scrawl.)

DEAR MOTHER:—

It is early dawn on Tuesday, and I have slept better, on "my pallet of straw," than many a time in my bed at home. The cooks have for some time been stirring, as I have known by the sound of their axes, the crackling of their fires, the glow reflected on their tents, and their occasional voices. In the cavalry camp the horses stamp, I hear a distant train and a dog's bark, and nearer at hand, from among the pup-tents, come little morning coughs. My writing is practically invisible to me on the paper. I can just see that I trace a line.