At Plattsburg Part 18

I must close this letter and leave it at the Y. M. C. A., for the call to quarters has just sounded. In fact it is welcome, for I am very sleepy. I am leaving my wet shoes here to dry. We have just learned, to our sorrow, that we work tomorrow--Sunday! But there is one good piece of news--our overcoats are coming! Much love from

d.i.c.k.

PRIVATE G.o.dWIN'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 finis.h.i.+ng my letter at the farmhouse last night, and getting from the good woman my second pair of dry stockings, I put on everything warm that I had, and went to bed. Fires were burning everywhere, with little groups of talking men around them; but the camp settled down very quickly. It pleased me to hear the first sergeant rounding up men to help in unloading the overcoats; but then I slept, and except for periods when I woke in the night and as usual told time by Orion, I slept sound. The men are all declaring that they slept well, all but one man, who said he was miserably cold, and looks it. It _was_ a cold night, with a heavy frost forming even inside my tent, and ice in my canteen when I tried to drink from it this morning. But now, warm and full, I am very comfortable, waiting for the call at 9.45 to go out and inspect the outposts which the first battalion are now setting. The captain has been up and down the street, inquiring how we are; he stopped to speak to me, feeling, I think, less constraint with me than he used.

It was very busy in camp for an hour after breakfast. Men were cleaning their shoes--and some were mourning over them, not having taken warning against leaving them too close to the fire, when though the leather may not be really burned it will lose its life and crack. Others were spreading blankets and clothes to dry, preparing the short pack (without the roll) for our tour of inspection, recleaning rifles, shaving, mending their clothes. Smoke is now drifting from a hundred fires, and towels and underwear are spread on the tents or flapping from improvised clothes lines. But the camp is slowly settling down into quiet, for work is done, the sun keeps us warm, and everybody is quite content.

I have just listened to the story that Newbold, the corporal of Squad Nine, tells of the fetching of the overcoats. On arriving at camp yesterday, wet through, he found that the new shoes which he bought at the camp exchange in Plattsburg just before leaving for the hike, were too small, and asked the captain's permission to go to the village here and try to get another pair. The captain, after finding out his need, said "You can change them in Plattsburg. Be ready in five minutes to start with the truck." So Newbold found himself in command of a five-ton truck, wallowing through these roads till they struck the macadam, forty-five miles in all to Plattsburg. There he presented his written orders, started the loading of the truck, and went out swinging his shoes by the strings till he found a shop where he could make a swap, the camp exchange being closed. Forty-five miles over the road again, he dozing in a nest he made among the overcoats, and arriving in time to go to bed at Taps.

The overcoats will keep us safe from now on. But the hard work of the past two days has knocked out a few more men. Hale, who felt the cold night so severely, proves to be threatened with bronchitis, and has been sent in to the hospital. Hageman, with digestion on strike, has to leave us for good. I may mention men to you for the first time, but you must understand that I have acquaintance with a great many now, and when in future I hear their cities mentioned, Kansas City, Cleveland, wherever else, I shall always remember that I have friends there.

--(_Afternoon._) We finished the morning with some genuine outpost work.

The first battalion, going early, set a circle of outposts to the west, which our battalion, going later, had to find and relieve. While it was interesting from a military standpoint, I can scarcely hope to make it picturesque to you. Supposing an enemy ready to drop on us, we had to keep out of his sight while watching for him, and also to ferret out sentry posts which for the same reason had been pretty carefully hidden, and to which our directions were the vaguest. It was all done with thoroughness and care; we had the usual bogs to cross and brooks to jump; we found our men in hollows, thickets, and even in trees; and finally to our joy (for the day was hot and we were mostly sleepy from yesterday) we were brought home, fed, and allowed to snooze.

Some of the indefatigables begged for the day and have gone to Canada, which is but three miles away. But most of us are content to loll in camp and rest up, especially considering the fact that tomorrow we are again to be the advance guard. This being for the second time in succession, seems to us something of a compliment, and H company is proud.

I hear someone coming and saying, "Mr. G.o.dwin is wanted at the head of the street." The lieutenant!

(_Evening._) Yes, it was Lieutenant Pendleton, of whom, by the way, I have seen very little for some time. For we go very much by platoons, as you have noticed; and he having command of the first is out of my ken.

But whenever I have seen him he is always the same, very cool, inscrutable, accurate, and busy. His men are devoted to him. Well, he came walking along, scrutinizing the groups, and when he found me, delivering the summons, returning my salute, and pa.s.sing on with his little smile. As he did not come back at all, I see that he took that method of making his escape.

For when I got to the head of the street there was a big touring car, the captain standing talking beside it, and in it, besides the old Colonel and our old neighbors the Chapmans, were Vera and her sister Frances.

Some other officers were likewise there, and when the visitors descended to walk about, took charge of them. I, a humble private lingering near because commanded, thought that now I might slip away; but Vera in her usual way chose her own partner, and chose me.

The camp did not interest her especially; she had seen it at a glance from the automobile. The way we lived was at once familiar to her; I soon found that she did not want me to explain anything. Knowing that she always has her own purposes, and also knowing that I can never guess them, I waited for her to declare herself. She selected a convenient seat on a stone wall, where we could see everything; every man who went by stared at her in admiration, and evidently said to himself, "Isn't that rookie in luck!"

Her pretence was that she wanted to know about me, so as to write you; but pretences with Vera are very open. Really she wanted to know about the captain--what kind of a man, how he treated us, how we liked him. She couldn't quite bring herself to say, "d.i.c.k, tell me about him!" There is always Vera's pride. But after all, there never need be concealments between us; she knows we are to be friends all our lives. So she let me see what she wouldn't plainly say. And I answered quite as plainly: a fine captain, a fine man, the fellows swore by him.

She objected. "He says they hate him."

"Perhaps you never before," I said, "came across an aggressive man who is modest. I know he thinks that; it merely shows that he can't work for popularity. But he was telling us recently of the practice hikes he has been giving his company in Panama, to show that after all the hardest work is what we shall look back on with the most pride. It was as plain as day to us, though not to him, that the men there are like our fellows here--they will do anything for him."

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

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

Our other visitors were returning, headed by the captain and Frances. The men, grouped by the water barrel at the head of the street, waited till he was near, pushed their leader out in front, and in hoa.r.s.e whispers commanded him to begin. You must understand that Vera promptly, but without hurry, had got me close enough to listen. He sang the solo.

"One night as I lay dreaming, Underneath the stars, The buzzard stole between the tents To sell us chocolate bars.

The captain took him by the scruff And kicked him in the seat, And said 'You greedy buzzard, Get out of the company street!'"

The delighted men roared the chorus.

"Poor old buzzard, get away out of here!

Poor old buzzard, get away out of here For we are Captain Kirby's men, We neither drink nor swear, We never wash our hands or face Nor change our underwear.

We never do a thing that's wrong, As you can plainly see, For we are Captain Kirby's men Of old H company!"

Then, evidently immensely pleased, and laughing to themselves, the fellows melted away in all directions.

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

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

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

There next taking place an Episcopal service in the open air, I went to it. It was under the trees near the farmhouse. A rustic cross was made and set up, there were a few flowers at a simple altar, and the rail was just a piece of white birch nailed up between two trees; nothing could be more appropriate. At least a hundred and fifty men attended; I couldn't ask to hear a better sermon; and finally, the minister giving such an invitation to communion as a man of my free beliefs could accept, I stayed to it. Dusk was falling as we came away, and we were called together for Retreat.

Troops of the townspeople have visited the town all day, some looking as if they had come from a distance. They have gawked all about, have listened to the band concert, and stood about and watched our religious service as if it had been a show. But the best was at Retreat. The band had finished the Star Spangled Banner, the captain turned and brought us to attention, then pivoted about and stood at attention, looking straight in front of him. A little group of country folk had pressed up very close, and seeing him look so fixedly at something, they all swung about and stared too. Failing to find any unusual object nailed to the barn which was immediately in front, they turned back presently, puzzled or reproachful. When at the end of the bugle call he turned to dismiss us, the captain could scarcely maintain his military gravity.

I finish this at the squad fire, with the fellows discussing the revival of the rumor concerning the ball cartridges. They have not been found; some fool is still toting them about; they are in A company, B company, and so on down the list.

Tomorrow we move on again, my cartridge-belt is full, and I have got everything ready for our early start. The night is clear and cold--but we are hardened to anything now. Love from

d.i.c.k.

PRIVATE G.o.dWIN'S DAILY LETTER

In camp at Ellenburg Center.

Sitting before the tent, on my blankets.

Monday the 2d October, 1916.

DEAR MOTHER:--

The other companies are cheering in the distance, and I suppose I know why. For our company has been spared a great affliction, which would have been very cruel after a hard morning's work. We came into camp a long hour after everybody else, and had just pitched our tents and had dinner when our captain called us together in a close bunch, and told us that the regimental commander had been dissatisfied with the deployments of the other companies, and was having them out to drill; but that our work had been satisfactory, and that in consideration of our hard service on recent days, we were to be excused. You see we have worked hard on Friday (digging and defending trenches) Sat.u.r.day (when our skirmish work in the mud and wet was the severest, he said, that a company on the hike has yet had) and today, when we started first and finished last. So I imagine that if it was proposed to include us in this afternoon's drill the captain fought hard to have us excused. I hope it's also true that our skirmish work is good. We cheered the announcement and enjoyed our leisure; and now the other companies are expressing their delight at being released from their two hours' work in a stubble field.

Last night, after I had mailed my letters, I stood about and watched the camp with its always varied picturesqueness--the many fires, the drifting smoke lit up by flames, the groups here and there, the undertones of talk, the singing. The buzzard song has instantly become popular, and the lieutenant's platoon have a chant of praise to him--I don't know all the words as yet.

"He's on the job, boys, To find some nice wet moss to lie on, For today we march Thro' (dum ti dum) to Ellenburg, Dum, dum, ti dum dum (here memory fails) Prepare to rush, Thro' mud and slush, G.o.d help the man that tries to s.h.i.+rk!"

Besides these there have come to us from other companies, and indeed from earlier camps, other ditties, not vicious but unquotable, horribly amusing _men's_ songs.

I gave up watching at last, and made my bed, which was not so easy as usual, since my poncho, being old, has taken to stiffening in its folds after wetting, and when I shook it out, just plain cracked. Besides, its intimate acquaintance with barb-wire has resulted in various tears, notably a long slit and some "barn-doors." So seeing its usefulness departing, I chiefly made use of my blankets and overcoat, in which latter I slept, and found myself perfectly warm.