Private Godwin to His Mother

Dick.

Thursday morning at West Sciota,waiting to start.

Thursday morning at West Sciota,

waiting to start.

Dear Mother:—

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

After mailing my letter last night I sat among others at the captain’s fire, listening to his ready answers to the questions which we fired at him. We went over points of strategy, and discussed the day’s work. It has become plain to me that there is a great advantage in so small a camp as ours, a regiment of but six companies. We can be in or pretty close to every scrap that happens, and all the real military problems are fairly plain to us. Besides, this hike is to be the longest yet. When further you consider that a month of Plattsburg has as many hours of service as a militiaman gets in two years and a half at home, that our continuous service is naturally much more valuablethan the militiaman’s weekly drill in his armory, and finally that we are under West Pointers who each day explain and discuss the problem, you can see that a man in the Tenth Regiment has a chance to learn a good deal.

Little absurdities are taking place around me. Says Corder, struggling with his pack, “Bann, will you help me into my corset.” Pickle says to Reardon (out of David’s hearing) “Ten cents for a bum piece of pie that you have to eat with your hands! That gets my goat.” And just now has come a hoot from every part of the camp when from I company, in line to start and loading guns for a skirmish, sounded the pop of an accidental discharge. But the men of I company look sour and glum.

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

(Resting after battle, near Altona.)

We marched for some miles unmolested along our westward road, and the amateur strategistsamong us scanned each rise of ground ahead, predicting fights. But when the row finally began we were too far in the rear to see just what kind of position the enemy had decided to hold. As often happens, we were ordered into the ditch to wait, while the officers consulted briefly, and all the time the rattle of the guns kept up. Half the cavalry, by the way, were with us, and we saw them sent off by a woodroad to the left, supposedly to flank the enemy. Then for our platoon occurred one of our occasional bawlings out. As we waited, having loaded, we saw the 4th, 3d, and 1st platoons ordered over the fence into the field on our right. Being used to seeing the company split into its detachments for different purposes, and hearing no orders, we remained placidly in the ditch—for we are now old soldiers, and are learning not to hunt trouble. But the lieutenant came running, and with a few sharp words deftly removed the scalp of our leader, and retired with it at his belt. So over we scrabbled, and took our place in the column. Then we wandered miles through pastures, woods, and bogs, at first incolumn of squads, which means four men abreast, and then, as the going became difficult, insquad columns, which means eight men following each other in single file. Note this difference—I wish we had! At one time, for nearly a mile, the whole company was in Indian file, winding through the underbrush.

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

Firing was all the time very noisy to our left, and as we moved on it was plain that we were skirting the centre of the scrimmage in an attempt to take the enemy in flank. Now our squad columns were sent forward parallel, eight yards apart, ready at command to spring out in one long line, the men side by side. Through a cedar swamp we now made our way among huge old trees, the firing very hot and close in front, until we were halted at the edge of the thicket, with an open space in front across which was a snake fence some thirty yards away. As we waited the order to advance, we being on the extreme right, a railroad embankment just beyond us, we saw a platoon rush forward from the left, cross the open diagonally, and line the fence infront of us. With objurgations the captain and lieutenant coaxed them again to the left. Other platoons, and perhaps single squads, rushed from cover and occupied the fence, the whole line beginning to fire.

We felt sure that it was our turn next, and were saying so, when apparently the order came. The platoon leader sprang out in front, I made up my mind where I was to go, we all surged forward, crossed the open space, and I presently found myself in the line, firing across the fence at a distant wall, the range of which I calculated to be but a hundred yards, and therefore used “battle sight,” firing low. But here came the lieutenant again, scalped our leader a second time, and ordered us back. So I trailed back across the open ground and meekly took my place with the others again in squad column. We asked each other, “Weren’t we ordered forward?” Some declared that the platoon leader had ordered the advance, others that the lieutenant had sent us out. I knew I had heard his voice, but really I had merely followed on like a sheep. That was proper. But at any rate here was a time when the platoon-leader had made a mistake in keeping us with the rest of the company.

While the platoon, thirty-four men of us, was huddled in its special bunch of trees, all talking and explaining, along in haste came the major, dismounted, demanding if we were in column of squads. With one voice we maintained that wewere, but he or his aide knew better, and by the help of our two sergeants bringing the corporals to their senses and silencing the men, we were finally got out of our squad columns, in which formation we had been so long that we had forgotten that there was any other. In column of squads we were swung to the right, put in skirmish line, and halted below the railway embankment, where the major, with great patience and the most painstaking English, explained to our limited intelligences the exact manœuvre that he contemplated. Then at the word we rushed the embankment, plunged into a ditch, swung to the left, some of us across a wire fence, and prepared to advance and annihilate a bunch of the enemy that we saw before us. But they sending out a messenger, explained that they were dead, which saved us the trouble, not really to our pleasure, for having made fools of ourselves we were anxious to take it out on somebody. And then the bugle blew Recall.

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

In the first place I have learned that the so-calledintelligent volunteer, while able with surprising quickness to master the manual and the drill, with the rudiments of skirmish work, and all because of his trained mind, nevertheless does not readily give up his independence of thought except in the presence of men whom he recognizes as his unquestionable professional superiors. Hence, when deprived of such guidance, each man has his own theory and his own advice, which he voices without modesty.

Secondly, while in the regular army such situations are readily controlled by the—(To be continued. We are going to move on.)

(In camp at Altona, after swim and retreat and supper,writing while crouched in the pup tent for shelter froma shower that has just spoiled the afternoon’s conference.Bann is luckily absent; I don’t know what two coulddo in this confined space, except when asleep.)

by the non-commissioned officers, it was very evident today that ours had not sufficient control over us because they had not sufficient control over themselves. They were new to their responsibility, and did not understand how to handle the particular problem. And if we had needed another example of what was lacking, it was at hand in a few minutes when on our way to camp, and seeing the tents in plain view across a stream, the captain decided to save us a half-hour by fording. So he led the way down into the water, the lieutenant at his side discussing, tramped across the shallow river, and marched on, whetherforgetting us or testing us I do not know. The first squad or two followed gamely, the next faltered, and all the rest spread out in confusion and tried to cross dry-shod. I am glad to say that Squad 8 hung together, hopped over quickly, formed and went on. After a hundred yards we came up with the captain, who was just sending back a sergeant with the message, “Help all the girls across.” When once we were assembled he gave us his solemn promise never to try to save us work again.

What would prevent such blunders in future? I will admit that in each such case non-coms from the regular army would have steadied us and kept us right. Yet I am convinced that what will best control the Plattsburg rookie is the Plattsburg non-com. All we need is to develop a body of them. The regular may serve at a pinch, but in the cases where moral control is more needed than a little knowledge or habitual steadiness, the appeal comes strongest from a man of our own kind.

I suppose that only the shower saved us from an awful roasting at the conference.

The camp is rather picturesquely situated in a broad field that stretches down to swamps and woods, the cavalry at a slight distance across a little swale. Our squad was on police duty for a while, and I was orderly for an hour. The lady buzzards of the town have spread a chicken dinner, at a dollar a head, in the town hall, andmany of our fellows have slipped away to it. Yet at dinner-time I saw poor Pickle sitting by the water-barrel, a plate of beans in his lap. I asked innocently, “Why aren’t you at the chicken dinner?” “Don’t ask foolish questions,” he snapped. “Can’t you see I’m tied here to serve out water?”

I went for my bath down to our little river, which bears the imposing name of the Great Chazy; it wanders idle from pool to pool along its half dry bed. In one of the natural bath-tubs I had a fine wash, finding a pool up to my knees, clear cold water where minnows swam trustingly about, and where crawfish, the first I have ever seen, came like little pink lobsters to investigate my toes. After the stagnant brooks at our last two camps, it was delightful to find this clear water and actually getunderit.

I was so trustful of the weather that I washed a pair of socks, but I had not got into my clothes before a shower started. I took refuge, with another man, in a cavalry officer’s tent. We had a pleasant little chat with him; he did not resent the intrusion of a couple of rookies, and we talked of camp matters. Intermittently it has been raining ever since.

Written by the light of a great bonfire at the Y. M. C. A. tent.

Men are trying to dry themselves on one side while they get wet on the other. Word has come which puts the company in mourning—Loretta is detained by business, and will not rejoin us.David says in my ear, “Damn him, I meant to get even with him!” This for Reardon’s sake, who laughs at David’s energy, yet I think is rather touched by it. We have had our usual talk with the captain at the company fire, and rather gently he has pointed out to us our shortcomings, especially our platoon’s in giving the major such trouble.

But some men of our platoon came to him with a grievance. In getting us into our column of squads someone swore at the men, and they attributed the profanity to the major’s aide, a volunteer like ourselves. This roused the captain. “No one shall swear at my men!” he declared, his gentleness all gone. “I will talk with that aide.” That obliged me to speak. “Captain,” said I, “I’m sorry to disagree with the others, but as I happened to have admired the coolness of the aide, it doesn’t seem to me that he was in a state of mind to swear.” One of our sergeants spoke up. “I might have done it, sir. I was a little excited.” The man has sworn at us before, and Knudsen has resented it. The captain was mollified by the admission, but he read the man a little lecture. “Never swear at your men, sir. Apart from the fact that it does no good, it’s most unsoldierlike. I never swore at an enlisted man but once, when I was a very young officer, and I never will again.”

I must stop because of the damp and the discomfort, writing in this flickering light, my legs,as usual, cramped. I despair of ever conveying a proper idea of this rainy evening, the indifference of the hardy ones, the dejection of the sensitive, crowding together wherever there is cover, trying to keep dry at fires, or in final surrender crawling into their beds, to wait the hours through. It is not raining at this moment, but I am curious to know what the night will bring. The tent is pretty well ditched, but the pin at my shoulder is very loose in this sandy soil, and if it showers—! Good night.

Dick.

P. S.Overheard in I company street, loud language. One disputant: “I keep my feet as clean as yours!” The other. “You do? I have washed mine twice since the beginning of the hike.” The first: “So have I, Monday and yesterday. You take care of your person and I’ll look after mine.”

Private Godwin to His Mother

Altona Camp, Friday, Sep. 29.Waiting for the start.

Altona Camp, Friday, Sep. 29.

Waiting for the start.

Dear Mother:—

The night, in spite of its possibilities, was not bad. I went to bed in the rain, Bann already snoozing by my side, and was put to sleep by the sounds of men’s voices murmuring. Roused by a smart shower, I heard Taps blown, and the top sergeant going up and down the street. “Cut out that talking, men!” Waking in the night I found the sky clear, the wind blowing, and two pins out at my side, with the tent flapping. I put the pins in, but when next I was waked by the rain in my face the side of the tent was flapping heavily, and nothing but the fact that instead of a rifle for the tent pole we used a stake, driven about six inches into the ground, had saved us from a collapse. I held down the corner through the shower, then opening my meat-can, used its long handle for a tent-peg. If our little pins were a couple of inches longer this nuisance could be prevented. The new peg held till morning, the clouds then gradually breaking for a glorious sunrise.

On a hillside, near Ellenburg Depot.

We rolled our moist blankets, made up our damp packs, ate our hasty breakfasts, and withI company were hustled into motor trucks, two squads to a truck. For forty-five minutes we jolted and squashed over bad roads, and finally bowled along over macadam. After eight or ten miles we were turned out, and marched in the cloudy, windy morning three miles to Ellenburg Depot. Here we left a man on each bridge, to notify pursuers that it was destroyed, and turned into the fields, at last climbing a ridge from which, to the left, we saw at a distance a high hill, its wooded sides beginning to show the mottled reds of autumn, while just below our steep slope lay a wide flat bottom, perfect green, with a brook wandering through it. Here we rested, delighting in the view but shivering in the wind, while the company officers and the major looked over the ground. Then the orders were, “Off with the equipment, get out your tools, and dig a trench.” The front rank is working like beavers now, and as our turn is nearly here, I must stop this scribbling.

In camp near Ellenburg Depot, Friday afternoon.

Again I sit in the tent while outside it rains. We have as yet been able to get no straw, for though I have twice hurried at the first glimpse of a wagon, the fellows nearer got it all. The ground is wet from this morning’s rain, my pen has splashed everything with ink, and I am afraid that this rain is no mere shower. But thank Heaven! the soil is better for the pins to hold in,the tents have all been faced away from the wind, we have had a most interesting morning, and I have a full stomach. To resume my story:

Considerably below the crest of the hill, and perhaps seventy feet uphill from a railway cutting, a line was marked, and the men fell to at the digging with enthusiasm. The ground was sandy, and we quickly threw out the soil, and heaved out the occasional big rocks. “We” scarcely includes poor Corder, who complained bitterly that his appearance of age made the fellows keep the tools from him; but when we were ordered to bring stones and turf, he joyfully carried burdens. The trench was dug about four feet deep, with an eighteen inch parapet outside. Inside this was a shelf for an elbow rest; the parapet was lined (revetted, the captain said) with flat stones, and finally the whole outside was turfed, so that the raw earth did not show. The turf was from ground opened in a long line higher up the hill, and left open to look like a trench and draw the enemy’s fire. Our trench being finished, another—a mere rifle pit, higher up the slope—was made for the captain’s observation post, and still another for a northerly outpost. Having turfed the outside of these, we picked the milkweed stalks that stood in great numbers, and set them at proper intervals with artistic irregularity, while for the captain was provided a little bush. I company’s trenches were further to the south.

We were finishing, and Corder had just said“We need a shower to clean this dirty turf,” when the shower came. The captain ordered us into our packs and ponchos, and then into the trench. Though the shower was short the wind was increasingly cold, and I was glad of the protection of my poncho. For in that trench we remained for an hour and three quarters, before anything really happened.

I had time to study a good many things. The depth to which grass roots will go in sandy soil: at least two feet. The amount of sand that gets into the lock of one’s rifle. The continual discomfort of sand blowing into one’s eyes. The cold that strikes up through the stone, or the sand, on which one sits. The personality of my neighbor of Squad Nine, who seemed much less interested in his life as a banker than I was. The incalculable value of the pack as a life-saver, for having to lean against the wall of the narrow trench, nothing but the roll on my back kept me from the deadly chill of pneumonia. But most interesting of all was the behavior of the men.

As we worked at digging the trench we naturally, being intelligent volunteers, had many sub-directors, and much grumbling at so much unofficial ordering. Randall, during one of his rests, delivered himself with much disgust. “There never was an American,” said he, “who could take orders. Each man thinks he knows best. We need to learn to obey.” Well, once we were down in the trench, it was Randall’s head thatwas continually popping up, and continually being ordered down; and it was Randall who would light cigarettes, though ordered not to. An hour and three quarters is a long time to wait, and the cramped space was very tiring. Further, we were excited by the sound of firing, I suppose from the driving in of the detachment which the lieutenant had taken off to the east, so of course everyone wanted to see. In addition, our two sergeants, who have none too much authority, were together at one end of the platoon, away from the most impatient of the men, and so were quite unable to control Randall and other restless spirits. Randall, arguing that no one could seehim, would pop up his head, others imitated, and so on the whole a fine example of discipline our platoon made. But David, lost in wonder at such wilfulness, never raised his head above the parapet.

Well, at last we heard the captain’s whistle, and steadied. His voice came: “Range, eight hundred and fifty yards.” We set our sights. “At one o’clock, to the right of the cemetery, fire at will!” We stood upright (it was a relief to straighten out!) and I saw, across the valley, beside a little cemetery on the top of the further hill, some moving figures, at which I fired a couple of clips. Then “Cease firing!” We locked our pieces; the men had disappeared. “Down, men!” And we crouched again. But next we heard “Battle sight—at four o’clock—fire at will,” andwhen we stood up there was a line of skirmishers advancing out of the woods beyond the railway cutting, about where the figure four would be on a great clock-face if spread before us on the landscape, we ourselves being at the six. But while I was popping contentedly away at these men our platoon was ordered first to cease firing, and then to leave the trench and rush to the top of the hill, which we did helter-skelter, none, not even our leader, knowing why.

At the very ridge we were met, slap in the face, by a fierce wind of which we in the trench had as yet got no inkling, which blew our ponchos all about, and savagely drove heavy drops of rain in our eyes. In the midst of this surprise we were confronted by an orderly, who pointing along the ridge, told us that we were to form in column of squads. In which direction we should face, and which squad first, 7 or 10, he did not say. It is easy enough now to see what our leader should have done. He should have said: “Men, get down out of the line of the enemy’s (highly imaginary) fire. Now, my good messenger, what are my orders? And meanwhile, my wise privates, keep silence.” But nothing of the sort. There we stayed on the ridge, and there we finally formed in column of squads, all the time in full view of the enemy, who might have potted the last man of us. The major at last came to the rescue, got us down from the ridge, and in the hearing of us all roasted poor Jones quite as well as the lieutenantdid yesterday. “If you have a brain, sir, don’t use it. Stay in sight of the enemy and be shot.” Then he sent us by a way I never should have chosen in cold blood, across the top of a steep slope, with sliding sand and loose stones underfoot, while all the time the same wind and rain whipped and beat us unmercifully. At last we were halted behind another hill, put in skirmish line, and told what we were to do. We were to rush the ridge, then to run down to a trench made and occupied by our engineers, while they, being worn out by many days of fighting in it, were to vacate it. We executed the order smartly, dashing down to the trench, the engineers, at sight of us, scrambling out and running for cover. I found myself jumping down into a trench as deep as my shoulder, very finely made. Different from our trench, which was protected from enfilading only by cross walls at intervals, this trench zigzagged; moreover, its parapet was wattled. The engineers must have worked at it from early dawn, unless they brought their hurdles with them.

(There, I have at last got my hay!)

Well, there was but little more. A man emerging on a distant slope, commanding a ridge along which any successful attack must come, I hit him squarely in the middle, only to discover when too late that he was an umpire. Two of our fellows claimed to have shot a buzzard, and contended for the honor. When at last we saw real enemies,two platoons coming into full view below us, we shot them all to pieces. An umpire told them that they were dead, whereupon they formed in line and went through the manual of arms, to get themselves warm. Then we were collected and marched back, triumphant. It seems that we were told that if we held our line till one o’clock, we won. It was past the hour, and our victory was complete. We marched to camp in good spirits, being especially pleased to hear the major (the opposing major!) compliment Captain Kirby on the excellence of his trench.Ourtrench! We finished two hundred and fifty feet in an hour and twenty minutes. We are told that the trench was quite invisible, even after we had begun firing, and that we were betrayed only by the white bands on our hats.

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

With great relief I left the ground. We have so carefully policed each camping place that I had awful visions of having to fill in the trenches and replace the sod. But by some arrangement with the owner of the land we left the trenches as memorials of our great fight. How many cows will they trap, I wonder.

Our breakfast was at six, and we had no lunch till two o’clock. Whether we were hungry? Inspite of this settled cold rain, which curiously is from the west, the men are in good spirits, though they show it by yowling at every bugle call that summons them out.

This letter is written up to date, and so I’ll close it. Love from

Dick.

Private Godwin’s Daily Letter

Dear Mother:—

Yesterday I said to Knudsen, while David listened, “The trouble with our platoon is that we don’t particularly care for our sergeants, and have got into the way ofknockingthem. I’ve done more or less of it myself. Now it may be no more than they deserve, but it’s bad for our discipline and our work. Don’t you suppose we could turn about and help the sergeants more? If you should lead in it, it would make a difference in the whole platoon, for I notice that everyone wants to know your opinion.” David’s face showed that he approved, so Knudsen agreed, and we three talking to our squad and Squad Nine, have started a little Good Government Association. I think today it did good.

Last night was a long one for me. I am still unable to get myself a woollen cap, and though I used the felt hat for both the cold and the rain, it rolled away at every excuse. To keep out the rain, I had laid my poncho on the windward side of the tent, buttoning it along the ridgepole; but it slapped a good deal of the time. The entrance-flaps,which some of the fellows always button, I had open for the air, and they thrashed all night. Beside me Bann slept like a child; but I was pretty damp when I went to bed, the rain and the wind came through, and every little thing waked me. Twice a peg pulled out, but the tent stood, and I was able to put it in again. So the night was long. Yet I got some sleep, and we were surely better off than our opposite neighbors, whose tent blew down soon after midnight, so that they had to crawl out and set it up in the dark and the driving rain.

There are camp tales of all kinds of hardships. Some stayed round the fires all night to keep warm; some, their tents collapsing, took refuge on a nearby piazza; some talk of washing their faces this morning in hoar frost. But Isawnone of this.

The yowlings which usually greet the bugler on any unwelcome occasion were absent this morning, for most of us were ready to rise, or already risen. There was at first only a drizzle, in which I ate breakfast; it surely was better than last night, with the steady rain running from my hat into my stew as I bent over it, and cooling as well as diluting it, besides searching out vulnerable parts of my person, which a poncho does not truly protect. Yesterday I set my things down on a wet board; today I stood at the high running-board of an auto-truck, a very desirable position. Yet I thought my hands have seldom been colder than when I stood in line this morning,unable to give them the protection of gloves or pockets.

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

Yet ten minutes after we had left camp, the advance guard of the battalion, we were staring at each other in new dismay. For pop-pop! Our point had found the enemy. Now for comfort a skirmish ought to be fought near the new camping ground: anticipation keeps us going till the fight begins, and then at the end, weary, we have but a short way to march. This was the deuce! In a moment we were turned aside into a field, and saw the white hat-bands beyond a fence in front. First deployment, then “Down, men!” and flat I threw myself into a six inch bed of clover, as wet as a sponge. From this couch I fired for a while, was ordered up, hurried with the squad forward to a new line, flopped again, fired, and then dashed once more.

For two hours, mother, this sort of thing continued. In a long line our company spread over the fields, now one part advancing, then the rest. Sometimes we were flat, sometimes we might squat on cold stones behind a wall, sometimes we were climbing walls and running forward. Discovering that it was wetter below me than above,I hung my poncho at my hip, and when we flopped, fell on it. We struck soft ground and formed in squad columns, then came to a place where the enemy was visible in a sugar-bush, across a ravine. Down into the gully I plunged among the rest, and in a confusion of men each seeking in a hurry the best way across, got through two wire fences, forced my way among a growth of alders, and splashed through a brook, luckily no deeper than my ankles. Then up the steep slope, and as soon as the platoon was gathered at the top Jones cried “Follow me,”—and those whose wind was poor began to lag. The enemy was driven from this position, then as we followed him he fired at us again from behind a stone wall, for there were plenty here, with others of all kinds. We drove him again, our laggards helping where they could, coming up to us as we paused to fire and falling down to pant. Poor Corder! Part of the charges he was in, part he had to plod after, out of breath. A minute’s rest would freshen him, and then he would keep up for a while. But the pace was hot, until suddenly the enemy vanished. In pursuit, we crossed a wide space with broad flat weatherworn ledges, then came upon soft ground, and were bogged.

The part that confronted our squad was a hog-wallow below a pig pen and nicely full of water from the rain. Light-footed David slipped across, but I, being heavier, plunged in up to my shin. Then came a barbed wire fence, with the wiresso taut that they would not separate to let us through, nor sag to let us easily over. We were helping each other, as is the rule, and the sergeant was hurrying us, as was his duty, when he was answered back by a corporal—not of our platoon, but one who with his squad had become annexed in the confusion. A little back-talk with an audience of silent men; our fellows remembered the new agreement. Then on we went again, stormed another position, and at last, every cartridge spent (my head was ringing with the firing, and rings yet!) we were assembled in the muddy road.

A little interview, then while we rested, between the sergeant, the corporal, and the captain, who demanded the reason for our platoon’s delay. The corporal was explanatory; the captain had to silence him. Then the captain praised the company. (He also sent a message to us at Retreat, where the lieutenant commanded—we had done well; he would try to keep us out of brooks hereafter. I like these laconic statements; they mean much.) Then I company, with full cartridge belts, took up the advance-guard work along the road, and we saw them rummage out of a barn some cavalrymen who had hidden there. But soon, the day’s manœuvre over, we began the hike to camp. I wish you could have seen it.

The rain was over, though it was still cloudy and the cold wind was strong. The road was a mass of mud; there was no walking in it. Wemade two long lines, one on each side of it, and took up our brisk walk. Mile after mile in every footing, through desolate country where the scrub was low, the land slightly rolling, bleak, uninhabited. The road ran mostly straight; as it dipped you could see ahead the two lines of men swiftly plodding on and on.

There was talk at first, and some jokes. “That road looks worse than this,” said one. “I wonder they didn’t take us down it.” The bushes looked very wet. “How about squad columns through that brush?” suggested one. “Try the prone position from the middle of the road,” retorted another, as we passed a great puddle. A later puddle, chocolate brown, roused another man’s regrets. “I’d like to stop and wash my breakfast kit. I used the water they provided at camp, but this looks better to me.” But gradually all talk died away, and we just drove on and on. There were questions, of occasional teams that we passed, as to the distance to Cherubusco. “Three miles,” and again after an hour “Three miles!” Well, it was a long hike, nearly two hours, and I am glad to say without halt, for in that wind we should have frozen. But we began to dry off. At last the sight of the trucks and the cook-tents cheered us, and we marched onto the ground where four companies were already finishing their dinner. We had driven off their enemy, and they had marched straight through.

The ground here holds the tent-pins well; thetent is secure. But I stood in line for half an hour in the wind, cold and ever colder in my poncho, while they let us in driblets into a barn and doled us out hay at high prices. I felt very cross against the good woman at whose table I now write, for not devising a quicker system—though she suffered from it too, for her teeth were chattering as she passed me through. But everything goes by; even while I shivered the wind dried my clothes; and I had cold feet for only a couple of hours, by which time I had dried out a pair of fresh stockings, and put them on with my dry boots. Since then I have been comfortably warm. We had fires, about which we sat; the sun at last came out (you should have heard the shout at the first thin rays!) and we have had a wonderful clear orange sunset, with spruces silhouetted against it, and the early setting of the young moon. Now it is clear and cold and quiet outside, with the northern lights flashing and glowing, violet and white, in cloud-like masses or shifting spires.

Well, such was the day, a hard one in many ways. Says a sergeant sitting by the stove, “I can describe it in two words, Damn nasty.” But I am no more than ordinarily tired, and am dry. The hardships of such a day are not to be compared with those of the poor devils in the trenches across the water.

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

Dick.

Private Godwin’s Letter Home

Sunday, at Cherubusco, about 8.30 A. M.Sitting in the sun, in my overcoat, at the tent door.

Sunday, at Cherubusco, about 8.30 A. M.

Sitting in the sun, in my overcoat, at the tent door.

Dear Mother:—

After finishing my letter at the farmhouse last night, and getting from the good woman my second pair of dry stockings, I put on everything warm that I had, and went to bed. Fires were burning everywhere, with little groups of talking men around them; but the camp settled down very quickly. It pleased me to hear the first sergeant rounding up men to help in unloading the overcoats; but then I slept, and except for periods when I woke in the night and as usual told time by Orion, I slept sound. The men are all declaring that they slept well, all but one man, who said he was miserably cold, and looks it. Itwasa 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 takenwarning 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 theroad 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 mostlysleepy from yesterday) we were brought home, fed, and allowed to snooze.

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

I hear someone coming and saying, “Mr. Godwin is wanted at the head of the street.” The lieutenant!

(Evening.) Yes, it was Lieutenant Pendleton, of whom, by the way, I have seen very little for some time. For we go very much by platoons, as you have noticed; and he having command of the first is out of my ken. But whenever I have seen him he is always the same, very cool, inscrutable, accurate, and busy. His men are devoted to him. Well, he came walking along, scrutinizing the groups, and when he found me, delivering the summons, returning my salute, and passing on with his little smile. As he did not come back at all, I see that he took that method of making his escape.

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

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

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

She objected. “He says they hate him.”

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

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

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

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

“One night as I lay dreaming,

Underneath the stars,

The buzzard stole between the tents

To sell us chocolate bars.

The captain took him by the scruff

And kicked him in the seat,

And said ‘You greedy buzzard,

Get out of the company street!’”

The delighted men roared the chorus.

“Poor old buzzard, get away out of here!

Poor old buzzard, get away out of here

For we are Captain Kirby’s men,

We neither drink nor swear,

We never wash our hands or face

Nor change our underwear.

We never do a thing that’s wrong,

As you can plainly see,

For we are Captain Kirby’s men

Of old H company!”

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

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

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