Conscript 2989 Part 5

A new wrinkle has developed here. We find out what the fellows are going to have for supper in nearby barracks and if the feed promises to be better than what we are to have several of us take our mess tins and go over and stand in line there. The Mess Sergeant never knows the difference.

Sat.u.r.day:

Sad news this evening. Only twenty-five per cent. of each company is to be allowed to go home to-morrow, because of the disorder and general trouble at the railroad terminal last Sunday. And the twenty-five per cent. is to be drawn out of a hat. No chance for Fat or me, that's certain. We're mighty unlucky when it comes to pa.s.ses and we are laying odds now that neither of us will get permission to go to the city.

Anyhow, Fat is still in the same predicament. If he does get a pa.s.s he won't be able to leave the camp.

At the present writing we are all waiting for the mess call. And immediately after mess the Sergeant will do the drawing of the names for the pa.s.ses. If I am not among the lucky ones I'm going to try and-there goes the mess call!

Sunday:

I am ready to die with a smile on my lips and a great happiness in my heart, for I've spent one night between clean sheets, on a really soft bed. I've eaten with a silver knife and fork from real dishes and-whispered softly-in the privacy of my own home I had a gla.s.s of beer!

No, I wasn't lucky (neither was Fat) but I think I put something over on Uncle Sam.

The pa.s.ses for the city were drawn for as per schedule and since I was down at the bottom of the list I was not included in the first twenty-five per cent. The pa.s.ses issued read for New York City, and the men holding them were privileged to leave by certain trains, being marched down to the station under the watchful eye of the Second Lieutenant.

Then, after these men were all away, came the opportunity for the men who lived near the camp and the men who wanted to visit nearby towns to apply for leave. This was my opportunity. I applied for thirty-six hours' leave to visit the town of R--, twenty miles distant, and secured it.

Back in the barracks an interesting scene was taking place, scores of tickets of leave had been handed out to the men, to take the night and following day off, but to get out of camp they must be able to pa.s.s inspection with perfect and well-fitting equipment, and since all of us had not our full outfit, we had to hustle around and borrow articles of clothing that would fit and look satisfactory. I, for instance, have a full winter uniform except for overcoat (which I have not received) and tunic, the one I am wearing being a summer coat of cotton and hardly matching the wool trousers I possess. So I had to join the crowd who were bartering, exchanging and renting uniforms. And since the first men to leave had done the same thing to a certain extent, there was not much desirable clothing left in the barracks. Overcoats were going at a dollar a day and breeches and jackets for fifty cents each. After a diligent search I did find a chap who had a winter tunic and summer trousers and, wonder of wonders, his jacket fit me perfectly. We made an exchange and I borrowed an overcoat at one dollar for the day, from a chap who was not leaving camp, and sallied forth.

Tramping down Twenty-third Avenue (the streets are all named here and our barracks is on Fourteenth Street and Third Avenue), whom should I behold but friend Billy, bound in the same direction. He had had the same inspiration as I and he, too, had a pa.s.s for R--. We wandered on together, but upon reaching the railroad station, our hopes of getting to our destination were dashed. There were no more trains for R-- until the morning!

We wept. But our tears didn't blind us to the fact that there were occasional machines pa.s.sing along the highway. So we walked out and stood there in the moonlight and looked as lonesome and forlorn as possible.

And the first machine to come along was a beautiful big Pierce Arrow limousine, with an old dowager, a pleasant and generous old soul, its single occupant, save of course the chauffeur. We went to R-- in style; and, moreover, we went there in a hurry, for with khaki in the machine the chauffeur a.s.sumed that he had the right of way and full permission to wreck the speed laws.

At R-- we looked up time tables and discovered that we could get a train into the city at ten-thirty, which was not so bad. Then, because our pa.s.ses really limited us to R--, we concluded that it was only fair to the Government to at least eat a meal in that town and since we were both hungry in spite of our recent mess, we searched for a restaurant.

We found one; a French restaurant, which looked peculiarly deserted. The door was locked, for some strange reason, yet there were several men in ap.r.o.ns inside apparently hard at work. We rattled on the door and in a moment the frowning proprietor came forward. But the frown changed to a smile when he saw us. It was the khaki. He unbolted the door and, with a ceremonious bow, welcomed us in, then closed the door and bolted it.

And then he explained that this was a new restaurant not yet opened for patronage. He expected to open up in a day or maybe two. But, of course, he could not turn away two hungry soldiers, never. _Merci non!_ He had nothing to serve us with, but what were our desires? Express them and he would send out for the provisions, cook them and serve them. Steak!

Indeed, yes. In twenty minutes we would have a wonderful steak, French fried potatoes, salad, coffee and ice cream. Jean would attend to it.

And Jean did. He rustled up the steak and the rest and we alone occupied the restaurant, and soon were eating the most delicious piece of beef we believed we had ever put our teeth through. The bill! Nothing; nothing at all-what?-well if we insist, one dollar each. Thank you! And now here is a pen and some ink. You will please autograph each bill and behold, when you return from glorious France, covered with glorious glory, you should come in and see these two bills-the first money taken in at the restaurant-framed and hanging there over the desk. And so, I suppose, the future generation of visitors to R-- will be able to view these immortal monuments to our-I don't know what, unless it be our khaki uniforms-hanging there in the French restaurant possibly surrounded by wreaths as each anniversary of day before yesterday rolls 'round.

We got the ten-thirty train for the city, and we almost got into trouble too; or at least I did, for as we hurried into the smoker whom should I see sitting buried in a magazine but the First Lieutenant of our Company. Had he made the trip the same way we did? I don't know and, of course, I didn't ask. We just walked through the car very swiftly and he never looked up.

It was fifteen minutes of midnight when I arrived home, let myself in with my latch key which I have been carrying as a silent reminder of my former terrifically wild (?) career; routed out the folks, and sat swathed in bath-robe and dressing-gown until 3 o'clock, just talking. It was bully. And then I tumbled into my own bed and slept and slept and slept. I woke up at reveille all right-(it was just daylight)-grinned, rolled over and slept and slept and slept some more.

Then I had a real bath in a real tub with real hot water, and a lot of real things to eat and real cigars to smoke and real friends to talk with until five o'clock in the afternoon, when I crawled into my regimentals once more, and went out to meet Billy by appointment.

Going back via R-- route (which was necessary) curtailed our leave which really continues until to-morrow morning at reveille, but then we were very happy; so happy that when we arrived in R-- we chartered a taxi-cab for the twenty mile drive out here and now I'm nearly frozen through from the cold wind that blew in at us. And I'm tired, too, but I'm happy and ready to turn in ten minutes before taps.

Monday:

I'll need no "Melody in Snore Minor" to lull me to sleep to-night, for I am thoroughly weary. It was intimated a day or so ago that our training would be hurried a little so that we would be ready for a quick shift at any time. But hurried doesn't exactly describe it. It looks like an early fall drive to me.

We began at the beginning, this morning, and had our squad drills all over again, and somehow in the juggling about of men to make up our company formation I managed to get last place in line, and pivot man in the front rank of the last squad.

Before to-day I've been in the rear rank and had a screen of front-rank men to cover up any blunders I might make, but being in the first file gave me stage fright. And, of course, with the stage fright I bungled;-forgot which was left and which was right. We began by facing, and first chance I managed to turn left when the command was right. That blunder made me more self-conscious. If I had had to talk I'm sure I would have stuttered. As it was I stammered with my feet.

Then "About Face."

I faced about all right, only I pivoted on a stump root that some stupid had forgotten to dig out. The result was I lost my balance, and made several movements instead of one before I came to position.

At drills the Sergeants, who do most of the drilling, are equipped with sticks about a yard long so that they can poke a rear-rank man in the back without disturbing the front-rank men, and thus call attention to blunders. Being a rear-rank man on the about face, I presently felt the stick poking into my ribs and the command:

"You step out here."

I stepped out, and was requested, along with much language, to go up in front of the company and give a demonstration in the proper method of "about facing."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A demonstration in the proper method of "about facing"]

My self-consciousness fled immediately. I was mad. I wanted to talk back, and make a few remarks about the Sergeant and the stump and things. But I suddenly thought of a tour of kitchen police and restrained myself. Instead I about faced with such energy that the Sergeant knew I was boiling inside, and being a decent sort of a chap, he sent me back to the ranks after a couple of demonstrations, instead of keeping me out there for fifteen minutes as I have seen them do to some fellows.

After that I felt more at ease in the front rank. All morning long we ambled across the landscape, doing squad and company movements. It was just drill, drill, drill, for fifty out of every sixty minutes, the ten minutes being allowed as rest periods. We reviewed all our previous instructions and worked up to the point of forming company fronts, with the movements of right and left front into line and on right into line, and as pivot man, I think I did mighty well. Our squad never stepped off a pace ahead of time on any of the formations. And when we were marching back to the barracks at mess time, the Sergeant came up beside me, and remarked, by way of apology for hauling me out of the ranks earlier in the morning, that I was doing good pivot work.

Perhaps we didn't enjoy mess! Three helpings of navy beans for me with pineapple marmalade, and a piece of salt pork on the side, not to mention three cups of coffee and three slices of bread. I sure had luck on the mess line to-day.

This afternoon the First Lieutenant took charge of the company, and he had us traipsing all over the landscape again, doing the same sort of close order manuvres, and when we lined up just before retreat he announced that we would have rifles to-morrow morning.

It is interesting to see how rumours travel and gather force in the barracks. Some one, somehow, heard that an artist and a stenographer from our company are to sail for France in a day or two. Of course, all my friends have come to the conclusion that I am the artist. A chap told me about it at mess this evening, and since then several dozen have looked me up to shake hands with me and tell me good-bye, with such remarks as: "Hear you have orders to sail for France to-morrow; great."

"They tell me you got a commission from Washington and that you are going across in a day or two," or, "Say, you're a lucky chap; where'd you get the drag down in Washington?"

But these queries fail absolutely to thrill me. I am quite calm and undisturbed. I deny any "drag" whatever, and I know that I am not the artist mentioned in the order for transfer, if there is any such order, which I doubt. This is only about the _n_th time that same rumour has been afloat as a result of which I have bade good-bye to my friends about every other day only to discover myself still with them a week later with the same old rumour bobbing up again.

Tuesday:

I'm really a soldier. I know the manual of arms.

This morning, true to the First Lieutenant's prediction, we drilled with rifles and now I am quite convinced of the truth of the old saying that a gun is dangerous without lock, stock, or barrel. Fat turned around suddenly when he had his rifle over his shoulder and poked the muzzle of it into my mouth; a regular Happy Hooligan performance, and now I have a split (and considerably puffed) lip and a loose tooth to my credit in this horrible war.