Short Stories of the New America Part 14

When B Company marched out of the camp for the morning skirmish practice, Tom Kennedy of squad five was feeling depressed. His corporal, John Wheeler, had just given him a scolding, and now wore a stern expression on his youthful yet somehow granite-like countenance.

Kennedy, glancing out of the corner of his eye, saw and interpreted the expression.

He was a thin, pale youth, who had gone from high school into the bank, where he was employed in a humble capacity as clerk. His lack of physical strength had prevented him from taking part in school athletics; the impecuniosity of his family had kept him from a share in many healthful, boyish activities. He had been a bookish boy and had shown himself quick at figures; many of his cla.s.smates envied him when, after graduation, a subordinate place in the First National Bank had been given him. In his second year of service there he was promoted to a clerks.h.i.+p; and when the bank announced its willingness to let some of its employees attend the military training camp, Kennedy had presented himself as a volunteer.

Without experience in the handling of arms, without natural dexterity and without the self-confidence that a boy derives from partic.i.p.ation in sports or from a life outdoors, Kennedy was not the most promising of "rookies." He would have made a better showing in the early drills perhaps had he been less concerned with the dread of being regarded as a "dub." What made him especially self-conscious was the fact that his corporal was the son of the president of the First National Bank. It seemed to Kennedy, inexperienced youth that he was, that his whole future might depend on the impression he made on the president's son.

He had long known John Wheeler by reputation. Wheeler had been halfback on his college football team; he was a yachtsman of more than local renown. As corporal, he was alert, industrious and energetic; his efficiency caused Kennedy to be only the more keenly aware of his own incompetence. The other men in the tent were all older than he, all better educated than he, and without in the least intending to make him feel inferior they did make him feel so. As a matter of fact, they thought he was an una.s.suming and obliging person, who had, as one of them expressed it, not much small change in conversation.

Now, after a week at the camp, Kennedy had begun to make himself a nuisance to his companions-the thing that he had most dreaded being. He had caught cold, and had coughed at frequent intervals throughout the night; he had buried his head under his blankets and tried to suppress the coughs, and he had blown his nose with as little reverberation as possible, but he had, nevertheless, received intimations that he was disturbing the sleep of his tent mates. In the morning one of them, Morrison, a student in a medical school, offered him some quinine pills and advised him to report at sick call. But Kennedy had resolved not to be knocked out by sickness; he thanked Morrison for the pills and said he thought he should get through all right. His feelings were hurt, however, when after breakfast Wheeler said:

"Come, fellows, let's roll up the tent; if we don't give the sun and air a chance in here, we'll all of us be sniffling."

The corporal started in to undo the guy ropes and then exclaimed wrathfully. "Who's the man that tied these ropes in hard knots? He's a landlubber, all right."

"I should say!" remarked Morrison, who was at work on the other side of the tent. "I'm not guilty."

"I'm afraid I am." Kennedy's admission was the more rueful because so croaking.

"A man who can only tie a hard knot or a granny has no business ever to touch a rope." Wheeler snapped out the words while his fingers worked busily. "I should think before coming to a camp a fellow would learn to tie a few knots."

Kennedy accepted the reproof in silence-if a sudden access of coughing can be termed silence. He was finding it hard work to disengage one of the knots of his own making; presently Wheeler, having freed the other ropes, came up and unceremoniously took possession of that at which Kennedy was picking.

"Undo your pack, take the rope that's fastened to your shelter half and I'll give you a lesson," commanded Wheeler.

To the object lesson in tying hitches, half hitches, slipknots and other useful knots Kennedy gave close attention; but when he tried to do what he had just seen his instructor do he became confused.

"Are you as slow as that counting bills in the bank?" Wheeler asked. "I wonder that they keep you. You don't seem to have learned to use your hands."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the rope and then began another demonstration for the mortified youth; Kennedy could not have been more hurt if he had been lashed with it. The whistle blew; the order, "Fall in!" was shouted at the head of the street.

"Quick, now! Do up your pack!" Wheeler tossed back the rope, and Kennedy made a dive into the tent where his equipment lay scattered. Hastily cramming things together, he discovered when he had his pack rolled up and fastened that he had left out the rubber poncho. In the street the men were all lined up at attention; he alone was unready. The first sergeant was calling the roll; the corporals were reporting: "Squad one?" "All present." "Squad two?" "All present." Kennedy flung on his pack and crammed his poncho under his mattress, where it would not be visible. "Squad five?" "Private Kennedy absent." "Squad six?" "All present."

Kennedy fastened his canteen to his belt, caught up his rifle and took his place in the rear rank.

He heard the corporals far down the line reporting, "All present." He alone had been delinquent. Wheeler's face seemed more forbidding than ever.

And that was why, as the company marched out for the day's work, Kennedy felt depressed. He was making a poor showing; he had won the outspoken disapproval of the man whose good opinion he most heartily desired.

Besides, he was miserable in body; nose, eyes and throat were all inflamed, the pack seemed heavier than it ought to be, and there was no early-morning enthusiasm in his legs. A glance at Wheeler's face still further depressed his spirits. He had never seen the corporal look so black, and he knew it was all on account of having such a "dub" in the squad!

It was really not on that account at all. What was troubling the corporal was a sense of his severity toward a subordinate who seemed to be doing the best he could. He was chagrined that he had been so sharp-tongued with the little fellow; he had got into the habit of thinking of Kennedy rather pityingly as "the little fellow."

All the long morning B Company was put through skirmish drill; the sun was hot, the air heavy; with all too brief intermissions the men were kept at work; running, leaping, casting themselves on their faces, and pulling the trigger and throwing the bolt of their rifles. Lying p.r.o.ne, with neck and shoulder muscles aching under the weight of the pack, Kennedy experienced the greatest discomfort, for then his nose became an abomination to him. And at those times, snuffling, coughing and gasping, he was painfully aware that to the other members of the squad, and particularly to the corporal, he must seem nothing less than a curse.

The luncheon hour afforded him a little rest. But all the afternoon there was drill on the parade ground; and at supper Kennedy was almost too tired to eat. His cold was no better, his cough was more frequent and racking, and he feared that he should be a greater nuisance to his tent mates than on the preceding night. After supper he thought he should go into the town and get some cough drops; but that was a mile walk, and before undertaking it he decided to stretch himself out on his bed for a few minutes' rest. Wheeler came up and asked him how he was feeling.

"All right, if only I don't keep you fellows awake," Kennedy croaked, grateful for the question.

"You don't sound all right. I should think you'd better see the doctor."

"Oh, I sound worse than I am."

Wheeler walked away, with a good-natured laugh that made Kennedy feel better than a cough drop could have done. It showed him that the corporal did not have an unfriendly att.i.tude toward him, and it stimulated his resolve to let the corporal see that he did not lack staying power.

For a few minutes he had been reclining on his bed, when he was horrified to hear the B Company whistle, followed by the shout, "Fall in, B Company!" When he emerged from the tent, he heard the second order that was being relayed down the street, "Fall in with the rifle and the full pack!" For a dismal moment Kennedy thought of going up to the captain and pleading unfitness for further duty. Then he gritted his teeth, slung his pack, which he had not yet unrolled, on his aching shoulders and took up his rifle. The other occupants of the tent made their appearance on the run, uttering maledictions and cries of grief and wonderment. Had not they been worked hard enough for one day! This kind of thing was an outrage!

When the company was lined up, Captain Hughes said, "B Company is ordered out to hold a section of trench against an expected night attack. Squads right!"

While the men proceeded at route step, they lamented facetiously the ordeal ahead of them. Kennedy snuffled and shuffled along, trying to keep his head up and his shoulders from drooping. He looked apprehensively at the western sky; the sun had gone down in a black cloud wrack, which was swarming higher and heavier. The sultry air was suddenly fanned by a cool wind, lightning flashed in the ma.s.s of clouds, and thunder pealed.

"Going to have a little real war this evening, I guess," observed Morrison.

"The storm may not hit us," said Wheeler.

"Everything that can will hit us to-day," replied Morrison.

By the time the company had reached the trenches, which were dug on the edge of a wide field, it was growing dark. The wind was blowing hard and flung splashes of rain into the men's faces.

Captain Hughes halted his command and called the members round him.

"This is the section that you are to defend," he said. "You see it consists of four separate front-line trenches, each just long enough and wide enough to accommodate eight men. Each front trench is connected with the second line of trenches by a short runway. Behind the second line is the shelter, or dugout, for those who are not on duty in the trenches. You will take turns in holding the front line; each squad will be relieved every fifteen minutes. The rest of you will keep under cover in the shelter-under cover from the enemy, that is." There was an uncertain ripple of laughter; the rain was beginning now to pour down.

"At what hour the attack may develop I can't tell you," continued the captain, "but it will no doubt be sometime between now and sunrise."

In the shelter, which was a large rectangular pit six feet deep, the men opened their packs and got out their ponchos-all except Kennedy, who stood looking on while his comrades proceeded to protect themselves against the now pelting rain.

Wheeler, poking his head through the opening in his poncho, saw Kennedy standing thus.

"Why don't you get out your poncho?" he asked.

"I forgot to put it in my pack."

"That's the limit, a night like this. You've got a frightful cold, too."

Wheeler pulled off the poncho that he had just put on. "Get into this and keep yourself as dry as you can."

"No, I wouldn't think of taking your--"

"You're under orders now, and you'll take what your corporal tells you."

Wheeler thrust the rubber garment over his subordinate's head. "There you are; I don't want to feel responsible for your having pneumonia."

Then, as Captain Hughes called, "Squad leaders, gather round!" Wheeler moved away to receive instructions.

Seating himself cross-legged, Kennedy arranged the poncho as well as he could over his rifle. The rain came down in sheets, poured from the brims of hats, formed puddles on the ground, oozed through trousers and boots and leggings. By the occasional lightning flashes Kennedy could see the group of corporals holding conference with the captain near by; he could see the huddled forms of the privates like himself, the ponchos s.h.i.+ning on their shoulders, the pools glistening at their feet.

In a few moments the conference broke up; then Captain Hughes raised his voice sharply.

"Mr. Wheeler, where is your poncho?"

"I haven't got it, sir."