At Plattsburg Part 13

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 G.o.dWIN 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 was.h.i.+ng 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, cas.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+rt 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. s.h.i.+rt (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 G.o.d, 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.

d.i.c.k.

VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER FRANCES

Plattsburg, Monday the 25th.