But now, after breakfast, everyone is cussing. “What are we to wear?” asked Knudsen of the first sergeant, who answered snappily, “The usual things for a hike.” Knudsen came back grumbling: “How were we to know that we are going on a hike?” The word was passed along: “Packs,” “No packs.” “Sweaters,” “No sweaters.” Then it was said that we were to wear handkerchiefs in our hats, sure sign of a sham battle pending. So at last at the whistle we turned out with sweaters, packs, ponchos ready (for though it had stopped raining we did not feel safe) and some of us with handkerchiefs twined in our hat-bands. Once in line we were sent back—“No packs, no rifles.” Again we came out and lined up again, only to be sent back once more. “No sweaters.” By this time it was rumored that we were at last to take the oath, and this was confirmed by the sight of the captain carrying a bunch of slips, containing the oath, which in the last few days we have filled out, and yesterday had signed. The men both grumbled and joked. “We can’t take the oath with sweaters on? Why not?” “Got on woollen underwear? Get cotton. You can’t take the oath in wool.” So at last we were in line again, and then the captain began to look through the slips. “Here’s a man written his name twice differently. Make out a new slip.—Here’s a lot of men have signed with lead pencil. It’s got to be in ink or indelible pencil.” Here he was met by a lawyer, who had signed in pencil, and said, “A pencil signature is valid.” “Not here,” said the captain, sticking to the regulations, and the slips had to be changed.
When we were ready we were marched to the flag, where the company was drawn up on three sides of a square. The major then said—
—I must break this off to describe what is going on, which is too interesting to ignore. For the second time this afternoon we are shut up in the dark tent, everyone having fled before a pelting shower. We were first aligned for calisthenics, but were dismissed on account of Shower No. 1, a driving rain that lasted half an hour. Now we were just ready for parade—think what it would have been on that slimy, soggy ground!—when the approach of Shower No. 2 sent us all to cover. It is pelting furiously; Pickle and Knudsen, with the intrenching tools which luckily were served out to us this afternoon, are digging frantically to keep the water away from their suit-cases. Through the tied flaps of the doorway Clay has been yelling at Squad Nine, our opposite neighbors, and there is the greatest joy and confusion. Knudsen having finished his job, is jeering at Pickle, who had promised to be first. And now he has taken Pickle in hand, and is showing him his mistakes. It is thundering and lightening. “I don’t see,” says David with slow wonderment, “how it can rain much harder.” Now Knudsen, at the door, imitates the first sergeant’s whistle and alarms our neighbors, who peer anxiously out. “Corporals, get your men out!” cries he, laughing heartily as the others consult. “They look like a bunch of dogs,” says he, “with their heads sticking out of their kennels.” Now it slackens, I hear laughter in the street, and in comes a neighbor. “Boys, it’s a scream! There’s four inches of water in the next two tents. Their baggage is all afloat.”
(Later.) The rain slackening just then, out we all swarmed, the whole street becoming alive with men, who with shouts crowded toward the great puddle which completely filled the breadth of the street, and had flooded tents Four and Six. Looking into these, I saw the glimmer of lantern-light reflected on water, the beds moved about and piled with baggage. The sandy soil can drain an ordinary shower, but this was too heavy, and there was but one thing to try. Yelling, some fifteen men got out their intrenching tools and began to dig a ditch to lead the water off to the field below. At first I thought they could not do it, for the ridge was at least two feet above the level of the puddle. But leaving enough earth to form a dam, the men in a line so vigorously worked the strong little shovels that in scarcely more than five minutes they were ready to break down the dam. They broke it, the water came pouring through, and with cheers the men kept the channel clear. With great brooms the men of tents Four and Six swept out their domiciles, other men dug the channel deeper, still others on the further slope kept the flood from the other tents, and as we formed for supper (the two parts of the company on the two sides of the dividing puddle) the lake was more than half drained away. By the time we came back from mess the puddle was clean gone, and the captain was devising means to get the men of tents Four and Six in dry quarters for the night.
And now to take up my narrative, earlier broken off.—The major, as we were assembled for the oath, said a few words in explanation of it, then read it aloud, while we stood with hats off and right hands raised, before the flag. At the end each man said “I do!” and then one by one we acknowledged our signatures on our slips. So I am now enlisted in the army of the United States, bound to obey the President and the Secretary of War, and entirely at the mercy of our superior officers.
But they have been merciful to us today in sparing us two soakings, and I have had my own personal share. While we were standing, waiting for the major to come and give us the oath, the captain’s eye fell on me. Evidently he pondered for a moment, then he beckoned me out of the ranks. Said he, “I thought you weren’t to take the oath.” I answered, “I have always meant to take it, sir.” “Oh,” said he, “then I was misinformed. Well, that is what prevented me from making you sub-squad-leader, and I’ll do it today. Just say nothing about it beforehand.” So I saluted and stepped back. When we were lined up in the company street again (having first put our sweaters on by our own decision, and then having taken them off by order of the major, who presently took us to regimental drill on the parade ground) the lieutenant announced, “Mr. Godwin will be sub-squad-leader in Squad Eight.” So I dropped back into the rear rank, my rear-rank man took my place, Reardon gave place to me, and the other men moved to numbers two and one. In that order we drilled, and good Reardon showed me his duties. To make sure that the change is permanent, Bannister asked the captain, and here I am installed in a very minor office.
I am out of the front rank now, but the parades, which it is interesting to watch, are all over, and I shall get acquainted with still another set of our neighbors. On the hike I shall still march on the outside of the column, which gives some freedom of action, and as Knudsen contends, better air. Reardon is very nice about the change; the boys all recognize it as coming from my bluff at giving orders. Yet Reardon showed, as I drill beside him today, that he knows more of the business than I do.
Bannister shook his fist at me. “Consarn ye,” (he imitates the farmer to perfection) “yer shan’t git my job!”
“Coming strong!” I answered.
Knudsen, with the energy and tact which characterize him, has reorganized the squad on the basis of this change of mine, moving the men about so that he has David as his rear rank man, which means that they sleep in the same tent on the hike, and that Knudsen still has the boy in charge. Of course Bannister agreed to it all. He and I shall tent together.