I began to shiver all over. I hadn’t the least idea what I was supposed to do to a Sergeant Major. I started to salute but for once Leon thought faster than I; when he jammed his elbow into my ribs, I managed a foolish grin.
But the Sergeant Major was staring at us and before we had passed him, he said, in a very friendly tone of voice, “Sorry as hell about the pass, Canwick. I know you wanted it pretty badly.”
I waited for Leon to say something, then suddenly—realized that it was I he was addressing, so I spoke up, saying with a grin of thanks, “Oh—that’s all right, Sergeant. Guess I’ll live through it.” I stopped and looked at Leon, who had turned his face away. “By the way, Sergeant,” I offered, “I’d like to introduce you to my twin brother.”
“Surely—glad to meet you.” And he shook hands with Leon before the other could realize what was going on. Then he added with a laugh, “I thought you looked a lot alike.”
We all smiled then and I finally tore us away after remarking that my twin had come down to drive me home, not knowing that I couldn’t get away. The sergeant-major said “Sorry” again and we separated—I, with a huge sigh of relief and not a little pride in my ability as a mime.
Well, we didn’t lose any more time, but hurried to the car and out of the camp. About a quarter of a mile away, I got out, said good-by to Esky, told Leon not to fail to get back by to-morrow evening, and waved after them as they rolled away toward Wakeham. Esky acted as if he were going crazy. He barked and squirmed and yapped, and I guess he had Leon about crazy by the time they got home.
While walking back to the camp gate, I tried every kind of mental exercise to make myself think and act like Private Canwick, U.S.A. By the time I got to the man who took my pass, I was stepping along like a regular soldier, although my heart skipped about a dozen beats when the guard looked me up and down as he took my pass.
Once within, however, my self-confidence came back and I wandered aimlessly around the camp for an hour or more, familiarizing myself with the location of the main buildings. I visited the Camp Headquarters and stopped at the Y.M.C.A. Hut, where I purchased some of the stationery for a souvenir of this unusual adventure. I enjoyed my tour of inspection immensely and took real delight in saluting every officer I met. This was certainly a pleasure; every time I saluted, I looked straight at the officer and said, under my breath, “O Mister, if you only knew!” It was great fun.
The whole situation struck me as being exceedingly comical—and exceedingly unique. I have heard and read of many kinds of disguises, of royalty incognito, of masked heroes and heroines in many kinds of romance and adventure. I’ve read somewhere, in French and Italian literature, about lovers who carried on their amours in disguise, and about men and women who figured prominently in war and politics under assumed names and behind disguised faces. Medieval legends come to mind, fanciful tales of heroism by knights in deceiving armor, and of fair ladies who entertained paramours behind mysterious masks. Joan of Arc slept with an army, but she was known as a girl by all her soldier comrades. They say that there was a fighting outfit composed of Russian women and known as The Battalion of Death, but these soldiers were known as women also. There have been any number of modern stories and plays with plots depending upon the use of masks, veils, disguises and aliases; duels have been fought by women in men’s clothing; and there was a famous duelist named Chevalier d’Eon, who dressed as a woman every time he appeared in Paris—because the King had banished him from Paris—and he had been the recipient of love favors from many courtiers, who thought he really was a woman. There has from time immemorial been something very alluring and intriguing about masks and disguises. They have been used for every conceivable purpose.
Yet I can’t think of a single situation similar to the one in which I found myself. It is one thing for a man to dress as a woman—nothing very dangerous in that. It’s not unusual for women to join with men in the army, as long as they remain women and are known as women. But it’s quite another thing, a very different and very unusual thing for a girl to be in the United States Army without anyone knowing about it. In this particular case, of course, there wasn’t any real danger; but the situation remained very intriguing. On the face of it, my position was far more perilous than that of a woman soldier who is known as a woman—but, at the same time, far more enjoyable, for to be a woman among men without the men’s knowing it is decidedly interesting, and has many intriguing possibilities. I thought this about the nearest I’d ever come to being able to enjoy the liberties and privileges of men, and I tried to exercise my mind appreciatively.