About two weeks later I find the same sergeant on guard. Having no fear because of his previous familiarity, I beg to be allowed to spend an hour on the porch of the guard-house, as he had once permitted. But as soon as I arrived there, he declares he gave me permission simply that he might put me under arrest. I beg for mercy: “Do please let the baby go home, and don’t arrest her!”
“Hand out a ten dollar bill and you can go home. I won’t have you writing such letters to me as you did. Just for one sentence you wrote to Sergeant V you could be imprisoned: ‘I am a woman entombed in the body of a man.’ How can you write such things?”
“You cannot complain of the letters I write to you when you have used to me the indecent language you have. I won’t pay you anything. You have used language to me ten times as bad as I have ever used to you.”
Psychical Infantilism.
He gradually lowers his demand to two dollars, but I did not have the amount with me. He orders me to lay on the table all the money I have, and it is pocketed by one of the soldiers standing by.
After some time, I felt reassured, and began to act the part of a baby, hoping to put them in a good humor so they would allow me to depart unharmed. Like a four-year old, I beg and pout to enlist so I “can give the soldiers their bread and make their beds.” I pout “to be let in to see the sleeping beauties,” meaning the soldiers who were in bed in the guard-house. I complain of being sleepy, and sob to be given a bed in the room with the sleeping guard. Artillerymen are repeatedly passing, some of whom tease me rather roughly, pulling my hair, etc. I supplicated: “Do please let me go home and don’t hurt me. I am half an invalid and can’t stand much.”
“You’ll be a whole invalid before you get out of here tonight.”
“Really I am a semi-invalid. I look well, but eunuchs always look fat and well, even when they are sick.”
After I had been detained about an hour, the soldier “Murphy” happens to pass, one of the most burly and roughest in the post. He tries several times to see if he can lift me off my feet by my hair, and though I adore him, I call out just for effect: “You horrible soldier!” He took me seriously. I suddenly felt myself being carried rapidly somewhere. He bore me to the gate of the reservation, and pitched me out on the road. Then he kicked me along for a few feet, crying out for me to get along home, while I was screaming in fright.
Interview with Colonel.