“But, Jim,” said my aunt dolefully, “We are in Sister Emily’s place. Would she consent if she were here?”
I felt that I had won over Uncle Jim, for when he said, “Well, Josephine, we will talk it over,” I knew that his mind was made up.
So the next morning at breakfast—uncle slowly and deliberately said, “Your aunt and I have been considering about giving our consent to your enlistment.” And then, after a long pause, “If you are still of the same mind, you may go. I understand that there will be a draft here—and you might have to go finally anyway—an’ to be made to do a thing isn’t pleasant, as you say, for a Stark.” So it was settled. I was to go.
CHAPTER IV
WITH THE COLORS
A few weeks later I had enlisted in the Infantry and, with other recruits, among whom was Sam Jenkins, arrived at one of the training camps.
Its size astonished me. It was a city of barracks. Broad streets designated by letters, with each barrack numbered, stretched out in endless succession, covering hundreds of acres and miles in length and breadth.
On being assigned to barracks, we drew our “property,” including uniform, blankets, sweaters, and other equipments, usually issued to a “rookie,” besides a rifle and its belongings.
I had supposed that the life of a soldier in camp was one of comparative leisure, but there is where I made a mistake—a delusion common to the uninitiated. Our duties, or work, seemed unending. There was a rule to fit every hour of the day.
Reveille calls the rookie out of bed. Then after putting on his uniform he takes a position near the line and, at the first sergeant’s command of “Fall in” takes his place and assumes the first position of a soldier—which means, heels on the same line, toes turning outward, chest out, body thrown forward, thumbs at the seams of his trousers, legs straight, but not stiff, and the weight of the body resting lightly upon the soles of his feet.