Uncle Sam's Boys as Sergeants: or, Handling Their First Real Commands

Bang-bang!

"Now we know it's Sergeant Overton out there," announced Lieutenant Prescott. Then he turned to Noll.

"Sergeant Terry, you're in charge. What are you going to do about it?"

CHAPTER XVII
BIG GAME AND A NIGHT IN CAMP

"IT'S a bad time to follow through the woods," remarked Corporal Cotter. "There goes the sun behind the tops."

"It'll be dark within five or six minutes more," said Noll. "If Hal Overton is running about in the woods, I think the best thing to do will be to run two lanterns up to the tree top, so that Overton can locate the camp. Then, if he's in any further difficulty, he'll fire the rifle signal. What do you think, lieutenant?"

"Nothing," replied Mr. Prescott promptly. "You're in temporary command here, Sergeant Terry."

"Run up the camp lights, Johnson," Noll directed.

These lights, a red and a green one, were quickly run up on halyards to almost the top of a tall fir tree.

It was quickly dark, but camp now waited to learn the meaning of so many shots.

"Hey, there's Dinkelspiel's Comet let loose in the sky!" announced Private Johnson.

"Wrong! It's Overton waving a torch from a tree top," returned Noll, studying the flame sweeps of the distant torch that waved. "Johnson get hold of the halyards and raise and lower the lanterns two or three times to let Sergeant Overton know that we see his signal."

The distant signalman now began waving his torch from right to left, following the regular code.

"Send – here – all – men – can – spare," read Sergeant Terry, following the torch's movements with his eyes. "Will – signal – time – to – time – till – men – arrive. Overton."

"He must be in trouble," cried Hyman.

"No; he's struck game," retorted Noll. "Johnson, raise and lower the lanterns three times to show Sergeant Overton that his signal has been read. Now, then, we'll all get out there on a hike – a fast hike. But we'll have to leave some one here who can read further signals. Lieutenant, do you mind, sir, watching further signals?"

"Why, yes," agreed young Mr. Prescott, laughing, "if you feel that I'll be of no use on the hike. But if you asked me what I'd like, I'd rather go with you."

"Very good, sir. Corporal Hyman, you will remain here and watch for further signals. Kelly and Slosson, of course, will stay by the supper. The rest – forward!"

"Guns, Sergeant?" called one of the men.

"Two of you bring rifles, in case of trouble. The rest had better be unencumbered. Forward."

Having located his bunkie's direction, Noll had little difficulty in finding the way. Most of the time they were within sight of the torch that moved from time to time.

"Hel-lo, bun-kie!" hailed Noll when the party was within an eighth of a mile of the tree.

"Hello! Glad you're here."

From the subsequent movements of the torch the approaching party knew that Overton was going down the tree. Then they saw him coming over the ground.

"What's up?" hailed Noll.

"Nothing. I've just come down," retorted Sergeant Hal.

"What have you been doing?"

"Killing game," replied Sergeant Overton, as he headed toward them.

"What kind?"

"How much?"

"All you'll want to lug back," chuckled Sergeant Hal gleefully. "Come on, now, and I'll show you. You see," Sergeant Hal continued, as the party joined him, "I got a sight at a fine antelope buck to windward and only four hundred yards away. I brought him down the first shot."

"Oh, come now, Sarge!" teased Private Johnson.

"I fired two shots, but the first toppled him," insisted Hal. "Come, look here."

Hal Overton halted under the trees, pointing with his torch.

It was certainly a fine, sleek, heavy buck to which Hal pointed.

"But you didn't need all of us to carry it in, did you?" demanded one of the men.

"Not exactly," laughed Hal happily. "Swing on to the buck, a couple of you, and come along. I'll tell you the rest. Just after I fired the second shot I heard a growl close to me. Less than a hundred yards away I heard a sound of paws moving toward me. Then I saw him. There he is."

Sergeant Overton's torch now lit up the carcass of a dead brown bear, one of the biggest that any of them had ever seen.

"And right behind him," went on Hal, "was Mrs. Bruin. I can tell you, my nerve was beginning to ooze. But I fired – and here's the lady bear."

Sergeant Hal led his soldier friends to the second bear carcass.

"But it wasn't more than a second or two later," laughed Hal, though some of the soldiers now noticed the quiver in his voice, "that I began to think some one had locked me in with a menagerie and turned the key loose. Just beyond were a he-bear and two more females, and they were plainly some mad and headed toward me."

"Whew!" whistled Lieutenant Prescott. "What did you do?"

"Shook with the buck fever," admitted the boyish sergeant, with a laugh. "I'm not joking, either. I didn't expect to get back to camp alive, for it was growing dark in here under the trees, and I knew I couldn't depend on my shooting. I'm almost afraid I closed my eyes as I fired and kept firing. But, anyway – "

Hal stopped, holding his torch so as to show the carcass of another male bear. Not many yards away lay two females.

"An antelope and five bears!" gasped Lieutenant Prescott. "Sergeant Overton, you've qualified for the sharpshooter class in two minutes!"

"I don't claim any credit for the last three bears," insisted Hal. "I simply don't know how I hit 'em. It wasn't marksmanship, anyway."

"Nonsense!" spoke Prescott almost sharply. "It was clever shooting and uncommonly brave work."

"Brave, sir?" retorted Hal, laughingly. "Lieutenant, do you note how my teeth are still chattering? I'm shaking all over, still, for that matter."

"Talk until morning light comes, and you can't throw any discredit either on your shooting or your nerve, Sergeant Overton. If you won't take a young officer's word for it," answered Mr. Prescott, "then ask any of the old, buck doughboys in this outfit."

"It's a job an old hunter'd brag about," glowed one of the soldiers.

Forgetting, for the time, their hunger, the men wandered from one carcass to another, examining them to see where the hits had been made.

"If you men are not going to get together soon, to pick up these animals, I'll have to tote 'em all myself," Prescott reminded them. "Terry, will you swing on under this bear with me?"

The two managed to raise it.

"Here, Lieutenant, that's not for you to do," remonstrated Sergeant Overton. "Let me take hold of your end."

"I'm not a weakling, thank you," retorted Mr. Prescott. "I'll do my share, and I recommend you to proclaim that any man who doesn't do his share doesn't eat to-night. But as for you, Sergeant Overton, I shall have a bad opinion of this outfit if they let you carry anything more than your rifle back to camp this night."

And that motion was carried unanimously. Sergeant Hal was forced to go ahead as guide, while the others, the lieutenant included, buckled manfully to their burdens.

Not infrequently they had to halt and rest, for the carcasses were fearfully heavy, even for men as toughened as regulars.

Yet, finally, they did manage to get Hal's prizes back to camp.

"Another day or two like this, and we needn't be ashamed to face the men back at Clowdry," observed Lieutenant Prescott complacently. "Six bears and a buck antelope in one day is no fool work, even if one man did do it all."

"But you killed the bear this morning, sir," urged Sergeant Hal.

"Yes, Sergeant; after you had fired the first shot and had crippled the beast so that it couldn't get away from me."

Not even to gloat over the big haul of game, however, could the men wait any longer for their long-deferred evening meal.

There was a general washup, after which the entire party went to table.

Lieutenant Prescott permitted one concession to his rank. He sat at table with the enlisted men, but he had one end of the board all to himself.

Two ruddy campfires now shed their glow over the table. It was a rough scene, but one full of the sheer joy of outdoor, manly life.

"I hope, Kelly, that the long wait hasn't encouraged to-night's bear meat to dry up in the pans," remarked the lieutenant pleasantly.

"No fear o' that, sir," replied the soldier cook. "Instead, the meat had simmered so long in its own juices that a thin pewter fork would pick it to pieces."

"How much meat is there?" asked Private Johnson, whereat all the men laughed as happily as schoolboys on a picnic.

"Never ye fear, glutton," retorted Kelly. "There's more meat than any seventeen giants in the fairy tales could ever eat at one sitting."

And then on it came – great hunks of roast bear meat, flanked with browned potatoes and gravy; flaky biscuits, huge pats of butter, bowls heaped with canned vegetables. Pots of steaming coffee passed up and down the table.

Hunters in the wilds get back close to nature, and have the appetites of savages. These men around the camp table ate, every man of them, twice as much as he could have eaten back at company mess at Fort Clowdry.

Then, to top it all, came more coffee and mince pie in abundance. Nor did these hardy hunters, after climbing the mountain trails all day, fear the nightmare. Their stomachs were fitted to digest anything edible!

It was over at last, and pipes came out here and there, though not all of the soldiers smoked.

Hal Overton was one of those who did not smoke. He had brought out his rubber poncho and a blanket, and had placed these on the frosty ground at some distance from one of the campfires.

"You are looking rather thoughtful, Sergeant," observed Lieutenant Prescott, strolling over to Overton. "I hope I am not interrupting any train of thought."

"No, sir."

"May I sit down beside you?"

"Certainly, sir."

Sergeant Hal moved over, making plenty of room on his blanket. Officer and non-com. stretched themselves out comfortably, each resting on one elbow.

"Nevertheless, Sergeant," continued Mr. Prescott, "you were thinking of something very particular when I came along."

"I was just thinking, sir, how jolly this life is, and for that matter, how jolly everything connected with the Army is. I was wondering why so many young fellows let their earlier manhood slip by without finding out what an ideal place the Army is."

"But what is especially jolly just now, Sergeant," replied the lieutenant, "is the hunting. Now, men don't have to enter the Army in order to have all the hunting they want."

"But we're drawing our pay while here," returned Overton. "And we are having our expenses paid, too. The man in civil life doesn't get that. If he hunts, he must do it at his own expense. Then there's another point, sir. In the case of the average hunting party of men from civil life it must be hard to find a lot of really good fellows, who'll keep their good nature all through the hardships of camping. For instance, where, in civil life, could you get together seventeen fellows, all of them as fine fellows and as agreeable as we have here? But I beg the lieutenant's pardon. I didn't intend to include him as one of the crowd, for the rest are all enlisted men."

"I want to be considered one of the crowd," replied the young officer simply.

"But you're not an enlisted man, sir."

"No; but I've cast my lot with the Army for life, and so, I trust, have most of you enlisted men. Therefore we all belong together, though not all can be officers. For that matter, I imagine there are a good many men in the ranks of our battalion who wouldn't care to be officers. Many soldiers are of a happy-go-lucky type, and wouldn't care to burden themselves with an officer's responsibilities. Yet I certainly want to be, as far as good discipline will permit, one of the crowd along with all good, staunch and loyal soldiers, whatever their grades of rank may be."

This was seeing the commissioned officer of Uncle Sam's Army in a somewhat different light, even to one as keen and observing as Hal Overton.

In garrison life it is very seldom that the enlisted man gets a real glimpse of the "man side" of the officer. The requirements of military discipline are such that officers and enlisted men do not often mingle on any terms of equality. This fact, as far as the American Army goes, is based on the military experience of ages that, when officers and men mingle on terms of too much equality, discipline suffers sadly. It is this intimacy of officers and men that keeps many National Guard organizations from reaching greater efficiency.

Men have served through a whole term of enlistment in the regular Army without realizing how friendly a really good and capable officer always feels toward the really good enlisted men under his command. The captain of a company, is, in effect, the father of his company, and his time must be spent largely in looking after the actual welfare and happiness of his men. In this work the captain's lieutenants are his assistants.

Soon the night grew much colder in this high altitude. Now the wood was heaped on one fire, and around this blazing pile soldiers sat or stretched themselves on blankets and ponchos. It is at such a time that the soldier's yarns crop up. Story after story of the military life was told. All in good time Lieutenant Prescott contributed his share, from anecdotes of the old days at West Point.

Then it became so late that Sergeant Hal announced that Johnson and Dietz would have the camp detail for the day following. This meant, also, that Johnson and Dietz would therefore divide between them the duty of watching over the camp through the night.

It was Johnson who took the first trick of the watch, while the others turned in in their tents.

Holding his rifle across his knees, mainly as a matter of form, Johnson sat down by the campfire, while his drowsy comrades turned in in their tents and slept the sleep of the strong in that clear, crisp Colorado air.

CHAPTER XVIII
HOLDING UP A CAMP GUARD

HALF an hour before daylight was due everyone in the camp was stirring.

The two new cooks for the day had their work cut out for them. Other soldiers busied themselves with hauling wood and water.

Then, too, the four horses belonging to the transport wagons had to be curried, watered and fed.

By the time these first duties were out of the way broad daylight had come and breakfast was ready.

The meal over "police," or cleaning up, was performed as carefully as in barracks.

The hunters were now ready to set out, for, in the meantime, the antelope and bears killed the afternoon before had been skinned and the meat hung up in the dry, cool air.

"Anybody in this outfit been wearing moccasins?" queried Corporal Hyman, strolling back into camp.

No one admitted it.

"Then we've been having visitors in the night," continued Hyman. "No less than four of them, either, for the prints are right under that tree over there, and they lead down to the trail."

"Moccasins? Indians, then?" thrilled Private William Green, who was one of the hunting party.

"Sorry to spoil your dream of glory in an Indian fight, Green," laughed the lieutenant, "but the last Indian in these parts died years ago."

"But what can the moccasins mean?" pondered Sergeant Hal aloud. "If there have been visitors about, and honest ones, they would naturally let themselves be announced. Dietz, you had the last trick of watch?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Did you see or hear any prowlers?"

"Nary one, Sergeant."

"Corporal Hyman, take me over to the moccasin prints. Lieutenant, do you mind taking a look at them, too, sir?"

Mr. Prescott stepped over in the wake of Hyman and Overton.

"There are the prints," declared the corporal, pointing. "On account of the hard ground they're not very distinct, but there were four of the fellows."

"More likely five," supplemented Lieutenant Prescott, pointing to still another set of footmarks.

"Here are other prints over here," called Sergeant Overton. "Aren't these still a different set?"

"Yes," agreed both the lieutenant and Corporal Hyman.

"Then there were at least six men prowling about here while we slept in the night," concluded Hal.

"And here is one of the trails," called the lieutenant, "leading toward camp."

"Suppose we follow the trail?" suggested the young sergeant.

They did so, halting at the end of the trail.

"From here I can see where the stool of the guard rested near the fire," continued Overton. "From that it would seem fair to conclude that one of the prowlers got this far, found our guard awake, and then retired."

"It would be interesting to know who our visitors were," nodded Lieutenant Prescott.

"I've changed my mind about going hunting to-day," went on Sergeant Hal. "While the rest of you are out after game I am going to remain right here."

"The camp is guarded by two reliable men," remarked Mr. Prescott.

"True enough, sir, but they're not real guards, for both will have their hands full with camp housework," objected the boyish sergeant. "They can't do real guard duty, or else we'd all have to turn to get the evening meal in a rush. So I've decided to remain behind to-day."

"And, on the whole, I think you're wise to do it, Sergeant," approved the lieutenant.

So, while the main party hied itself away soon after, Hal Overton remained behind with the two camp duty men.

Having a couple of good books in his tent, Sergeant Hal donned his olive tan Army overcoat, spread a poncho and a pair of blankets on the ground and lay down to read.

But his rifle and ammunition belt rested beside him.

The morning passed without any event, other than two or three times Sergeant Overton paused long enough in his reading to do some brief scouting past the camp.

Nothing came of it, however. At noon Hal ate with Dietz and Johnson.

"The chuck is better back in camp," laughed the young sergeant. "But I've heard a gun half a dozen times this morning, and each time I've been curious to know how the hunting luck is running."

"Nobody will beat the haul you made yesterday, Sarge," offered Private Dietz.

"Oh, I'd like to see several of the fellows beat it," rejoined Overton. "I certainly hope to see both wagons go back loaded to the top with game. I don't want to have the only military command I ever enjoyed being the head of go back stumped."

"We're not stumped, with five bear carcasses," hinted Private Johnson.

"Those carcasses might afford two meat meals to the garrison," speculated Sergeant Overton. "But what we want to do is to take back so much game flesh that no man in Fort Clowdry will want to hear game meat mentioned again before next spring."

"Huh! By that time the old Thirty-fourth will probably be in the Philippines," retorted Dietz, forking eight ounces more of wood-broiled bear steak to his tin plate.

"I wonder!" cried Hal, his eyes blazing with eagerness.

"Crazy to get out to the islands, Sarge?"

"Humph! I put in three years there with the Thirty-fourth," grunted Dietz. "I'll never kick at a transfer to another regiment whenever the regiment I'm in gets the islands route."

"What have you against the Philippines?" Hal wanted to know.

"Well, Sarge, don't you enjoy this cool, crisp, bracing air up here in the hills?"

"Certainly. Who wouldn't? This air is bracing – life-giving."

"Nothing like it in the Philippines," answered Dietz. "It's hot there – hot, you understand."

"Yet I've been told that a soldier always needs his blankets there at night," objected Hal.

"Yes; if you have to sleep outdoors, then you need your full uniform on, including shoes and leggings, and you wrap yourself up tight in your blanket. But that isn't to keep warm; it's to keep the mosquitoes from eating you alive. So, after you get done up in your blanket, you put a collapsible mosquito net over your head to protect your face and neck. Then there's a trick you have to learn of wrapping your hands in under your blanket in such a way that the skeeters can't follow inside. After you've been in the islands a few weeks you learn how to do yourself up so that the skeeters can't get at your flesh."

"Then that ought to be all right," smiled Hal hopefully.

"Yes; but you never heard a Filipino skeeter holler when he's mad. When they find they can't get at you then about four thousand settle on your net and blanket and sing all night. You've got to be fagged out before you can sleep over the racket those little pests make."

"I guess the whole trick can be learned," predicted Overton.

"The night trick can be learned after a while," agreed Dietz. "But, in the daytime, there's nothing that can be done to protect you. You simply have to suffer. Then the hot days! Why, Sarge, I've marched north up the tracks of the Manila & Dagupan railroad, carrying fifty pounds of weight, on days when the sun sure beat down on us at the rate of a hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit."

"Yet you're alive, now," observed Overton.

"Oh, yes; just as it happens."

"But surely there's some marching in the shade, too?"

"Oh, yes; sometimes you spend the whole day, everyday for a fortnight, hiking through the dense jungles after a gang of bolomen or Moros or ladrones. Shade enough there in the jungle, but it has a Turkish bath beaten to a plum finish. You drip, drip, drip with perspiration, until you'd give a week's pay to be out in the sun for ten minutes with a chance to get dried off."

"I'm going to like it, just the same," retorted Hal. "I know I am. And, if the natives put up any real trouble for us, then we'll see some actual service. That's what a very young soldier always aches for, you know, Dietz."

"Yes, and it's sure fun fighting those brown-skinned little Filipino goo-goos," grunted the older soldier. "First they fire on you, and then you and your comrades lie down and fire back. After you've had a few men hit the order comes to charge. Then you all rise and rush forward, cheering like the Fourth of July. You have to go through some tall grass on the way, and, first thing you know, a parcel of hidden bolo men jump up right in front of you. They use their bolos – heavy knives – to slit you open at the belt line. Ugh! I'd sooner fight five men with guns than step on one of those bolo men in the jungle!"

"Just the same," voiced the young sergeant, "the sooner the Thirty-fourth is ordered to the island the better I'll like it. I'm wild to see some of the high foreign spots."

"Wish I could give you all the chances that are coming to me in my service in the Army," grunted Private Dietz, as he rose from the table.

The afternoon was one of harder work for the two camp duty men. Hal tried to read again, but found his thoughts too frequently wandering to the Philippines.

The afternoon waxed late, at last, though still there was no sign of the hunters. Once in a while a gun had been heard at some distance, and that was all.

All the time Sergeant Hal had trailed his rifle about camp with him. Now, tiring of reading, he went to his tent, standing his rifle against the front tent pole.

Hearing a swift step the young sergeant reached the tent flap in time to see a roughly-dressed, moccasined white man running away with Hal's Army rifle.

Then, in the same instant, he heard a voice call:

"Throw your hands up there, man!"

"Holding me up with my own gun, are you?" raged Private Dietz.

"Yes; and we've got the other chap's lead-piece, too. Up with your hands, both of you."

Hal dropped back behind the flap of his tent, peering out through a little crack in the canvas.

There were now seven men outside, all strangers, all rough-looking and all moccasined.

Between them they had the three rifles belonging in camp that day.

"Bring out that other fellow, the kid sergeant," commanded the same voice, after Dietz and Johnson, hopelessly surprised, had hoisted their hands skyward.

"Humph!" growled Sergeant Hal, his eyes snapping. "I don't like the idea of surrendering the camp that I command!"