CHAPTER XX
PROMOTION FLIES IN THE AIR
A FEW days later the court-martial was convened at Fort Clowdry.
In the cases of the three "solitaries" the evidence was speedily in.
With the evidence furnished by Hal, Noll, Hyman and others, the accused delinquents were found guilty.
At the trial there had come another surprise. Evidence had just been forwarded from the recruiting office where Dowley had enlisted. This evidence showed that Frank Dowley was a highly respected man in his own part of the country, but he had left home and gone hundreds of miles away for new employment.
The prisoner who stood before the court as Dowley was Frederick Cramp in his own proper name, and had served a term in jail for robbery. Cramp had a generally bad reputation. Finding himself closely pursued by the sheriff's officers for a newly committed crime, Cramp had seized upon the inspiration to enter the Army under the assumed name of Dowley. In the ranks he believed that none of the pursuing officers would think of looking for him.
The references of the supposed Dowley had come back from the home town with such splendid endorsement that the enlisting officer had imagined that he had found a most satisfactory recruit in Frederick Cramp.
It is likely that the deceit would never have been discovered, had not Frank Dowley – the real one – lately returned to his home town. He had been astounded when his friends had questioned him about Army life, and, on hearing the news, had hastened to the nearest recruiting office, from which this strange story had come to be laid before the court-martial just in time to punish the culprit.
"Dowley" was sentenced to be dishonorably dismissed from the service, with forfeiture of pay and allowances, to serve one year at a military prison and then to be turned over to the civil authorities for such further punishment as might develop.
Corporal Minturn, too, was sentenced to be dismissed from the service, and to serve one year at a military prison.
Private Bill Hooper got off with simple dismissal.
Then the prisoners were sent back to the guard house until the findings and sentences had been passed upon and signed by the department commander.
A week later the papers were returned with the endorsement of the brigadier general commanding the department.
Dowley, Hooper and Minturn left under guard the same day.
"They're all generals now," mimicked Private Hyman.
"Generals?" queried Noll.
"Yes; general prisoners."
"Bill Hooper will be on the retired list when he reaches Denver, anyway," smiled Hal. "Having no stretch to serve, he's to be turned loose when the guard reaches that city."
The morning after, as Colonel North sat in his office at headquarters, an orderly entered and handed him a telegram.
"Orderly!" called the colonel crisply two minutes later.
A young soldier of the guard stepped in, saluting and standing at attention.
"Orderly, my compliments to Captain Cortland, and ask him to attend me here as soon as possible."
Five minutes later B Company's commander entered and saluted.
"Take a seat, Cortland," urged the older man. "I have a telegram here that will interest you. It's from the senior surgeon at department military hospital. Corporal Hapgood, of your company, who was sent there for treatment, died yesterday. A very bad case of typhoid had developed."
"Then poor Hapgood won't be sent back here for burial, sir?"
"No; the dispatch says that the corporal is being buried there to-day."
"I'm sorry for Hapgood," said Captain Cortland solemnly, a slight break in his voice. "He was a man, every inch of him, and a fine soldier with big promise for the future. I have his mother's address, and I will write her. But the best kind of letter will seem a poor substitute for a son in the case of that lonely old mother. He was all she had."
"The mother will be able to draw a pension of twelve dollars a month for the rest of her life, then," replied the colonel. "That is something, even if not as good as having a live son to comfort her."
"Yes; the pension will be assured," mused Captain Cortland.
"By the way, Cortland, you are now shy on two corporals in your company."
"Yes, Colonel; I was about to speak of that to you."
"Whom do you want appointed in their places?"
The colonel of a regiment appoints all non-commissioned officers in his regiment; he also "breaks," or reduces them to the ranks at his pleasure, if any need comes up.
But, though the colonel has the appointive power, he always consults with the commander of a company about any new appointments of non-coms. in that company.
"I have several good men who are entitled to appointment," replied Captain Cortland slowly.
"Then you haven't made up your mind?"
"I can, easily, sir, if you wish it."
"I am thinking, captain, only of the fact that, if the appointments be not promptly made you will run very short on corporals," replied the colonel.
"There's Hyman, sir, and Conrad. Both are bright, attentive soldiers. Then there are Overton and Terry. They're quite new men, but they've made records for themselves in the short time they've been with us."
"Any others?" asked Colonel North, tapping his knee with the pencil that he held in one hand.
"A few others, sir, but none with quite as good claims as the four men I've named."
"Whom do you favor most, Captain?"
"It's hard to say, sir. Hyman is nearly through with his enlistment, and Conrad in the middle of his third enlistment. Now, from length of service it looks as though Conrad ought to have one of the appointments."
"A man who is well along in his third enlistment, and hasn't been made a non-com. in all that time ought not to have much consideration if there are other men with better natural claims," replied Colonel North. "A man who is thoroughly qualified to be a corporal ought to get there in less than seven or eight years, don't you think so?"
"That's true, sir," Captain Cortland nodded.
"Is Hyman as good a man as Overton or Terry?" continued the regimental commander, apparently much interested.
"He has had longer experience, but I think Overton and Terry are both a shade above Hyman in natural aptitude; in fact, the lads are considerably above him."
"Then – "
"I see your drift, Colonel, and I agree with you. I therefore urge, sir, that Overton and Terry be appointed as corporals, and I will keep Hyman in mind for the next chance that comes up."
"You are satisfied, then, Captain, to make Overton and Terry corporals?"
"More than satisfied, Colonel. One of these days they'll be sergeants, at that. A company commander, I take it, sir, can't start too early to fire the spark of ambition in the right men."
"You and I are agreed on that, then, Cortland. I am glad you have recommended Overton and Terry as corporals. I will have their appointments published in orders this afternoon."
No suspicion had Hal or Noll when they fell in for parade that afternoon.
When Lieutenant Wright, battalion adjutant, published the orders, he read off four routine orders before he came to that creating Private Hal Overton a corporal in B Company.
"Whew! It has come, but I didn't expect anything like that," quivered Soldier Hal. "I didn't think I could do it inside of a year."
"Lucky Hal," thought Private Terry. "He has gotten ahead of me, but I'm glad just the same. It has always been the rule for Hal to beat me, anyway."
The next order made Noll Terry's hair stand up. He had been made a corporal, too.
How the hearts of both danced when the regimental band played the headquarter's battalion from the parade ground.
"You two are the lucky soldier kids," cried Private Hyman, coming up to the boys with outstretched hands. "How did you manage it?"
"That's the point, Hyman," laughed Hal happily; "we didn't manage it. It just happened."
Before the quartermaster's store closed both soldier boys drew their corporal's chevrons, then hunted up the company tailor to get him to sew these prized badges of rank on their sleeves.
"I suppose, Sergeant, one or both of us will be transferred from your squad room," said Hal regretfully, when they encountered Hupner.
"I've heard nothing to that effect as yet, Corporal," replied the room sergeant.
"Corporal!" How wonderfully fine that simple title sounded, though the title meant but one step above that of plain private soldier.
"I'm sorry for one thing, Corporal," laughed Private Hyman, that night after supper.
"What's that?" Hal queried.
"I'm extremely sorry that your old chums, Hooper and Dowley, tired of the Army too soon to see your chevrons on your sleeves. Say, but I think those chevrons are about the handsomest I've ever seen," added Private Hyman, an undertone of wistfulness in his voice.
The next day brought more good news. The date was set on which headquarter's band and the first battalion of the Thirty-fourth was to leave for Denver, to take part in the summer encampment of the Colorado National Guard. Neither Corporal Overton nor Corporal Terry was assigned to the guard detachment that was to remain behind.
Lieutenant Greg Holmes, only a few months out of West Point, drew a "blank" that made his face look gloomy. Lieutenant Holmes was the only officer in the battalion who was to remain behind. He was to have command of the guard that was to take care of the post in the absence of the troops.
CHAPTER XXI
THE PRICE OF BEING A MAN
THE occasion was the encampment of the Colorado National Guard, and the scene was a few miles outside of Denver.
Here was some of the real glory of the soldier's life!
At the head of the line rode two troops of cavalry belonging to the regular Army.
Immediately behind these yellow-legs an awe-inspiring drum-major strode along, his glittering, ball-tipped staff going through many smart movements. Right behind him came the Thirty-fourth U. S. Infantry Band, crashing out a soul-stirring march.
At the heels of the band rode Colonel North, Major Silsbee and staff, a splendid, soldierly looking lot in saddle.
Then the head of A Company, Captain Ruggles commanding. B Company next, and to B Company fell the honor of being color company and escorting the Flag. C and D behind – the whole khaki-clad battalion moving at easy swing, and yet in the straight, precise lines that only regulars know how to display, however close near-soldiers may imagine they come in excellence. Over all, in brisk cadence, and in exact time to the spirited music ahead, sounded the steady whump! whump! whump! of the exactly gaited feet of regulars on the march.
No wonder the crowd that lined the sides of the road cheered! No wonder that girls waved handkerchiefs! Here and there men, youths and boys who knew enough lifted their hats as the colors passed.
It is strange that not all American males, of all ages, know that the hat is to be raised from the head and lowered to place over the heart as the national colors are borne by.
Yet all of those of the male spectators who did not know enough to uncover on the approach of the colors still felt the glory of the scene. Love of the military is common to all true-beating hearts. The country dies in which this love of the military vanishes.
Behind the infantry lumbered the guns and caissons of two batteries of field artillery, drivers alert and gunners sitting up very straight, yet appearing wholly at ease.
It takes the man of military experience to be both erect and at ease at the same time. Some civilians come very close in this achievement, but theirs is the imitation grace of personal carriage.
At the extreme left of the line marched a platoon of engineer troops and a detachment of men from the signal corps.
The regulars were now in the last half mile of the march down a beautifully shaded road that led to the broad fields on which the encampment was pitched this year.
Hundreds of boys were following the parade as a matter of course. Where is the live boy whose heart is dead to the soldiers?
As the Thirty-fourth's band played out the final notes of the march, the order for route step marching ran down the line.
Just then, from a parallel road less than a quarter of a mile away, another band blared forth in a quickstep. The crowd was quick to turn and look.
Through the intervals between trees and bushes could be seen another line of military. An entire brigade of the National Guard was over on that road, also headed for the encampment field.
"Hey, Tommie!" called one boy to another. "Cut across with me. There's about ten miles of sogers over there!"
"Chase yourself, if you wanter go," yelled back Tommie. "They're militia. Me for here, with the real-thing sogers, just back from the wars!"
There was a laugh from many in the crowd, while the smaller boys whooped. It was hard even for the erect regulars in ranks to repress their grins when they received that tribute from a discerning small boy.
But the small American boy, even if ignorant of everything else in the soldier's manuals, can usually be depended upon to know the difference between regulars and militiamen. To the small boy's mind the difference is as great as that between the circus and the country fair.
Uncle Sam's musicians struck up again, just as the column entered the encampment field.
Wagon trains had gone on ahead.
Regulars and national guardsmen broke ranks at nearly the same moment.
Then followed an exhibition that some of the spectators never forgot.
In about a half an hour the regular troops had their tents up, in straight, precise company streets, and all their belongings moved in. Nor were these the "dog-tents" of field duty. As the encampment was to last for a week, the regulars slept at night in full-sized Army tents, with several men in each tent.
At the end of two hours the national guardsmen were still perspiring over their tasks of pitching camp.
The regulars, cool and wholly at ease, were going about other camp duties.
"Look at the amateurs over yonder," grinned Corporal Noll Terry, calling his chum's attention to the brigade of national guardsmen.
"Poor fellows, it's a good deal like work for them," remarked Hal. "They're not drilled in this thing all the time."
"They go about it like so many clowns," laughed Noll.
"Now, I wouldn't say that," urged Corporal Hal. "Remember, the national guardsmen do other things for a living, and do this work for love of state and country."
"But why do they need to be such boobs about pitching a camp?" demanded Noll.
"Because it isn't their accustomed business," Hal retorted.
"Bosh! The tin soldiers make me tired," laughed Corporal Noll.
"Then you want to change your attitude," warned Hal, "for you've got the wrong view, old fellow. There probably isn't a man over in that militia brigade who wouldn't make a smart enough regular if he enlisted."
"Now, I don't know about that," argued Corporal Noll seriously.
"I can remember the time, not very long ago, Noll, when you and I were greener than any militiaman over yonder."
"We were green," admitted Corporal Terry, "but not green in the same way that those state troops are. Some how, regulars and militiamen are quite a different proposition from the very first day."
"True," agreed Corporal Hal. "But what makes the difference?"
"Well, what does?"
"The difference in officers, and in the methods that can be used. Militia officers have to make soldiering the study of their leisure hours, just as the guardsmen in the ranks do. Our regular officers are first given a hard training, and then make a life study of soldiering. Keep those guardsmen in camp for three months, and put regular officers over them all the time, and I tell you, Noll, they'd make most of us regulars look hard to our laurels."
"I don't know," muttered Corporal Terry dubiously.
"Then you want to think it over," retorted Hal. "Just remember that regulars and militiamen are both enlisted from the people at large. Put any militia regiment in the country through a regulation three-years' enlistment in the Army and under regular officers, and that militia regiment would then be the equal of any regular regiment in the line. Noll, the whole difference lies in officers, opportunity and training. Don't ever look down on national guardsmen unless you want to prove yourself less of a soldier than I think you are."
"Corporal Terry!" summoned Sergeant Gray, and Noll hurried off to some new duty, but he was thinking. Corporal Hal had shown him how to look at the national guardsmen from another point of view.
The day was one of arduous duties, but with nightfall came a period of rest. More, some of the regulars in each company, troop or battery were granted town leave. There was a trolley line near at hand that carried many a pleasure-loving regular into town.
Corporals Overton and Terry went by themselves.
"As we have never seen Denver, I guess it will be about enough for us to look around and see what we can of the town, won't it?" proposed Hal.
"Yes; if we keep to the main streets. I feel as though I may want to squander a bit of my pay on ice cream and such frothy trifles," returned Noll.
"We won't spend it, anyway, on anything that will make us forget the limits of our leave and turn delinquents," returned Hal.
"Small danger of that," retorted Corporal Terry. "That game doesn't go with the making of good soldiers."
"I don't believe Captain Cortland will have any delinquents to deal with this time," predicted Hal. "He doesn't intend to have the Mason City business done over again."
Denver proved full of delights to these soldier boys, who had really seen very little of the world.
But, being under orders to return to camp not later than midnight, the time came when they must think of getting back.
"I wonder what's the quickest way to the trolley line?" pondered Noll.
"We'll ask our way," Hal answered.
They had no trouble in getting clear directions from a passing citizen. The shortest way led down through a narrow street that appeared to belong to a rough part of the city.
"I wouldn't care to live on this street," smiled Noll.
"Hardly," agreed Hal. "Yet I guess it won't hurt us any just to walk through."
Ere the soldier boys had gone more than two blocks their attention was attracted by sounds of a commotion in a crowd just ahead.
A crowd had started to collect, and was every moment increasing in size.
"Wonder what's up?" murmured Noll Terry, as the soldier boys quickened their pace.
"Some earthquake in the under world, I suppose," returned Hal.
Just then the scream of a woman's voice reached them.
"Shame! shame!" cried half a dozen male voices in protest.
Then the same voice sounded, in sobs this time.
Hal Overton had broken into a run, and Noll was almost at his side. The soldier boys pushed their way into the crowd.
A brutish, square-jawed young fellow of twenty-one or twenty-two, dressed loudly, and with an ill-smelling cigar between his teeth at one side of his mouth, held a sobbing girl by the wrist.
"Cut out the boo-hoo story, Lizzie, and come along with me to the dance," he ordered gruffly.
"I don't want to go," faltered the terrified girl. "You know well enough, Bill, that my mother don't want me going to dances with you."
"What's your old woman got against me?" demanded the young brute.
"You know well enough, Bill, that mother don't like you, and that she'd sooner see me dead than running around with you."
"She won't have her wish to-night, then, Liz. You're going to waltz with me. You know that wot I say goes, and it's the hop for yours to-night."
"Shame!" cried some one back in the crowd. "Let the girl go home."
"Mind your own biz," growled back the bully, "or I'll step over there and make some changes in yer style of face."
Evidently Bill was known as an ugly customer. Close to him, on the other side from the girl, stood another man, somewhat older and exhibiting the promise of even more brute strength. Plainly he stood by to back Bill up against interference that the crowd might want to attempt. The pair of bullies were such as a city crowd usually doesn't care to risk meddling with.
"Wipe off the boo-hoo, Lizzie, and come along," ordered the fellow who held the girl's wrist. "No use of making a fuss. You're headed for the waltz with me."
"Shame!" some one in the crowd had courage enough to utter again, as Bill, still holding the girl's wrist, started to force her along the sidewalk.
"What do you more decent people expect to do by just talking?" Corporal Hal Overton demanded angrily.
"Hullo, brass-button boy!" called Bill cheerily, turning and leering at the youthful-looking corporal. "When did you blow out of the sewer?"
"If that young lady wishes to go home, let her do so," ordered Hal sternly.
"So?" queried Bill mockingly. "But maybe that won't suit me."
"Then let go of the young lady's wrist, for you'll need both hands up in front of you," warned Hal, springing forward, his hot blood flushing his face with righteous anger.
"Get out, ye tin-soldier militiaman!"
"If it makes any difference," retorted Hal, "we happen to be regulars."
"No difference at all," the young brute leered. "I eat both kinds!"
"Let go that young lady's wrist!"
"Sure!"
Bill did so, and the girl shrank back through the pressing crowd. But Bill aimed a crushing blow at Corporal Hal Overton.
Hal wasn't just on the spot to receive it. But the next instant he and Bill were exchanging hard blows at a rate that made the crowd yell with delight.
"Go it, Bill! Go it, buttons!"
Bill's tough friend reached out to hit Hal from the side. Corporal Noll jumped in, throwing up the fellow's arm. There were two real fights on now.
How it would have ended it would be impossible to say. Strong, daring and skilled though they were, the soldier boys might have been beaten by superior strength.
But a heavy, blue-coated figure darted in, scattering the combatants. Then a Denver policeman gripped both Hal and Noll by the collar.
"Stop it! Stop, I tell ye!" ordered the policeman gruffly.
"Ye've got good game there, Johnson," called out the fellow Bill. "They're a nasty pair of brass buttons. They insulted my girl, and then pitched into me and my friend."
"I'll run these soldier-loafers in, Bill," agreed the policeman. "We've got too many of these soldier-loafers in the country. It's time for some of 'em to learn something."
For Bill and his friend were a pair of amateur thugs who were most useful to the ward's ruling political machine. Bill and his friend were often extremely useful in cleaning out hostile primaries, and in other dirty work incidental to city politics.
"Officer!" protested Corporal Hal.
"Shut up, ye loafer!" ordered the policeman.
"But this is – "
"Will ye shut up, now?"
The policeman gave the soldier boy a vigorous shaking.
"The soldiers were in the right of it, Johnson," protested a voice in the crowd.
"Now, can yer gab, or I'll run you in, too," warned Johnson hoarsely. At that dread warning opposition died out in the weak-kneed crowd.
"Now, come along, ye young loafers in brass buttons," commanded the policeman. "Bill, you and your friend be in court in the morning."
"Sure we will," chuckled Bill.
"Officer, will you let me explain?" insisted Hal, as the two young corporals started down the street on either side of the policeman, who kept a rough grip on the arm of either.
"Pickle it, and tell it all to the judge in the morning," retorted the policeman gruffly.
Some of the crowd – Bill's friends, evidently – followed, hooting and abusing all soldiers in general.
Four blocks away Hal and Noll were lined up before the officer in charge at a station house.
"Assaulting Bill Dabner and his friend and insulting Bill's girl," announced Policeman Johnson gruffly.
"I hope now, sir, we can have a chance to explain," protested Hal, looking squarely at the officer behind the desk.
"Did you see all this business, Johnson?" asked the officer at the desk.
"Yes," lied the policeman glibly. "I caught 'em at it."
"You men can save your explanations for the judge in the morning," wound up the officer at the desk. "Cell number twelve, Johnson."
Down below the cell door clanged on two white-faced, angry young soldier boys. It was a serious thing, they knew, for ambitious soldiers to have a clash with the civil authorities.
"We'll lose our corporal's chevrons through this," Noll predicted.
"Yes," assented Corporal Hal Overton, his eyes flashing. "But I can't help it if we do. It's worth that price to be a man!"