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

CHAPTER IV
LIEUTENANT ALGY'S INSPIRATION

LIEUTENANT ALGY FERRERS, the picture of dejection, sat staring across his rather tiny parlor in bachelor quarters at smiling Lieutenant Prescott.

"I thought the Army was a place for gentlemen," murmured Algy aghast.

"At last accounts it was, and I believe still is," replied the West Pointer, with a smile.

"But consider that beastly schedule of the day's work that you've been explaining to me!"

"What's wrong with it?" asked Lieutenant Prescott patiently.

"What's first – what did you call it?"

"First call to reveille, at 5.50 in the morning?"

"Yes; what an utterly impossible time for any gentleman to be out of bed. Unless," added Algy with a sudden bright thought, "he stays up until then, and goes to bed after the beastly row is over."

"That would hardly do, I'm afraid," Lieutenant Prescott laughed softly. "You see, the day is full of duties. Now, sharp at six the march – "

"March? At six in the morning?" gasped Algy Ferrers, his despair increasing by leaps and bounds. "Man alive, I wouldn't feel like crawling – at that time!"

"The term has confused you," replied Prescott. "It's the musician of the guard – the bugler – who plays the march. It's a strain that is played, the first note beginning just as the reveille gun is fired, at the minute of six in the morning. Then, just five minutes later reveille itself is blown."

"All that racket will wake me up mornings," complained Algy sadly.

"It ought to, for it's an officer's business to be up by that time."

"Good heavens!" groaned Algy. "Say, 'pon my word, I'll hate to have any soldiers see me when I'm looking as seedy as I'll look at that time of the day."

"You won't see them immediately," Prescott replied.

"Don't I have to go to my men as soon as I'm up?"

"No; officers don't go down to barracks to see their men rise. Now, listen. Reveille sounds at 6.05, with assembly and roll-call right afterward. There's a very brief athletic drill, followed by recall from the drill at 6.15 o'clock. At 6.20 mess call for breakfast is sounded. Right after breakfast comes police of quarters and premises. 'Police' is the Army term for cleaning up and making everything tidy. Then, just at 7 o'clock the bugler of the guard sounds sick call. The first sergeant of each company makes up the sick report, and a corporal marches the men out who need the doctor – the 'rain-maker,' we call him in the Army. Now, with all that happens up to this time the non-commissioned officers – sergeants and corporals – have to do."

"Then I can sleep a little later, can't I?" proposed Lieutenant Ferrers hopefully.

"If you do you'll be sure to get yourself in a scrape. You'll be coming out of your quarters unshaven, or with your uniform put on too hastily. Colonel North is a true Tartar with any officer who doesn't start the day looking like bandbox goods. And, my dear fellow, it's no greater hardship for you to be up early than it is for the enlisted man. Now, at 7.10 in the morning comes first call to drill. Drill assembly goes at 7.20."

"Do I have to be there?"

"You do, unless excused for some very grave reason. Recall from drill sounds at 8.20."

"That means that drill is over, then?" sighed Algy questioningly.

"Yes. Then, at 8.30, is fatigue call."

"I shall be properly fatigued by that time, no doubt," confessed Algy wretchedly.

"You'll soon understand what 'fatigue' is in the Army," smiled Lieutenant Prescott. "It's more work, but work that is done without arms."

"Without arms? With the feet, then?"

Lieutenant Prescott bit his lip, but answered:

"By arms this time I mean weapons. First call to guard mounting comes at 8.50, and guard mounting assembly at 9. At 10 another drill begins; at 11 the recall sounds, with recall from fatigue at 11.30. Mess call for enlisted men is at noon, and 1 p. m. fatigue call. Drill call goes again at 1.50, with drill assembly at 2 o'clock. The time spent at these drills varies according to the nature of the work and the orders. Recall from fatigue sounds at 5 o'clock. Parade assembly is at 5.30 at this time of the year, with retreat and evening gun-fire at 6.10. Then comes mess call to supper. With that ends, usually, the working day of the enlisted man. Tattoo sounds at 9 in the evening, with call to quarters at 10.45, and taps, or lights out, at 11 p. m. Except when on guard or special duty you're not likely to have to be with your men much after retreat."

"Oh, I should hope not," exclaimed Algy Ferrers fervently. "By supper time I can see myself a nervous wreck."

"Oh, you'll get used to it," laughed Prescott. "The rest of us all had to."

"And at all of those beastly things and jobs you enumerated, Prescott, I've got to be present and actually do a lot of work?"

"A big lot of work, you'll find."

"And yet they call being an officer in the Army a gentleman's life."

"Yes," replied Prescott, his eyes opening rather wide. "Don't you consider that one may be a gentleman and yet be industrious?"

"Oh, I reckon so," sighed Algy Ferrers. "But it all seems a beastly grind."

"Then how did your ever come to think of going into the Army?"

"I didn't," almost flared up Algy. "It was the guv'nor. He forced me into it. Said he'd cut my allowance off altogether, and leave me out of his will if I didn't get to work. And he chose the Army for me, and put the whole thing through. Wasn't it beastly of the guv'nor?"

"I'm not so sure that it was," smiled Lieutenant Prescott. "Of course it was different with me. My father worked, and had to, or starve. It was the same with me, which may be why I can look upon the idea of a lot of work without feeling insulted by fate. But I reckon, Ferrers, that no man is worth his salt in the world unless he does work."

This was the day after Algy's arrival. Colonel North and Major Silsbee had not yet put the new young officer actually at work. They had allowed him this time of grace to get settled in his new quarters, and to talk over his new duties with young Prescott.

"I can never remember all that long list of things you told me, dear fellow," complained Algy. "Won't you do me a great, big favor?"

"What?"

"Write down for me that – er – time table you laid down for me."

"No." Lieutenant Prescott's tone was almost abrupt. "I'll repeat it to you, Ferrers, and you can write it down for yourself. Get a pencil and paper."

"Give me just time for a cigarette before I take up such exhausting literary work," begged Algy, reaching for his gold cigarette case. "Have one, dear fellow?"

"Thank you, Ferrers. I don't smoke."

"Then what do you do with your time?"

"Work!"

"What beastly old rot the Army is!" murmured Algy, lying back in his easy chair and blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

Rap-tap! sounded at the door.

"Come in," called Algy. It was Lieutenant Holmes who entered.

"Howdy-do, Ferrers?" he hailed the new officer. "I heard Prescott was here and came to find him. You'll pardon me, won't you?"

"Nothing to pardon," murmured Algy.

"Old ramrod," began Lieutenant Holmes, turning to his chum and addressing him by the old West Point nickname, "I came to see you about your pet. He seems to be in increasing trouble."

"Who's my pet!" demanded Prescott in surprise.

"Why, Corporal Overton, of your company."

"Corporal Overton is not my pet, and you'll greatly oblige me by not referring to him again in that fashion, Holmesy," returned the young lieutenant almost stiffly. "Corporal Overton is a mighty fine young soldier, and a good soldier never needs to be his officer's pet; he can stand on his own merits. But what's the trouble with Overton? Is he still absurdly suspected of relieving that simpleton Green of his money?"

"Yes; there's a strong drift of suspicion that way among the men of B Company."

"The idiots!" muttered Prescott impatiently.

"One of my sergeants has just been telling me about Overton's present standing in the company. B Company men have always liked Overton. In fact, he has been well liked all through the battalion, but just now many of the men don't feel sure about the young fellow," continued Lieutenant Holmes. "Not a man will admit that the case is proved, but a good many of them don't like the looks of things. Especially are the men disturbed by the fact of that revolver being in Corporal Overton's bed, and the fact of his being awake and appearing nervous when the alarm was given."

"Greg, you don't believe Overton stole that simpleton soldier's cash?" cried Prescott.

"I don't, and I won't," Lieutenant Holmes replied. "Overton isn't that type of fellow. He's a soldier all the way through, going and coming, and the first characteristic of a real soldier is honesty."

"Yet you say so many of the men suspect him?" mused Prescott.

"Not exactly that they suspect him, but that they'd like to have the whole matter cleared up and see daylight through it."

"From what I know of soldiers," remarked Lieutenant Prescott thoughtfully, "it looks like a mean mess for Overton. Really, nothing but long time, or complete vindication, will ever put Overton back where he'd like to be in the esteem of all his comrades."

"I know it," agreed Holmes. "That's why I'm telling you all this about one of your own men."

"And I ought to have known it myself," Prescott reproached himself. "I ought not to have waited to get the first strong news from an officer of another company."

"Why, I suppose it was easier for me to get this word than it would have been for you. B Company men are too 'sore' to talk much about it. But C Company men, as it doesn't affect any of them, just treat the whole matter as one of ordinary news."

Lieutenant Dick Prescott rose and began to pace the floor. He was deeply concerned – not so much for Hal Overton's sake as for the general good name of B Company. Moreover, young Prescott knew that, if any man in his company were unjustly suspected, it was his duty, as one of the company officers, to find a way to set the whole matter straight.

"What's all the beastly row about, any way?" queried Lieutenant Algernon Ferrers.

Holmes explained it briefly.

"So it's all a row about some seven hundred dollars, it is?" asked Algy.

"If you choose to put it that way," replied Lieutenant Holmes.

"Then see here, Prescott, old chap," cried Algy eagerly, "why all this rotten fuss? Why, I see the way through it as clear as daylight! I'll set the matter straight in thirty seconds!"

CHAPTER V
CORPORAL HAL'S ADMISSION

LIEUTENANT PRESCOTT paused, looking sharply at Algy.

"Ferrers, if you can see a way through difficulties as easily as you promise, then you're going to be a valuable man for the Army. What's your plan?"

"Why, as I understand it," beamed Ferrers placidly, "the whole trouble is caused by the loss of some seven hundred dollars that the Overton chap got from the simpleton Green?"

"Seven hundred which some men almost suspect that Corporal Overton took from Green," corrected Lieutenant Prescott.

"All the same thing, as far as the really important details go," beamed Algy. "I'll settle it out of hand. You know, dear chaps, the guv'nor owns a few banks in his own name, and he ships me yellow-backs by the case lots. Result is, I always have plenty of money, and am likely to have more than ever now, for there doesn't seem to be much chance in the Army to spend it. So – "

"But what has all this to do with Corporal Overton's unhappy situation?"

"All leads up to the point, Prescott, dear chap," protested Algy. "See how simple it all really is? I can spare seven hundred dollars as well as I can a cigarette. I'll hand the amount to Overton. He'll hand it to Green – and all the cause of the trouble is removed and everybody happy."

"Just like that!" gasped Lieutenant Greg Holmes ironically, and he appeared to need the support of the mantel at which he clutched.

There was a savage look on Lieutenant Prescott's face as he demanded:

"Ferrers, are you trying to make game of me?"

"Make game of you?" echoed Lieutenant Algy, with a face so blank, so full of wonderment and so lacking in guile. "Why, I – "

He broke off abruptly, going to the top drawer of a dresser.

"Money talks," announced Algy, holding out a long wallet. "There's a few thousand dollars in this leather. Help yourself to whatever will square Overton with the individual Green."

"Put your pocketbook up," replied Prescott almost brusquely. "And accept my apology at the same time, Ferrers, if you'll be so good. You weren't trying to make fun of me; I know it now. This is simply another buttered piece off your thick cake of stupidity."

"I've never been noted for cleverness; even the guv'nor admits that to me, in confidence," confessed Lieutenant Algy. "But why won't the money do the trick?"

"Because – oh, why – tell him, won't you, Holmesy? I'm off to see Captain Cortland."

Prescott strode away to his company commander for advice.

"Perhaps you think, sir, I'm a good deal of a fool to take such a keen interest in this matter of Overton," suggested the lieutenant.

"On the contrary, an officer who isn't interested in the men serving under him has done wrongly in choosing the Army for his profession," replied Captain Cortland gravely. "I, too, am disturbed, for, like yourself, Mr. Prescott, I find it impossible to believe that such a clean, clear-cut young soldier as Corporal Overton has been guilty of dishonesty."

"Can you suggest anything that I can do, sir?" the young lieutenant asked gravely.

"I have been thinking over that same matter. It seems difficult to know what to do. Of course you can let Corporal Overton see that he has your confidence, Mr. Prescott. You may assure him, at any time, that he also has mine, if you think that will do him any good. But the only thing that will actually clear up the matter will be the discovery of the real thief – and that's a matter, I fancy, that's going to be full of difficulty."

Leaving his captain's house, Lieutenant Prescott took a walk along one side of the parade ground. He hoped to encounter Hal, but that young corporal was half a mile away at the time, practising signaling under Sergeant Hupner.

Failing in encountering young Overton, Lieutenant Prescott remembered that Corporal Noll Terry, now in charge at the post telegraph station, was likely to know all about his chum.

Stepping over to the station, where one operator was sending a long military dispatch, while another leaned idly back in his chair, Prescott found Noll at another table, absorbed in the study of an instrument that he had taken to pieces.

"I want to say a few words to you, Corporal Terry," announced the young lieutenant, stepping into a box-like office at the rear of the larger room.

Prescott threw himself down at the desk, while Noll, after saluting, remained standing at attention.

"Close the door, Corporal. That's it. Now, I want to ask you a few questions about your friend Corporal Overton, and the disappearance of Private Green's money."

Noll flushed painfully, though all he answered was:

"Very good, sir."

"Don't misunderstand me, Corporal Terry," went on the young lieutenant. "I am not making an official investigation, and I am not looking for evidence to implicate Corporal Overton in any crime. I don't mind telling you that I haven't a particle of belief in Overton's guilt. The very idea that he would rob any one is opposed to the common sense of any one who really knows your friend and his record."

"Thank you, sir."

This time Noll's face was positively beaming with pleasure.

"So, you see, you don't need to be in the least on your guard in what you may say to me," continued the lieutenant, smiling in his most friendly way. "I don't mind stating, further, that my whole interest in this matter is the interest of an officer who is determined, if possible, to see a good man cleared from suspicion."

"What can I tell you, sir?" Noll asked eagerly.

"Well, Corporal, the worst evidence pointing to any presumption of guilt against your comrade and friend is the finding of the revolver hidden under his bedclothes. What do you think of that incident?"

"Why, I think, sir, that the revolver must have been slipped in under the bedclothes by some one who wanted to throw all the suspicion on Corporal Overton."

"I agree with you. Now, was that man an actual enemy of Corporal Overton's, or did he merely thrust the revolver into the first bed that he could in passing?"

"My own belief, sir, that an actual enemy of Overton's did it, sir."

"Now, Corporal Terry, who are the men that have cots past Corporal Overton's – that is, past his when traveling away from Green's cot?"

"Hinkey, Clegg, Danes, Potter, Reed, Vreeland and myself, sir."

"With which one of the men you have named has Corporal Overton had any trouble, either recently or some time back?"

"With Hinkey, for one, sir."

"What was it over?"

Noll retold the incident of the friendly scuffle between Corporals Overton and Hyman, and the dropping of the signal flag, through a window and upon Private Hinkey's head.

"Had Overton had trouble with other men?"

"Nothing more, sir, than that he had once or twice rebuked Vreeland and Danes for carelessness in squad drill."

"What kind of men are Vreeland and Danes, in your opinion, Corporal?"

"Careless and happy-go-lucky, but good-hearted fellows, sir, and likely to be good soldiers when they've been licked into shape."

"But neither of them is inclined to be dishonest or sulky?"

"From what I have seen of Vreeland and Danes, sir, I am inclined to answer with a very positive 'no.'"

Lieutenant Prescott looked thoughtful, remaining silent for some moments, while Corporal Noll Terry stood looking straight ahead.

"Corporal," said the young officer finally, "Mr. Holmes has told me what a very thorough search was made after the alarm had been given. But no sign of the missing money was found. Have you any idea on that head? Can you make even a plausible suggestion as to how the money was taken care of by the thief?"

"I cannot, sir."

"Have you heard any of the men make reasonable suggestions as to what was done with the money?"

"I think I must have heard all the men in the room talking about it at one time or another, Lieutenant, but the men are puzzled. They cannot account for the complete disappearance of the money."

"Are you keeping your eyes and ears open all the time, for any clue in the matter?"

"Yes, sir!" Noll answered. "And I shan't cease doing so until the whole mystery is cleaned up."

"Good! May I depend upon you, Corporal, to come to me, at any time, with any information that you think will help?"

"Yes, sir; and I thank you for the invitation to do so."

"If I believed Corporal Overton the guilty man, and could find evidence that would prove his guilt and have him bounced out of the service, then I'd do my whole duty," went on Lieutenant Prescott. "But I simply can't believe him guilty, and so I'm prepared to help him at any time when there's the slightest chance."

"May I tell Corporal Overton that, sir?" asked Noll eagerly.

"Yes; but caution him not to mention to others what I have said to you. You are also at liberty to tell Overton that Captain Cortland is wholly convinced of his innocence, and so, I know, is Lieutenant Hampton. But some of the men in the company, and more especially in the squad room, are holding aloof from Corporal Overton, are they not?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that they are doing it in a mean way, sir; but of course soldiers hate thieves, and so the merest taint of a suspicion serves to make some of the men feel rather shy about having anything unnecessary to do with Corporal Overton."

"Too bad!" murmured Lieutenant Prescott. Then, in his usual official tone:

"That is all, Corporal Terry."

Noll saluted and left the inner office. Almost immediately afterward Lieutenant Prescott sauntered out.

In the meantime, Hal, after some brisk practice at wig-wagging, was on his way back to barracks with Sergeant Hupner.

"You're going to make a real signalman, one of these days, lad," remarked the sergeant, kindly. "You have the speed, and you don't lose any of the clearness of your signaling when you go fast."

"It's great work," smiled Corporal Hal. "Just for the moment it makes me almost sorry that I didn't enlist in the signal corps."

"The infantry is the real branch of the service – the real fighting arm," returned Sergeant Hupner.

"Yes; I know it, and that's the principal reason why I chose the infantry before enlisting."

Together the sergeant and his young corporal entered the barracks, stepping into their own squad room.

There the very first person they met was Private William Green, looking, still, as though he wanted to burst into tears. Green hadn't smiled once since meeting with his big loss.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant," was Green's greeting. He didn't seem to see Hal at all, a fact that the boyish soldier noted instantly. It cut like a whip to know that Green really suspected his young corporal.

Hal stepped down the length of the squad room. Some of the men greeted him, though none very enthusiastically.

Then Noll came in, drawing his chum aside and detailing the interview with Lieutenant Prescott.

That brightened Hal Overton a good deal. In the middle of the squad room some of the men were having a jolly time, and laughing heartily. Down at the further end of the room, near the door, mournful William Green kept by himself and grieved.

"It's certainly fine to know that one's officers trust him, anyway," Hal declared.

"Oh, this abominable business will all be cleared up before long," Noll Terry predicted cheerily.

"I'd like to believe you," Corporal Hal smiled wistfully.

"Wait and see!"

The merriment in the middle of the room was now going on at its height. Private Clegg, who was an excellent storyteller, was relating one of his very very best, and it bore on Army life.

Hal and Noll took chairs at one of the writing tables.

A few minutes later a wild whoop sounded from Private William Green.

"I've got it! I've got it!" he yelled, dancing about like a crazy Indian.

"A bat in your belfry? Sure you've got it," yelled Private Clegg.

Sergeant Hupner had run over to where Green was dancing.

"I've got the money. It has come back to me," sang William Green joyously.

In an instant there was a curiosity-inspired rush that every man in the room shared.

Private Green now held high aloft over his head a long envelope whose bulkiness everyone else could see.

"It's the money!" he gasped, chokingly.

"Every man in the room but Green fall in!" roared Sergeant Hupner's voice. "Corporal Terry, take charge of the formation!"

There was a queer, strained hush in the room for the next few moments. Hardly anything was heard but the low breathing of the men, or the few crisp, quiet words of Corporal Noll as he made the men dress their alignment on Corporal Hal, who stood at the right of the line.

"Hold your men so," nodded Sergeant Hupner tersely. "Now, Green, are you sure you have all your money back?"

"I – I hope so," faltered Green. "The envelope is bulky enough."

"Put it on your cot and let me see it," ordered Hupner.

Green had already broken the flap of the envelope, revealing the edges of a considerable thickness of banknotes.

"Why, there's a note here with the bills," proclaimed the excited soldier.

"What does the note say?"

"It says 'Friend, you'll find all your money here except twenty dollars that I spent. Meant to keep it all, but found stolen money brings no pleasure. Hope you'll forgive me.'"

"What does the writing look like?" demanded Sergeant Hupner.

"It ain't written; it's printed," replied Private Green. "Here, take the note and look at it."

Sergeant Hupner did glance at the note briefly, but here he felt he would find no clue. After all, a man's printing does not closely resemble his writing.

"Anything written on the envelope?" demanded the sergeant, holding out his hand. Yes; the envelope contained the inscription, "Pvt. Wm. Green." That was all; but it wasn't printed. The words were written in bold, flowing handwriting. Sergeant Hupner felt a throb as he glanced at the handwriting on that envelope. But he knew his duty.

"Corporal Terry, go to the nearest window and have the sentry pass the word for the corporal of the guard!"

Then Hupner asked one more question:

"Green, where and how did you find this envelope?"

"Just the moment before I helloed. It was tucked inside my bedding, so that just the end of the envelope showed."

Quickly the corporal of the guard was on hand, accompanied by two privates of the guard. Sergeant Hupner explained what had happened, adding:

"Corporal, I think you'd better send for the officer of the day."

That officer of the day, who shortly arrived, was Lieutenant Ray of C company.

He listened gravely, while Sergeant Hupner told the story, then asked a few questions of Private Green.

"Sergeant," directed Lieutenant Ray, "start the envelope passing down the line. Each man is to look at the handwriting, and state whether he recognizes it."

All this time the men had remained standing in line, though at ease.

Sergeant Hupner, with a queer look, passed the envelope to Corporal Hal Overton, who stood at the right of the line.

The instant he glanced at the writing Hal started, then changed color.

"Do you know the writing on that envelope, Corporal Overton?" demanded the officer of the day, eyeing the young soldier.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you positive that you know whose writing it is, Corporal Overton?"

"Yes, sir."

"Whose?"

"Mine, sir," replied Corporal Hal.