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

To the sergeant of the guard Hal explained the charge. The sergeant of the guard promptly sent for Lieutenant Hayes, of C Company, who was officer of the day.

Mr. Hayes listened attentively to the charge preferred by Sergeant Overton. Hinkey, too, who was behind a barred door in one of the cells, listened with darkening brow.

"It's all rot!" raged the arrested soldier. "It's all a personal matter, and Overton has vented his spite on me."

"Silence, my man!" ordered Lieutenant Hayes sternly. "And when you refer to Sergeant Overton, call him by his title."

"I won't shut up until I've had my say!" raged Private Hinkey, gripping with both hands the bars of the cell door. "Lieutenant – "

"Silence, or you'll have disrespectful language to the officer of the day added to the other charges against you," warned Lieutenant Hayes, stepping over to the cell door. "Not another word out of you, Hinkey."

In the old days the prisoner would have been locked up until the next general court-martial convened. But in these newer days the plan is to have as many offenses as possible tried before summary court.

A summary court consists of one officer, who must, when practicable, be of field officer's rank.

So, at nine the next morning, Private Hinkey was arraigned before Major Silsbee. All the necessary witnesses were there, too.

Hinkey, of course, claimed that it had all been an affair of personal spite on the part of Sergeant Overton.

This claim Hinkey was given a fair opportunity to prove, but he failed to do so.

"I commend Sergeant Overton for his soldierly attitude in the matter," declared Major Silsbee when summing up. "Sergeant Overton behaved with an amount of decision and of moderation that is remarkable in so young a non-commissioned officer. Sergeant Overton thereby demonstrated his fitness to command men. Private Hinkey's conduct, from start to finish, as testified to by the witnesses, was gross and indefensible. Such conduct in a soldier of the regular Army is nothing short of disgraceful."

Then followed the sentence.

For disrespectful allusions to Lieutenant Ferrers, uttered in the presence of other enlisted men, Private Hinkey was sentenced to forfeit fifteen dollars of his pay. For disrespect and insubordination, as evinced toward Sergeant Overton, and for resisting arrest, he was fined twenty-five dollars more of his pay.

Thus Private Hinkey would be obliged to work for the United States for nothing during nearly the next three months of his service.

Further, he was sentenced to one week's confinement at the guard house, and to perform fatigue labor on the post.

Then, still under guard, Hinkey was marched back to the guard house.

His sentence, which, of course, the fellow regarded as tyranny pure and simple, filled his heart with black hatred against the boyish sergeant. At first sight it may seem strange, but the outcome of the whole affair was to raise Hal Overton considerably in the esteem of his comrades at Fort Clowdry.

As his service in the Army lengthens the soldier acquires a trained sense of justice.

A non-commissioned officer is never allowed to lay hands in anger on any man beneath him in rank, save to restrain a drunken or crazy man, or in defense of himself or of another non-com. or officer.

But Hinkey had struck at Hal, and the latter, had he been so inclined, would have been justified in leaping upon the private and beating him into submission. Instead, he had ordered disinterested soldiers to bring about the submission and the arrest.

More, Major Silsbee's comments on the case had been repeated by the witnesses to other comrades in barracks.

A soldier soon comes to realize, if he is a reasonable man, that his officers always endeavor to work out impartial justice. Therefore, Major Silsbee's comments had greatly strengthened Hal's reputation among his soldier comrades.

This does not mean that all suspicion against Sergeant Overton was forgotten, but the men now remembered that Hinkey had been the most active and bitter poisoner of minds against Hal. So, now, reaction had its natural effect – somewhat in Hal Overton's favor.

The fourth day of Hinkey's imprisonment Sergeant Hal had charge of the guard that controlled the seven prisoners, in all, who were now working out guard house terms.

Hinkey now managed to come close to the young sergeant in command of the fatigue party.

"You may think you've won out," growled Private Hinkey.

"My man," spoke Hal almost kindly, "I've no desire to see you get into more trouble. Attend to your fatigue duty!"

"You may think you've won out," repeated Hinkey. "But wait!"

CHAPTER XI

WHEN HINKEY WON GOOD OPINIONS

GREAT news came to Fort Clowdry these days.

All summer the War Department had been considering the advisability of holding a military tournament at Denver. An enormous religious organization of young people of both sexes was to hold its convention in that city.

In the same week two great secret societies were also to hold annual meetings in Denver.

Thus there would be an unusually large crowd in this handsome, hustling city of the Rockies.

The War Department, in its efforts to conduct the Army like any other great business enterprise, occasionally "advertises" in the way of holding a military tournament.

These tournaments, at which seats are provided for many thousands of spectators, show in graphic splendor the work of all the different branches of the military service.

It is the experience of the War Department that each tournament, if held under conditions that will draw a huge crowd of spectators, always results in a rush of the most desirable recruits for the Army.

Soldiers always take a keen interest in these tournaments. It means to them the excitement of travel and change, and the prospect of winning applause that is so dear to the average human heart.

It also means, for men of known good conduct, a welcome amount of leave to wander about the big city on the outskirts of which the tournament is held. There are many other reasons why men of the Regular Army always welcome these affairs.

All four of the companies at Fort Clowdry were to go to Denver, save for a detail of ten men from each company, who were to be left behind to guard government property at the fort.

"Hinkey," announced Captain Cortland, meeting that sullen soldier, "I don't suppose you have figured on being allowed to go to Denver with your company."

"I suppose, sir, that I'm slated for the post guard," replied Hinkey, saluting.

"My man, you've recently been guilty of conduct grossly unbecoming a soldier. But you've served your guard house period, and you'll be busy, for many weeks yet to come, in working out the fines imposed against you. For breaches of discipline it is the intent of the authorities to provide sufficient punishment. It is not, however, the purpose to keep on punishing a man. You may be glad, therefore, to know that you are to be allowed to go to Denver with your company."

"Thank you, sir; I am glad," replied Private Hinkey, saluting very respectfully.

"Then look carefully to your conduct until the time comes to start," admonished Captain Cortland.

"Thank you, sir. I most certainly shall."

Then, as he watched the back of Captain Cortland, a peculiarly disagreeable smile came to Hinkey's lips.

"Oh, yes, I'll be careful!" he muttered. "And I am glad of the chance – far more glad than you can guess, Cap. A trip like this will give me ten times the chance I'd have here at Clowdry to get even with that cheeky young kid sergeant, Overton!"

Thereafter Hinkey fairly dreamed of the military journey that was so near at hand.

All was bustle and activity on the military reservation. Soldiers taking part in a military tournament require almost as many "properties" and "stage settings" as are needed by a big theatrical company.

For the tournament is, actually and purposely, a big theatrical display. It is intended to show all the excitement, snap and glamour of the soldier's life and his deeds of high skill and great daring.

Then came the day when the battalion, with drum-major and band at its head, marched away with colors bravely flying, and boarded the train at the little, nearby station.

The train left soon after nine in the morning.

Private Hinkey was greatly disappointed at this. He had hoped that the command might travel by night. He had dreamed of catching Sergeant Hal on a platform, and of hurling him from the moving car without his crime being seen of other eyes.

"But no matter!" muttered the brute to himself. "I know the programme at the tournament, and there'll be a lot of chances – more than I can use, as I need but one!" the sullen fellow finished grimly under his breath.

It was late in the afternoon when the train was shunted upon a siding not far from the great ball grounds on which the tourney was to be held. There was no crowd here as yet, and no crashing of brass or flourish of trumpets. The battalion, at route step, moved into the grounds. Here ranks were broken and arms stacked. Then, by detachments, each under an officer, or non-commissioned officer, the men were hustled off to attend to an enormous amount of swift, skilful labor.

At one far-end of the grounds the full-sized Army tents were erected, with cook tents, mess and hospital tents, and all, for the men were to live comfortably in the brief time that they were to be here.

Engineer and cavalry troops were already on the field, the engineers having arrived first of all, in order to lay the grounds out for the work in hand. Artillery and Signal Corps men, and a small detachment of ordnance troops, were due to arrive before dark.

By supper time the hard-worked soldiers had some right to feel tired. It was not until nine in the evening that the men were through for that day. Then a few of the men of best conduct were given passes to leave camp and visit Denver until midnight.

Private Hinkey was not one of these men. He did not even want to go, for he had worked like a beaver, and was thoroughly tired out. It had seemed, since reaching the grounds, as though Hinkey had been determined to show how good and industrious a soldier he could be.

"That man is working to reinstate himself in the good conduct grade," remarked Lieutenant Hampton, calling Hinkey's tireless industry to Captain Cortland's attention.

"Then he'll have all the chance he wants," replied the captain. "We don't want to keep any man down, or to give him a dog's name – with apologies to the dog."

As Hinkey had been in a service detachment under Overton's command Hal felt it but just to say to the fellow:

"Hinkey, you've worked harder and more attentively than any man in this detachment."

"Thank you, Sergeant; I've tried to," replied the fellow, with such well-pretended respect that Sergeant Hal almost fell over.

"I almost think I've misjudged the man in thinking him one of our worst," Overton told himself.

It had been well for the boyish young sergeant had he been but a trifle more suspicious of such sudden reform on his enemy's part!

At five in the morning, or almost an hour earlier than usual, every officer and man in this temporary camp was routed out from under his blankets by the sharp, stirring notes of first call to reveille.

Breakfast was hurriedly disposed of, and the simple duties of ordinary "camp police" performed by the time that it was fully light.

And now more labor, for the stage settings must be arranged, that they might all be moved swiftly into place as the need came.

It was noon when the men finished. Then mess call, or "come and get it," as the soldiers facetiously term it, was sounded over the camp, and officer and man alike hastened to the well-earned midday meal.

"We ought to have a huge crowd," spoke Corporal Noll Terry, at camp table.

"We ought to, but we won't," predicted Sergeant Hupner.

"Why not, Sergeant?"

"You didn't take a pass to go to town, last night?"

"No."

"I did."

"Well, Sergeant?"

"The town is billed from one end to another with posters of the show," continued Hupner.

"Meaning our tournament?"

"No, Terry. Of course, our show is billed, too, but the show I'm alluding to is Howe and Spangleton's Great Combined Circuses."

"Are they showing in Denver to-day?" asked Sergeant Overton.

"Yes, siree," replied Hupner, with emphasis. "And you know what these western towns are when a truly big circus works this far west. The circus will be selling standing-room at double prices, and this show of ours will be performed to two or three hundred small kids whose hearts are broken because they didn't have the price of a circus ticket."

"We ought to have had some other date in the week, then," spoke up another man at table.

"Oh," grimaced Hupner, "the War Department thinks a whole lot of its regulars, of course, so I don't suppose any one over at Washington could picture the troops being called upon to show their best work to empty benches that would hold twenty thousand spectators."

That same news, and that same impression had reached the artillery, the cavalry, the ordnance detachment, the engineers and the men of the Signal Corps. The officers, likewise, shook their heads. All were greatly disappointed to think that the Army had to compete with the sawdust, the tinsel, the gay music and the dash and whoop-la of the circus.

Yet one man in this Regular Army encampment felt wholly satisfied with himself.

That man was Private Hinkey.

He knew the programme of the tournament, and the secret of this sullen wretch's great industry was known at least to himself.

"I've got it all fixed to rid the regiment of that kid sergeant," the brute in uniform exulted to himself. "Exit Kid Overton from the Thirty-fourth!"

CHAPTER XII

HAL RIDES INTO TREACHERY

AT one-thirty the gates of the ball grounds were thrown open.

A long programme lay before the assembled regulars, so the tournament was to begin at two o'clock.

The same performance was to be repeated in the evening, under brilliant electric lighting.

As they left the camp tables, however, the men moved about rather dejectedly.

The unexpected competition with the big circus had spoiled their hopes of winning round after round of delighted applause from huge crowds.

Yet barely were the gates to the grounds open when the soldiers began to take notice.

In an instant after opening there was a big rush at the gates. Men and women, boys and girls, crowded and jostled to get into the grounds.

"They'll stop coming in two minutes, at this rate," grumbled Sergeant Hupner.

Yet he proved a poor prophet. By quarter of two nearly every one of the more than twenty thousand seats for spectators had been filled. Five minutes after that not a seat could be had, even by squeezing. Just before two o'clock ten thousand more spectators had crowded in, standing wherever they could find the space.

Outside the crowd still pressed. Thousands simply had to be turned away.

Every officer present now wore a quiet smile that hid his delight under an orderly appearance.

"I wonder if the circus has a crowd like this?" gasped Sergeant Hupner, his astonished gaze roving over the densely packed masses of humanity.

An artillery band was playing at its loudest and gayest.

"I wonder," repeated Sergeant Hupner, "if the circus is playing to a crush like this."

No; it wasn't. Over under the Howe and Spangleton big-top, with its plain and reserved seats for eighteen thousand people, consternation prevailed.

The Army had proved the winning attraction for Denver's amusement-seeking crowds!

Only some eleven hundred and fifty people had paid to see the afternoon performance at the circus. In chagrin, the management hurriedly passed in free some two hundred more loungers on the lot.

"I never even dreamed of a streak of luck like this!" grumbled Proprietor Howe to his partner, Spangleton.

"I hope we'll never meet it again. What has struck us this blow under the belt?"

"The confounded regular Army," growled Howe. "I've just telephoned over, and I hear that folks are packed in so tightly at the Army show that the people are able to breathe only half the usual number of times to the minute."

"Then they'll hit us just as bad to-night," growled Spangleton. "Howe, with the Army to play against, we'd save money by pulling down our tents now and striking the rails for the next stand."

Just a minute or so before two o'clock the artillery band left the bandstand and marched back to camp.

Now, all in an instant, the military parade formed.

At the head was the cavalry band, followed by a squadron (two troops or companies) of splendidly mounted fighting men, their accoutrements jingling.

As the cavalry, its band blaring joyously, passed out before the people, the Signal Corps men followed on foot. Now the artillery, preceded by a mounted band that was just now silent, swung into line. Right behind the artillery, with its men perched up on the seats, their arms folded, or else driving the horses from saddles, came more men on foot, the ordnance detachment.

Now a third band, the Thirty-fourth's, marched on to the scene, silent, like the artillery musicians. After the third band in the line came the first battalion of the Thirty-fourth – at its head Colonel North and Major Silsbee, with their respective staffs, all on horseback. And now behind them marched, with the precise, easy rhythm of the foot soldier, the four companies, A, B, C and D, all moving like so many fine, automatic, easy-jointed machines.

The mounted detachments had brought forth rounds of rousing applause as they swept by, but when the infantrymen – the real, solid, fighting wall of the Army came in view, its men moving with the perfectly gaited, steady whump, whump! of superbly marching men, the spectators began to yell in frantic earnest.

The cavalry band ceased its stirring strain. Instantly the mounted drum major of the artillery swung about on his horse, holding up his baton, then bringing it down with the signal, "play."

As the artillery band blazed forth in a glory of rousing melody the noise of people's feet increased.

By the time that the infantry marched past the central portion of the great mass of civilians it was the turn of the Thirty-fourth's band. Every spectator, nearly, was now standing, stamping, waving. Cheer after cheer went up.

It seemed as though human enthusiasm could not know greater bounds. Faint echoes must have reached the distant, nearly empty circus big-top. Yet the breathless thousands had caught, as yet, but the first tame pageantry of this glimpse of the glory of armed men.

Just before B company, as it swung along at the good old regular gait, one excited onlooker hurled a well-filled wallet – the only sign left him for showing his utter enthusiasm.

File after file of foot soldiers stepped over this wallet, yet, if one of the infantrymen knew it was there, not one of them let any sign escape him. Discipline was absolutely perfect. These marching men of rifle and bayonet swept on, heads up, eyes straight forward, every file in flawless, absolute alignment.

And so the wallet was passed over and left behind while the crowd, staring at this unexpected scene of soldierly discipline, went wilder than before, in a frantic acclaim that was granted from the soul.

A policeman, standing at the edge of the crowd, picked up the wallet, returning it to its somewhat disappointed owner.

When the parade had swept around the field, each band playing in its turn, the crowd settled back with a sigh, as though satisfied that the greatest sight on the programme had been witnessed.

Yet hardly was there a pause. A troop of cavalry came forward, now, at the trot. All the evolutions of the school of the troop, mounted, were now gone through with. All the swift, bewildering changes of the cavalryman's manual of arms were exhibited.

Single riders and squads exhibited some of the prettiest work of the cowboy, for the American cavalryman has learned his riding and his daring from the best work of generations of cowboys.

Men rode two, and then three horses, at once, standing on bareback and leaping their animals over gates, ditches and hedges.

Down at the far end of the wheel a squad of cavalrymen halted, dismounted, unlimbered their carbines, and began firing at a squad of cavalrymen who galloped toward them from the other extremity of the field. Three of the men fired upon toppled and fell from their saddles to the dust with wonderful realism, while startled "ohs!" came from the eager onlookers.

Just behind this detachment rode more cavalrymen at the gallop. Three of these men, without seeming effort, swung down from their saddles, while their mounts still galloped, picked up the "dead or wounded," and then these horses, guided by their riders, wheeled and made fast time with the mock "casualties" to the rear.

It was a wonderful sight. Now, the audience began to come somewhere near its actual limits of enthusiasm.

Other yet more wonderful feats of skill and precision by the cavalry followed. Ere the "yellow-legs" had retired, momentarily, from the field of display, every small boy in the crowd – and many a large one – had decided that the life of the trooper must be his.

Then the flying artillery came on to the field, amid clouds of dust, the urgings of drivers, the sharp commands of officers and the pealing commands of bugles. For the first time in their lives the spectators realized how like lightning the American artillery moves, and how speedily it gets into deadly action. It was a pity that none of the fine marksmanship with the field cannon could be shown. The audience had to be satisfied with salvo after salvo fired with blank cartridges at imaginary enemies.

Then next the scene swiftly changed to a well-simulated one of battle, in which all arms engaged. "Under heavy fire" the engineers threw a bridge swiftly across a wide ditch representing a stream. While this was going on Signal Corps men laid wires and had telephone and telegraph instruments in operation from the firing line to the rear.

More of it came when the squadron of cavalry, at one end of the field, and backed by the signal and ordnance detachments, now bearing rifles, impersonated a hostile advance, firing volleys and "at will" at the artillery and infantry, posted to repulse them.

It took the breath of the spectators away. For now they gazed upon the grim realities of war, save for the actual deaths and manglings which all knew must follow such fierce firing when done in reality.

It was some minutes afterward before the smoke cleared away from over the field sufficiently to allow all to see the next spectacles. But all onlookers now felt the need of a brief rest from such sensations.

There were a host of features to the rousing programme, and not a spectator but thrilled and throbbed, and thanked his lucky stars that he was here, at the show, the spectacle of a lifetime!

Feature after feature followed, in a swiftly-moving, tightly-packed programme lasting three hours. The riot drill, showing with vivid effect how a battalion of regular infantry can move through a densely packed mob, brought forth tumultuous cheers. When the cheering had subsided such shouts as these were offered by excited spectators:

"Bring your anarchists here to-night, and show them this!"

"Never get into a riot unless you go with the regulars!"

It was truly an Army afternoon. All such afternoons are, for the average American knows truly nothing about his own Army. When he sees it actually at work he becomes, for the time at least, an "Army crank."

There were many features in which only one, or a few men, figured importantly. One of these was now about to be offered. On the programme it bore the title, "the bicycle dispatch rider."

No name was set opposite this title, but the man who had been selected for the work was Sergeant Hal Overton.

At the far side of the field the scene had been arranged. It represented a hill road, over which the dispatch bearer must ride at breakneck speed. For picturesque purposes Hal wore a surgeon's field case, hanging over one shoulder by a strap. In actual war time his real dispatches would have been hidden somewhere in his clothing, his shoes, or what-not place of concealment.