The Marines Have Landed Page 6

  CHAPTER V

  A DRUMMER IN THE U. S. MARINES

  "Rise and shine! Come on, you kids, shake a leg and get up out ofthis!"

  Dick Comstock sleepily rubbed his eyes for the fraction of a second andthen sprang out of his comfortable bunk as the sergeant's voice bellowedthrough the room. In the long dormitory thirty-odd boys, their agesranging from fifteen to Dick's own, were hurrying their preparations toget into uniform and down on the parade ground in time for reveille rollcall. Another day in a marine's life had begun.

  Out the doors and down the stairs clattered the noisy, boisterousthrong, fastening last buttons as they emerged into the light of themidsummer rising sun.

  August was half gone and Dick had now completed over a month and a halfin Uncle Sam's _corps d'elite_, for such it was acknowledged to be bywell informed military men of both continents. During that time he hadnot found the days hanging heavily on his hands. Being fortunate inknowing, before he came into the service, how to handle the ebony sticksand blow a bugle, he had escaped a good deal of the monotonouspreliminary ground work which the boys in the "school for musics" wererequired to undergo. It is true that he first had to prove his abilityto his drill masters, and having received no regular instructionpreviously, he made no mention of his accomplishments during his firstfew days at the school.

  With the others he had gone each morning to the basement, where thedrumming lessons were given; sat astride the wooden benches with hiscompanions and lustily pounded out "Ma-ma, Dad-dy," till the very wallsseemed to shake and tremble from the fearful racket.

  The old retired drummer who called him up for his first lesson askedDick no questions.

  "Comstock!" he had called out, and Dick went modestly forward to receivehis instructions from the old martinet, for such he was, and had to bewith that mischievously inclined, irresponsible lot of young Americans."I want you to start in practising this to-day--yes, that is right--youhold the sticks correctly! Now, make two strokes with the lefthand,--slow, like this,--then two with the right. Now watch me," and theold fellow tapped the bench before him demonstrating his meaning.

  With each two strokes of the left-hand stick he would say aloud,"Ma-ma," and with the right-hand strokes, "Dad-dy," slowly at first thenmore quickly, till finally the plank beneath gave forth the wonderfulroll of sound never acquired except by long and faithful practise.

  "Now you see how it should be done! At first you must only try to do itslowly, for unless you get this down thoroughly at the start you willnever be a drummer. Next!" And Dick was moved along to practise inplaying "Mama, Daddy," "Mama, Daddy," for the next hour.

  It had been otherwise with the bugle instructor. He saw at once that theboy knew how to "tongue" the mouthpiece, and that his lip was incondition, and after trying him out the first day and finding him ableto read notes, Dick was told to learn the calls with which he wasunfamiliar and left to work out his own salvation.

  In a little over a month he passed the required examination and wasregularly appointed a drummer.

  The prediction of Colonel Waverly that Dick would probably be thelargest boy in the school proved nearly correct, there being but oneother boy, Henry Clay Cabell, a Southerner, who approached him in size."Hank" or "Daddy" Cabell, as he was called by the rest of the schooluntil Dick's entrance, had been the oldest boy there; he was as tall asRichard, but did not have the weight nor strength. From their firstmeeting Dick and Henry formed a liking for each other which dailyincreased and strengthened. Henry confided to Dick that he hoped towork his way up to a commission, and they agreed to help each other withthat end in view. At the same time Dick was graduated and made adrummer Henry Cabell was appointed a trumpeter, and it was their fondestdesire to be detailed for duty at the same station if sent away in thenear future, as was very likely to be the case.

  On this particular August morning while the two walked back to theirsquad room after the regular physical drill which followed the reveilleroll call, they were discussing this matter.

  "I reckon it won't be long before we get our walking papers," said Henryin his deliberate Southern drawl, "now that we are no longerapprentices.

  "I'll be glad to leave that crazy bunch, anyway," he continued as theystopped for a moment under the barracks arcade and watched theapprentices racing wildly across the parade ground after being dismissedfrom their drill. "I don't reckon they ever will learn anything. Theyare only mischief-making children, and seem to have no sense ofresponsibility at all. Sometimes I wonder why they take such babiesinto a crack organization like this. Do you reckon it ever pays in thelong run? They try to fuss 'Old Grumpy' the entire time, and never makethe least attempt to learn their lessons at school."

  "I guess you've still a great deal to learn about the marines," remarkedDick drily. "In the first place, those boys seldom fool GunnerySergeant Miller with their tricks. He has been handling boys for such along time in the capacity of 'N.C.O.[#] in Charge' that they have to getup pretty early in the morning to put one over on him. He has beenthrough the mill himself, for he is a graduate from this very school.It's just because they are kids, that's all, and most of them have nothad the advantages you and I have enjoyed, Hank, in the way of schoolingand home training and associations. They get the spirit of the Corpssooner or later, I guess. You see, we were fortunate; we both wentthrough high school, and that is why we were excused from taking thelessons those boys have to labor over. Some of those chaps never gotbeyond the primary schools till they came here."

  [#] Non-commissioned officer.

  "Where did you get all your dope, Dick?" inquired Henry, rather curiousto know how his friend found out so many things.

  "Well, you see, Hank, I'm in the Marine Corps to learn all I can aboutit. I want to be familiar with its history in every way, and I've hadseveral talks with Miller and other N.C.O.'s about service things. Inthis way I get quite a little valuable information not put down in therules and regulations; and it may come in handy some day."

  "Oh yes, I reckon so, and you may be right; but for my part the N.C.O.'sare such an ignorant lot themselves, and more or less vulgar too, that Iavoid all of them as much as possible. Until you came along, Dick, Ihardly spoke to anyone in the barracks. It goes against the grain tohave too close an intimacy with them."

  "Henry, you are too good a fellow to hold such ideas; and besides, youare wrong about their being ignorant, or vulgar either. I am beginningto believe that every individual can teach us something which, if we usethe knowledge properly, is bound to help us and make us better men. Ifyou hope to become a successful officer you will have to know your men,how to treat them and to deal with them; you will have to make theirinterests your interests to a great extent; but if you despise your menbecause they all don't happen to measure up to your standard, socially,mentally and morally, I'll tell you right now you've got a hard row totravel ahead of you, old boy."

  "Your argument doesn't appeal to me, Dick," responded Henry, with alittle coolness in his voice. "I reckon I'll get along. So, as we can'tagree on that point, let us cut out the discussion and get our quarterspoliced up. It is nearly time for mess call."

  It was Saturday morning, and the quarters of the apprentices were duefor an extra cleaning, for on this day of the week the CommandingOfficer of the Post held his weekly inspection, and woe betide anyluckless youngster whose bunk was not properly made up, shoes notaccurately lined and shined, or whose steel clothes locker was not in"apple pie order."

  Each boy had his own work to do. The narrow aluminum painted bunks werecarefully aligned along either wall of the long room. Folded back onthe wire springs towards the head of the bed were the mattresses intheir immaculate white covers; on top of each mattress were the foldedsheets, their smooth edges to the front. Next came the pillow in itslinen case; and finally surmounting these were the gray blankets withthe initials "U.S.M.C." woven in dark blue lettering across theircenters, while plainly in view wer
e the owners' names in white stencil.

  In the five-foot spaces between bunks were the dark, green-painted steellockers in which were stored toilet articles, knickknacks, and wearingapparel. Each bit of clothing was laid with the folded edge outward andflush with the front of the locker shelves.

  The hard-wood floors needed but a careful sweeping and dusting, forFriday is field day in every Marine Corps garrison, consequently thescrubbing and preliminary polishing had been previously attended to.

  The work was barely completed when the blaring call of a bugle announcedbreakfast.

  "Soupy, soupy, soupy, The worst I 've ever seen: Coffee, coffee, coffee, Without a single bean: Porky, porky, porky, And not a streak of lean."

  Thus sang the bugle!

  Again the clattering down the stairs, as not only the music boys, butthe entire garrison "fell in" under the arcade and were marched into thespotless mess hall to a breakfast of bacon and eggs, hot cakes andcoffee. Then the clatter of heavy china dishes on the wooden messtables, the noise of knife and fork and spoon, the clatter of voicesfilled the air. Messmen, who were themselves marines detailed for theduty, for which they received an extra compensation of five dollars payper month, their uniforms covered with long white aprons, scurried toand from the galley, with steaming pitchers of hot coffee or largeplatters of golden-brown flapjacks, serving the hungry men at thetables.

  In the middle of this tumult an officer entered, dressed in khaki, andwearing at his left side the famous "sword of the Mamelukes" in itsglittering scabbard.

  "'Ten--shun!"

  The command rang out in stentorian tones through the room. Each man satbolt upright in his place. The hustling messmen[#] stood halted intheir tracks and instant silence reigned. Some N.C.O., catching sightof the Officer of the Day coming through the doorway to inspect themorning meal, called out the order, but only for a moment was theprogress of the repast delayed; almost before the noise had ceased theO.D.'s command, "Carry On,"[#] was heard, and the din and clatter beganwith redoubled energy.

  [#] By Navy Regulations one mess-man is allowed for every twenty men inthe mess.

  [#] A Navy and Marine Corps command, by voice or bugle, meaning for themen to continue work, drill, or occupation in which they were engagedwhen interrupted. This command has been in vogue for many years.

  In and out among the tables walked the officer, asking this or that onequestions about the food or calling the attention of the busy messmen tosome trivial defect, then he disappeared in the direction of the galleyto taste for himself the quality of the articles served. This routinewas part of the O.D.'s duty.

  In service, meals are quickly over, and no loitering is allowed attables, especially on inspection day. Richard, having finished hisrations with all the gusto of a healthy boy, strolled from the mess hallback to his squad room. The apprentices were supposed to have theirquarters in proper "police" by mess call in the morning, and while theywere engaged in filling their stomachs, the N.C.O. in charge, GunnerySergeant Miller, usually made his unofficial morning inspection in orderto discover and correct any violations of requirements before theregular function by the O.D., or on Saturdays the Commanding Officer.

  "Old Grumpy" knew boys from "A to Izzard," and though they were everattempting to play all sorts of pranks on him it was seldom theysucceeded. Tall, lean, gruff, the boys soon found he possessed a heartunder the weather-beaten exterior, and honestly admired and respectedhim. He was never unjust, he gave them no work not necessary to theirwelfare. He heard their complaints, settled their disputes; or, if hebelieved these could be settled only by a fistic encounter, he arrangedthe match, and acted as referee, timekeeper and general adviser.

  He also took charge of their scholastic career, so sadly neglected inmany cases. It was called "Grammar" school, but its curriculum waslittle more than the "three R's." Besides being the drill instructor,Gunnery Sergeant Miller strove at all times to teach his young chargesthe manly virtues of honesty, courage, self-control, obedience, industryand clean living.

  When Dick entered the squad room he thought at first it must have beenoccupied during his absence at breakfast by a menagerie of wild beasts.At the far end, where there happened to be a few empty bunks, a regularfree-for-all fight seemed to be in progress. Shoes were flying aboutthe room in all directions, boys wrestling on the floor, pulling at oneanother, yelling, laughing, punching, crawling. During "Old Grumpy's"inspection, while they were at mess, he had found several pairs of shoesunblackened, others not aligned, and still others poked away in improperplaces. So he gathered all the shoes in the room in a heap and leftthem for their owners to disentangle and set aright. It was not an easyjob to find one's shoes when mixed up in a jumbled mass of over sixtypairs, and by the time the owners secured their rightful property, getthem again cleaned (for the scrimmage had effectually destroyed anyprevious gloss), and aligned under the bunks, brass work of drum andbugle polished, leggins khaki-blancoed, clothing and equipment brushedand adjusted, guard mounting was over and first call for inspectionsounded from the area of barracks.

  At the sounding of assembly the lads formed in two ranks on theirallotted parade ground, while the companies under arms and the bandmarched to their assigned places.

  This was the first Saturday inspection for some of the apprenticesrecently arrived, so Gunnery Sergeant Miller took occasion to give thema few last cautions regarding their duties, and ended by addressing themas follows:

  "I want to tell you boys that every time in the future I don't find yourshoes properly policed at early inspection they all go into a pile asthey did this morning. That means more work for all hands. I can'tstop to pick out the few that are all right when so many are all wrong.Take the hint and all of you cooeperate and save yourselves extra anduseless work. That's all! At Ease!"

  The strains of the band were now heard and the apprentices watched themovements of the companies as they went through the ceremony ofinspection and review.

  The United States Marine Corps band is one of the most famousorganizations of its kind in the world. It is stationed at the MarineBarracks in Washington, D.C., and plays during all parades, guardmountings, and other like ceremonies. Once John Philip Sousa was itsleader, and the band has always rendered his well-known march music toperfection. At this moment following the sounding of "Adjutant's Call,"the space between the barrack buildings was filled with marching menforming in one long line with the band on its right, swords flashing,guns glinting in the sun, and the red, white and blue of the silken flagfluttering. It was indeed a martial and inspiring sight. Later, as thearmed men passed in review before Colonel Waverly to the sound of theMarines' own march by Sousa--"Semper Fidelis"--every step and movementwas in perfect unison.

  "Any man whose feet don't just naturally keep in time to that musicnever will be a soldier if he lives to be as old as Methuselah,"remarked Gunnery Sergeant Miller to the latest recruit near whom he wasstanding, "and when you get to blow the bugle like those musics in rearof the band, then you're a field music and no mistake."

  Behind the band twelve boys, all recent graduates from the school, amongthem Richard Comstock and Henry Cabell, were adding volume to the musicduring certain parts of the march. It was then that the whole enclosurefairly vibrated with the soul-stirring strains.

  The review ended: the extra musics fell out and joined their fellowsunder Miller, and the inspection of the troops began. During thisfunction the band rendered various selections much to the delectation ofmany curious sightseers who had been admitted at the Main Gate to thebarracks. Many of these people were music lovers and could be foundseated on the same benches day after day, listening to the band.

  "Do you see that pretty girl across the parade, Dick?" asked Henry."No, not where you are looking, but the one standing near the benchunder the trees--the girl looking this way."

  Dick's eyes following the directions of his friend soon spied the girlreferred to. How familiar she looked! She reminded him of
--yes,--itwas,--Ursula, his sister, and by her side stood his mother and father.

  Forgetting he was no longer a free agent, Dick gave a wild "whoop" andstarted from the ranks. Just in the nick of time Henry caught him by thecoat-tails and jerked him backward to his place in line.

  "Watch yourself, Dick," muttered Henry between his teeth, "here comesthe 'Old Man!'" His prompt action probably saved Dick a severereprimand, if nothing worse.

  Gunnery Sergeant Miller had whirled about on hearing the unaccustomedwar whoop but he was not swift enough to catch the culprit. So he wasforced to postpone further investigation of the untoward circumstanceuntil another time, for Colonel Waverly was now but a few yards away,coming to inspect the apprentices.

  "Attention! Prepare for inspection; Open--Ranks; March!"

  The apprentices became a stiff line of human ramrods and at the commandof execution--"March,"--the rear rank took three paces backward andhalted, while in both lines heads and eyes were turned smartly to theright. Having verified the alignment of both ranks the Gunnery Sergeantstepped to the front and commanded:

  "Front!"

  Each head snapped to the front. The N.C.O. in charge then saluted theCommanding Officer by bringing the sword he carried up to a position infront of the center of his body, the right hand grasping the hilt a fewinches from his chin, with the blade slanting upward and slightlyoutward. This part of the ceremony being over Colonel Waverly carefullyinspected every boy in line. He examined their shoes, the fit of theirclothing, their equipment, the cut of their hair and even, if truth mustbe told, their necks, to see if soap and water had been recently andproperly applied.

  All this time Dick was nearly bursting with impatience. He began tobelieve the Colonel never would finish. At last the ordeal was over andimmediately on being dismissed he requested and received of "Old Grumpy"permission to speak to the Commanding Officer. Approaching him, Dickrendered his most military salute.

  "What do you wish, Music?" questioned Colonel Waverly.

  "Drummer Comstock would thank the Commanding Officer for permission togo to the visitors' benches and speak with his mother, father andsister. They have just arrived, and are over near the gate, sir."

  "Granted, young man, and you are excused for the rest of the day."

  Dick Comstock cannot recollect whether or not he saluted his colonelafter a fervent "Thank you, sir," but he still remembers the feeling ofthose motherly arms about him and the sweet kisses on his lips as Mrs.Comstock gathered her stalwart drummer boy to her bosom,--drum,drumsticks and all.