We lined
up in as good formation as possible, and our sergeant, who was very proud
of himself and of us--mostly himself--majestically called us to attention.
"From the left, number!" he gave the command. Such a feat, of course, is an
impossibility.
"From the right, Sergeant," yelled old Bill.
"No," answered the sergeant, "from the left." The crowd roared and the
sergeant raved. Finally our captain straightened us out, but the sergeant
to this day has never forgotten the incident.
North Bay passed, then Ottawa, Montreal, and at last we arrived at
Valcartier. So far the life of a soldier had been anything but a pleasant
one. My body was black and blue from lying on the hard boards, and I was
eager, as was every other man, to leave the train at once; but as our camp
was not quite ready we had to stay in the cars another night.
It was a relief, I assure you, when on the morning of September first we
marched into Valcartier. Such a sight: tents everywhere one looked; all
around little white marquees. I said to Bill, "Is this the regular training
ground?" To my surprise he informed me that this great camp had been
organized within the last two weeks.
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