I marveled at this for I did not believe we had a man in Canada with the
organizing ability to get a camp of this size in such splendid shape in so
short a time. We were finally settled in our quarters and told that we
were to be known as the Ninth Battalion, One-Hundred-and-First Edmonton
Fusiliers.
The second day we were in camp the bugle sounded the assembly. Of course I
did not know an "assembly" from a mess call, but the others ran for the
parade ground and so I followed.
Gee! what a mob! There was a big man sitting on a horse. Bill said he was
the colonel. He made a speech to us. He told us we were fine men.
"You are a fine body of men," said he ... "but we are unorganized, and we
have no non-commissioned officers."
I whispered to Bill, "What's a non-commissioned officer?"
Bill looked to see if I really meant it. "A sergeant, a corporal--anything
but a private," he replied.
"Will all the men who have had former military experience fall out,"
commanded the colonel; "the rest of you go back to quarters."
"Have I had any former military experience, Bill?" I was eager for
anything.
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