Barrage fire Barnes of the field artillery

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I Ray Decides 5

II Barnes of the Field Artillery ... 15

Chapter I. Ray Decides

To say that Ray Barnes was the most serious of all that group of Emerson Hall High School graduates who shook hands with each other and said good-by, under the glimmering arc light on Bush Avenue that momentous night in April, would not have been exactly fair to the rest of the fellows, but certain it was that he was not the least serious of the lot.

Ray had a little more to sacrifice by enlisting than most of the chaps. He had a good position in the Eighth National Bank; he had certain hobbies that he was pursuing, as for instance his study of banking methods, which he followed by attending school at Columbia College three nights each week, and, most important of all, his little class of Italian boys, whom he was teaching English, for an hour between five and six o’clock every second evening in the Crystal 5

Settlement House on the lower East Side. Tc be sure he had besides this, as had most of the other boys in the Sphinx Club, a wonderful mother and a fine chummy dad, whom he hated to think of leaving.

To give all this up and enlist for active service in the National Guard meant a hard pull for Ray, a little harder pull perhaps than for the average chap, for these things he had built up for his own pleasures during the last four years since he had left High School. Yet after all, he knew that it was his duty to make these sacrifices and serve his country for deep down in his heart he felt that it was the duty of every fellow over the age of eighteen or nineteen who had no really serious obligations at home, to enlist.

“Yes,” he told himself as he made his way toward the street car line that would take him nearest his home, “Yes, Prof. Brockford is right. Each of us chaps has a duty now; a duty that comes before any of our pleasures or our business. I guess we all have been shirkers to a certain extent or we would have taken steps, long ago, toward preparing ourselves to be of service to Uncle Sam when he needed us. Shucks, I could have spared some time at least to serve an enlistment in the National Guard, and if I had, I would now be ready for service. Prof, was right, and he sure handed it to us tonight. And to think that Danny Kelly was the first of us all to realize his mistake and to enlist immediately. Bully for Danny.”

Thus he cogitated on the subject of past mistakes, as he hurried homeward, and as to just what he would have to do about his position, his school work, his settlement work, and his mother and father, before he too signed up for service.

And while he is cogitating, and while the street car is taking him toward his home, it might be well to explain, for the benefit of those who have not yet made the acquaintance of the Sphinx Club of Emerson Hall High School, Professor Brockford, Danny Kelly, Les Stewart, Ray, Bud Grant, and the rest of the fellows, just what this organization is and who these fellows are.

Emerson Hall, the oldest and finest school in the city, had among its many other student organizations a club known as the Sphinx Club, which was organized and conducted by the graduate students of the school, and which, through the courtesy of the principal, held its regular meetings in the tower-room of the gray old granite school building. Professor Brockford, who had lately left the school as a teacher to become a practicing physician, was the advisor of the Sphinx Club, and the warm friend of every member.

At the time our story opens, the President had proclaimed in a stirring message that the United States had entered the war on the side of justice and righteousness, and that soon Uncle Sam’s khaki troops would be pouring into Europe to fight shoulder to shoulder with the Tommies of Cousin John Bull, and the brave French Poilus. And on the heels of the President’s message came the call to arms echoing throughout the country.

Of course every red-blooded chap felt a response to the call welling up within him, and the fellows who belonged to the Sphinx Club were no exceptions. Indeed, by the time the mobilization of the National Guard was well under way the fellows began to inquire of each other just what they should do for their part in the war. Ray was among the very first to ask the question, and receiving no answer he turned to Professor Brockford for advice.

Over the telephone he put the question. But the Professor, never slow in a crisis, had already done his part, and had made up his mind what his young friends in the Sphinx Club should do too. He told Ray briefly to call a special meeting of the Sphinx Club that night, and Ray, who was president, at the time, was busy the rest of the afternoon arranging the details.

Professor Brockford appeared at the meeting in the khaki uniform of a lieutenant and told the boys that he had joined the Liberty Hospital Unit, as a physician, with the office of Second Lieutenant. Then in no uncertain terms he assured them that it was high time they all did their part by joining some branch of the National Guard. He went further. He pointed out to them that if they had been alive to what was offered them in the way of an interesting time, they would have joined the National Guard long since and taken advantage of their fine athletic organizations, their big armories, with indoortrack, basket ball, tennis, baseball and gymnasium privileges, the summer encampments and the military training which, he assured every fellow, should be part of his general education.

By way of helping some fellows to decide the branch of the service they should enter, he offered to take two of them as ambulance drivers with the Liberty Unit which he said was slated to sail for France in a short time. Of course all the boys were eager to go and the result was that the coveted two positions had to be drawn for. Hobby Austin and Hopper Gordon were the fortunate ones, and as a result it fell to the rest of the fellows to choose their own method of serving Uncle Sam. As it happened, Danny Kelly, whose adventures you may have already read, had not waited for the meeting. He had enlisted in the “Fighting Fifth” and he came to the Sphinx gathering that night in full uniform.

Les Stewart was next to make up his mind, and announced his intentions of joining the Naval Militia, in which branch of the service he later had some stirring times as many of you already know. But salt water did not appeal to any of the rest, and Buck Sharp loudly acclaimed that he was for the cavalry, whereupon Bud Grant ridiculed that branch of the service, and announced that the only sensible place for strapping young fellows to work was with the signal corps.

But Ray Barnes, with whom this story mostly deals, had his own ideas about how and where he wanted to serve. That he should enter the service he no longer questioned, after hearing Professor Brockford’s opinion on the subject. The hardest part of it was to give up all the things he held so dear at home. Not that he had it harder than thousands of other fellows who were cheerfully making sacrifices. Indeed, that is what made him feel a little ashamed of himself. He knew that fellows of his own age the world over were sacrificing everything on this altar of patriotism even to their lives, and here he was feeling unhappy about leaving the few things he had built up for himself, and which doubtless he could come back to at the end of the war — providing he came back at all.

‘Tm certain the bank will hold my job for me,” said Ray as he left the street car and walked up Greene Avenue toward his home, “and as for the schooling, well I guess I'll have lots of time to study banking methods when I come back. The Sphinx Club is being split up anyhow by this war, so I’ll not miss much there. The hardest thing of all is the settlement work. But shucks, I guess they can find someone to take care of the kiddies until I come back. No, I haven't a really good reason for not enlisting, so I'm going to go — Hello. Wonder why Dad and Mother are up so late."

Ray bounded up the front steps of the brownstone house in which he and his father and mother and sister lived, and letting himself in with his latch key hurried into the library.

“Hello, Dad," he cried. Then catching sight of his mother, “Hello there, good old Mumsie. Why — why — what — you've been crying."

His mother smiled sadly and replied:

“Are my eyes red, Ray, dear?" which was just like a woman and Ray hugged her for it.

“Not very red, Mumsie," said Ray consolingly, “but what's the matter? Say, Dad, what's the trouble? You look as serious as an owl. Stocks been going down ? No, they haven’t? Then what are you so serious about?”

“Serious, Ray, these are serious times, aren’t they ? I’ll ask you the same question. Why were you looking so serious when you came in just now ?”

Ray smiled soberly.

“You’ve struck it, Dad. These are serious times. And to tell the truth I was wondering just how I was going to make myself do my part.”

“And we were just worrying over the part you will have to do, Ray, for mother and I are mighty certain you are going to enlist,” said his father.

“Well, Dad, don’t you think I should?”

“I don’t think, Ray. I knozv you should. Ray, I honestly think you should have been in the service long ago ; that is I think you should have been a National Guardsman. It’s every fellow’s duty to serve at least one enlistment in the National Guard, and besides a chap of your age, athletic and all that, can have a bully time in the

“Dad, you good old fellow, you’re taking the words right out of Prof. Brockford’s mouth. That’s the way he lectured us all for nearly an hour tonight. We’ve all been feeling like slackers ever since. To tell the truth, Dad, I never knew what a fine organization the National Guard was until Prof, began to talk about it tonight. I guess most of us Sphinx Club chaps have missed some mighty good times these last few years.”

“You are right, Ray,” assured his father. “The National Guard is the second line of defense on land, and every chap who can should join it. The State has invested a great many million dollars in armories, which are the bulliest kind of club houses for you fellows. Thousands of dollars are spent in providing uniforms, rifles, and other equipment for the men, and there are athletic tourneys, bowling, swimming, fine camps and a host of other things to hold a young fellow’s interest in the Militia. It’s really bully stuff, Ray.”

“I guess it is, Dad,” said Ray, “and I know I’ve made a mistake in not joining sooner. But thank goodness it isn’t too late now. Of course, if I enlist at this time I will not get much of a chance to enjoy any of the privileges. I’ll get all of the hard part now but maybe when I come back — if — er I mean when I get back I’ll have some fun out of it.”

Ray shot a quick glance at his mother and saw that tears were gathering in her eyes. But she wiped them away bravely and smiled at him.

“Then you’ve really decided to join?” asked his father.

“You bet I have, Dad,” assured Ray.

“Well which branch of the National Guard do you think you will go in for?” queried Mr. Barnes.

“Why I have a leaning toward Field Artillery, Dad. You know how fond I am of horses and that sort of thing. I think Fll go out for that.”

“Then don’t lose any time, Ray. Arrange all your affairs tomorrow and enlist immediately because I heard tonight that the Field Artillery regiments were filling up fast,” said his father. Then he added, “And now come on to bed. We’ll go over the details tomorrow and perhaps I can help you a little in getting things straightened out at the bank. Maybe I can help you get into some one of the artillery commands if you have any difficulties.”

“Thank you, Dad. Come on, Mother. Where’s Sis? Gone to bed already ? That’s too bad. Well I’ll call good-night to her,” said Ray as he took his mother’s arm and started upstairs.

Chapter II. Barnes Of The) Fie)ld Artittery

The next day proved to be an extremely busy one, and full of disappointments for Ray. First of all he secured a hearing with Mr. Thatcher, the President of the Eighth National Bank, and told him frankly that he intended to enlist. Mr. Thatcher, of course, congratulated him on his attitude and assured him that his position would be waiting for him when he returned.

That being satisfactorily disposed of, Ray returned to his desk, and after writing a letter of resignation to his night-school instructor at Columbia, he cleaned out his personal belongings, packed them up and arranged to have them expressed home. Then came the hard part of saying good-by to all his chums in the bank, of which there were many.

From the bank, Ray hurried over to the settlement house where he met a number of his friends who worked with him in the poorer quarters of the city among the kiddies and grown folks as well. Ray explained to them that he would no longer be able to do his work there, all of which made him feel unhappy too. He met a number of his little boy acquaintances, tiny dirty-faced Italians and Jews, who thought as much of him as they did of their own big brothers, and as he said good-by to each of them, Ray felt a distinct tug at his heart-strings.

Those unpleasant duties were finished after a time, however, and late in the afternoon, footloose and free, as he termed it, he hurried over to Brooklyn toward the old fashioned brick armory, where Battery J had its headquarters.

Here Ray was surprised to find quite a crowd of young fellows standing outside the closed doors. He could not quite understand why. But he soon knew when he applied for admission to the building from the sentry who paced restlessly up and down.

“Where do you want to go?” asked the sentry clicking his heels together as he addressed Ray.

“Why I want to go inside,” said Ray somewhat surprised at being stopped.

“What for?” asked the sentry.

“I want to enlist.”

“Sorry, old top, but there’s no chance. Battery is full. You are just about a day too late,” said the Guardsman.

“Is that straight?” asked Ray. “You mean I can’t get in.”

“No. You can’t. Nothing doing. Say why don’t you jump over to New York and try Battery K? That is the same regiment as our battery. Nice lot of chaps over there too, only you’d better beat it or you’ll be shut out over there. They need a couple of huskies like you.”

Ray “beat it.” As fast as elevated train and subway could carry him he hurried over to Manhattan, and uptown, and in due time he was standing in front of the armory of Battery K. Here too a sentry had been posted to keep back a tiny knot of fellows who stood helplessly about the entrance. Ray’s spirits fell when he saw them there, for he had a premonition that Battery K was filled up too.

Approaching the sentry, Ray was about to speak when the chap in khaki anticipated his words.

“Nothing doing here, old scout. All four batteries filled up.”

“K Battery too?” asked Ray.

“Yep. Took the last three men in at twelve o’clock.”

“Shucks, is there any artillery command that isn’t filled up?” asked Ray disconsolately.

“Only ones I know of is Battery F and Battery G over in New Jersey,” said the sentry.

“Shucks, I’m a New Yorker and I want to get into a New York outfit,” said Ray.

“Hard luck, old chap,” said the sentry.

It was hard luck. Ray felt miserable as he boarded the subway train, breasting the rush hour crowd, and started home to Brooklyn.

He was the picture of discouragement when he reached his home in Greene Avenue and his father, who was waiting for him could not help but smile when Ray told him of the discouragements he had met with.

“Cheer up, Raymond. I anticipated you would have trouble so I called up my old friend, Colonel Martin, and he "

“Colonel Martin. Why he's the commander of the S Field Artillery Regiment to which Bat-

tery J belongs. I didn't know you knew him."

“Yes, I happen to know him quite well," said Mr. Barnes with a smile. “He said Battery J was full and so were the other Brooklyn batteries but he knew that the Chaplain needed a chauffeur for his automobile and that Battery J needs a mail clerk. He gave me a letter to Captain Blanchard, who is at the armory, recommending you for either one of these positions."

“But shucks, Dad, I don't want to be a chauffeur or a mail clerk I want to be in with the bunch. A regular fellow," protested Ray.

“Tut, tut. What you want to do is to get in first. It will be easy to swap jobs with some other chap if you don't like being a mail clerk, you know," said his father.

“Guess you are right as usual, Dad. Where’s the letter? I’ll go down there tonight. Whoopee-e-e I may get in after all. Almost thought today that I would have to be satisfied with the Infantry,” cried Ray now thoroughly happy.

Ray’s dinner was bolted in a hurry that evening, and he did not wait for a second helping of dessert as usual, before he rushed for his hat and with a hasty peck on his mother's cheek by way of a kiss rushed out the door and hurried to the nearest street-car line.

With the letter from Colonel Martin which his father had given him, he had little trouble passing the sentry at the door, and presently he found himself inside the big armory building, which enclosed a tan bark arena unexpectedly large, and unexpectedly crowded with prancing horses, eight field pieces, limbers and caissons, scores of men in khaki, great piles of luggage, transport wagons, piles of tents and what-not, including an automobile field kitchen. Men in uniform were moving about, some apparently in a great hurry, others sauntering up and down, and several sitting close to the edge of the arena were playing mummel-the-peg with a huge jack-knife. They were a bully looking set of fellows and Ray hoped that his fondest dream would soon be realized and that before long he would be one of them.

The front end of the building, both on the ground floor and upstairs, was taken up with officers’ quarters, company rooms, store-rooms, quartermaster’s department, and similar executive departments, and Ray had some difficulty in finding Captain Blanchard’s office. When he did he found that the tiny place was well crowded with officers and men all waiting their turn to see the executive. Ray took his place in line with the rest, and slowly, one by one the men ahead of him were ushered in. Presently, his turn came, and as he was passing in through the small door to the inner office where Captain Blanchard sat, a big broad shouldered fellow with a fine clean-cut face came out, brushed by Ray and went on down stairs.

Coming into the presence of Captain Blanchard, Ray was struck with his gray hair and gray mustache and very fatherly face. He smiled a welcome to the young fellow in spite of the fact that he was apparently heels over head in work.

“Captain Blanchard, my name is Ray Barnes. I have a letter of introduction here from Colonel Martin, sir,” said Ray crisply.

“V ery good let me have it,” said the Captain, and taking the letter he broke it open and read it. And as he read the expression on his face changed to one of serious thought. Ray knew instinctively that a disappointment was in store for him.

“Why, Raymond, my boy, Fm mighty sorry, but the position of mail clerk for our battery was filled this afternoon, and the man who just passed you on the way out, was accepted for the Chaplain’s chauffeur.”

Ray could hardly hide his disappointment.

“Shucks, beaten out by ^ibout five minutes. Well if that isn’t the hardest luck a fellow could have. I — I — er — well I suppose I’ll have to go over to the infantry and enlist.”

“Oh if it’s only a chance to enlist that you are after I’ll give you that,” said Captain Blanchard, “I thought you were looking for some special job, like mail clerk or chauffeur.”

“But I — I — well the sentry told me this afternoon that the Battery was filled up,” exclaimed the surprised Ray, hardly able to credit his own hearing.

“It was,” smiled the Captain, “but since then we have been having a new medical examination and two men have been dismissed from the Battery so far, and there may be more vacancies before midnight. Do you want to try for one of the places?”

“Do I? I just guess so.”

“Very good,” said the Captain. Then, “Orderly !”

The orderly appeared.

“Take this man to Recruiting Sergeant Bates.”

“Very good, sir.”

After so many disappointments that day, Ray could hardly believe that it was all true, and he was half afraid that perhaps during the process of recruiting, he would encounter some obstacle that would not let him into the outfit.

But he did not. Sergeant Bates gave him innumerable papers to sign and asked him a score of questions and then turned him over to the orderly who took him into the medical officer's quarters. Here he went through a trying examination during which he was measured, marked and fingerprinted, with every bone and muscle and organ in his body scrutinized closely. But he was finally sent back to Sergeant Bates, “sound as a dollar.”

Here other papers were signed, then he was turned over to Sergeant Brush, who looked him over and then sent him to the Supply Sergeant, of Battery J, who hurried him to the quartermaster's domains, where, from great stacks of clothing, hats, breeches and like equipment, Ray was given a complete outfit, even to summer underclothing and two pairs of shoes.

It was close to eleven o'clock when Ray, dressed in his newly acquired uniform, reported to Sergeant Brush, who was the chief non-com of the platoon he had already been assigned to, with a request for a pass until the following morning.

“Oh that’s all right,” said the Sergeant giving him a pass. “Only a few men are sleeping at the armory now. You will be able to go home every night until we get orders to move. Report in the morning at eight o’clock sharp.”

With his citizen’s clothes in a bundle under his arm Ray hurried out of the armory. The street cars did not travel half fast enough for him that night for he was all eagerness to get home and show off his new uniform. Three steps at a time he cleared the front porch, then fumbling with the latch key, he let himself in and with a rush he burst into the library where Mother and Dad and Sis were awaiting his return.

Of course he hurried to his mother first and threw his arms about her. And she laid her head on his shoulder and cried softly :

“My boy, my boy, my boy. I — know — it’s — the — right — thing — for— you — to — do, but — oh it’s hard, Ray.”

“Oh shucks, Mother, don’t feel badly. It’s really only a lark. Cheer up.”

Ray’s father held him off at arm’s length and looked at him and although he did not say much, it was easily seen that he was as proud as Punch.

“You managed to get a mighty good fitting uniform, Raymond,’’ was all that he said, but Ray knew the pride that was swelling in the bosom of his father, and he could not restrain a desire to grip the man’s hand, and give him a good big hug and kiss too.

It was well after midnight when they all got to bed, for Ray told from beginning to end his experiences of the night, and of course he had a proud and attentive audience.

CHAPTER III. spike: — the: ne:w rookie:.

For the next few weeks, being an artilleryman was very little different from going to business for Ray, except of course he left the house a little earlier in the morning and returned home a little later at night. There was a certain irregularity about meals because no provisions had as yet been made whereby meals could be served to the men at work in the armory.

But unlike going to business, there was a lot of real man-size work to be done at the armory, and no end of details that Ray and many other new men were forced to learn as quickly as possible. Ray had already received his assignment to the first platoon of Battery J, but because he was a likely looking “rookie,” as Gun Corporal Arbuckle dubbed him, he was given No. 5 position with a place on the caisson “right over the explosives” as he told his Dad facetiously, one evening.

However, there were scores of things he had to learn before he could take his place on the caisson, and he quickly realized that he was in for the hardest work he had ever done in his life. He and a half dozen other rookies composed what really amounted to an awkward squad and they spent hours each day under the command of Sergeant Brush, learning the school of the soldier unmounted.

There were marching steps and commands, manual of arms, which every soldier must know, setting up exercises of which there were a dozen different varieties each one calculated to take the stiffness out of certain groups of muscles, pistol drill and a host of similar rudiments to be learned. Indeed, Ray never realized that it required such really hard work to learn to become the most elementary kind of a soldier. He spent hours drilling and learning and many other hours, both day and night, reading and studying various manuals and books on soldiering, with which he made haste to provide himself.

But in due time he did become quite a creditable foot-soldier, and meanwhile he began all over again to learn to be an artilleryman.

From books and through the diligent efforts of Sergeant Brush, Caisson Corporal Norman, Gun Corporal Arbuckle and even Lieutenant Lang, who occasionally took charge of the squad, he learned that a Battery was composed of four field pieces, limbers and caissons, that a piece and a caisson were known as a section.

He learned that there were from 34 to 36 men. two guns and limbers and two caissons and limbers to a platoon, 17 or 18 men and one gun and one caisson to a section, that there were 6 drivers and 6 cannoneers to each section and two noncommissioned officers, besides extra drivers and cannoneers. He learned the duties of the Gun Corporal and the duties of the various positions from No. 1 to No. 5 which was his position and the extra cannoneers who ranged up to No. 10.

These last details were learned by actual practice, for sometime during each day drills were called on the caissons and field pieces and then with the gun in position ready for firing and the caisson lined up close by, the six men who served the gun would bend into position and execute the various movements necessary in serving the piece. As No. 5, Ray was to the extreme left of the caisson and it was his duty to pull the shells from their compartments and pass them to the man at his right known as No. 4, who set the shell with a tiny instrument by means of which the fuse inside the nose of the projectile was shortened or lengthened if it was a time charge. Then it was passed immediately to No. 2 to his right who slipped it gingerly into thebreech, while No. 1 slams home the breech block and locks it and the Gunner prepared to fire. For a time the work of No. 3 man puzzled him until he found that he was there to keep the fuse setter scales set at the proper range and corrector ordered.

But that there was far more to the manipulations of the field piece than just the mechanics, Ray could perceive at a glance. The really hard jobs were those of the Gunner or Gun Corporal and No. I who sat astride tiny iron seats on either side of the breech of the piece behind the high steel shield, and by means of quadrant, levelers and clinometer, held the gun on the target.