conference, on the slope of the drill
field below the furthest mess-shacks, where we were massed in a
semi-circle. It was an interesting sight, a thousand men in olive-drab
slowly blending with their background as the dusk grew, yet with the
faces of most of them showing up in the coming moonlight. Behind the
speaker were the lake and the mountains, with the moon just beginning to
glimmer on the little waves. It was the General himself who addressed us,
welcoming us, speaking briefly of the purpose of our coming, expressing
confidence that we would work as hard as our predecessors: a fine
man-to-man address. I could not help thinking of a German general that I
once heard speak to _Einjaehriger_--stiff, short, and unapproachable.
Wood was stimulating, and made us readier for our duties.

The moon was brighter when we got back to the company street, and someone
had lighted a fire at its head. Here a hundred of us, including some of
the invalids, packed together in a circle around our new captain, while
he spoke to us briefly. I had a good view of him. Shorter than the
lieutenant, yet still a tall man, very strongly made, he spoke, like the
general, as man to man, and the least thing he appeared to expect was any
difficulty with us. He told us that the work was hard and tiresome; he
would make it as easy as possible, but he knew we were there to work, and
we could depend on him (without a twinkle) to give us everything that was
coming to us. His tent was right at the head of the street; he wanted us
to come to him at any time for any question; it was his business (and
again no twinkle) to make our minds as well as our bodies comfortable.
Thus I get the impression that he is something of a humorist, yet also
that his chief trait is aggressiveness. I cannot tell you why, for all
was spoken with a quiet voice, even with a certain gentleness that
disguises what I am sure is the basic character of the man. Knudsen felt
it too, for as we walked away from the conference he said: "The captain's
a scrapper."

"He's a Southerner," said Clay with satisfaction. It had been plain in
his accent.

This letter, begun Saturday night, I finish Sunday morning. Send me,
please, a dozen clothes pins, to keep my washing on the tent-ropes.
Pickle hung up his wet towel today, and had to chase it into the next
company street. As everywhere is the same black sand, you can imagine its
condition, likewise that of a moist cake of soap when you acci