Such incidents as the above kept the plebes from becoming too depressed. The fun of the upper-classmen found many other outlets. On days when watermelons were served in the Mess Hall, the plebes were required at the conclusion of the meal to fill their mouths with seeds, and thus loaded to the gunwales to march back to camp. The wriggling, squirming, slippery little black particles fought with one another to burst open the encircling mouth _en cul de poule_ and leap to freedom, and occasionally their efforts were successful, on the march back to camp, to the detriment of the blouse of the plebe’s front rank file. More frequently, however, upon arrival at camp, the plebes of A Co. were lined up at six paces from those of B Co., and at a given signal the human machine guns belched forth their glossy black bullets. One upper-classman ordered me to gather a handful from the battlefield and plant them around his tent. To my dismay and chagrin they sprouted, whereupon I was instructed to care for them, keep them in health or sickness, and train the growing vines on slender cords.
The plebes were hardly allowed a moment to themselves. Every spare moment was employed in cleaning guns, brasses and other equipment, chiefly of upper-classmen for whom one happened to be a “special duty man.” If some unoffending sparrows alighted in the company streets, half a dozen yearling voices rang out, “Turn out, you plebes, and chase those eagles!” Lads in all sorts and conditions of undress fell precipitately out of their tents, bayonets in hand, to drive away the innocent feathered marauders. If an upper-classman wished to know the time, he would yell, “_Quelle heure est-il?_” a whole chorus replied, “Two o’clock, sir!” Again, every plebe was required upon inquiry to give his P. C. S., or previous condition of servitude. Those who had none, never having worked in their lives, were made to answer “schoolgirl,” as a mark of immaturity and unworldliness. Never was a plebe permitted to say: “I don’t know.” “Say something, Mr. Dumbguard,” was the admonishment followed by: “If you cannot think of anything, say ‘steamboat’! Never say that you don’t know!”
I once stood behind a man in ranks who weighed, he said, 190 pounds. I weighed but 120. It became my daily duty to weigh and report to him how much of his frail body I, as his near rank file, left uncovered and exposed to the elements. When a plebe was on guard at night, some of the yearlings would appear on his post covered with sheets which they fluttered at a great rate.