The Sleeping Sword

Tom knew that soldiers in a peacetime army gambled mindlessly and pursued whores relentlessly.  Many were drunks, many more were except for the army unemployable, and a few were criminals.  Virtually all had a limited education.  In effect, they were in the army because they had no place else to go.

Once a month payday was said to be the day the eagle screams.  Tom sat at a table, the payroll in cash in a cash box and the company roster before him, his Colt .45, unholstered, loaded, on the table within easy reach.  The soldiers lined up and one by one were paid.  On the Monday after payday, the officers of Tom’s company and those of all other companies gathered to await the results of roll call.  Inevitably, several men would be missing.  Their names would be matched against names called in from police stations at Odenton,  Laurel, or Baltimore of soldiers arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct, rarely anything more serious.  Since the army base was important to the economies of those localities, since catering to the simple vices of soldiers was good for the local economies, and since the authorities at Camp Meade were always cooperative, the police tolerated the misdemeanors of soldiers.  Miscreants would gener­ally be thrown into the lockup overnight and turned over to military authorities on Monday morning.    

The officers would sit around drinking coffee with the police, swapping stories and jokes, relaxing, letting the sol­diers’ jail house hangovers work on them while the officers enjoyed the diversion from routine. If a soldier could not readily be found, however, if officers had to spend time search­ing hospitals and distant police stations, the military system was not likely to deal kindly with the offender.

One Monday morning the Baltimore police reported that they had arrested Tom’s First Sergeant in a gambling raid.  What made it bad was that he had beat up the policeman who arrested him.  Being a more than routine matter and requiring a good deal of tact, Tom went himself.  After weighty negotiations with the police captain, while Lt. Reilley, who had accompanied him, worked his charm on the Irish policemen, Sergeant Thomas was released into Tom’s custody.  Tom conceded that if ever again the police arrested him in Baltimore the army would not intervene.

Because of the hour, it had been arranged that Florence would spend the night in the guest room at Sadie’s apartment.  She was flushed by the excitement, the glamor of the evening.  She had discussed music and been taken seriously by the brightest light on Broadway, who was also an intelligent person and a gracious gentleman.  She had been surrounded and accepted by people she found much more interesting than the dull people at Fort Leavenworth or Fort Howard or West Point.  They radiated enchantment, excitement, glamor.  How much more alluring was this life than the boring military life.  She was flattered, exhilarated.  It had been a delightfully different and pleasant evening and she yawned and stretched luxuriantly in Sadie Rappo­port’s guest bed.

Since Leavenworth she had done her best to be the perfect army wife.  At West Point she had learned the complicated, stifling rules as well as any Plebe had learned them.  She joined every charity cause she was expected to.  She was a worker in this club and that one and served on committees whenever called.  She gave more tea parties and luncheons than she cared to give, yet not so many as to annoy the matrons.  She accompanied Tom to every function that called for her presence.  She had been especially careful not to let her Achilles heel, music, cause Tom trouble.  She played only on request and was more than scrupulous with regard to protocol and to the feelings of others.  She had been intent on not offending anyone, as if that were possible.