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June 3, 1917
June 6, 1917, Eva
June 7, 1917
June 10, 1917
June 10,1917, Eva
June 14, 1917
June 17, 1917
June 23, 1917, Eva
June 24, 1917
June 25, 1917, Eva
June 30, 1917
SBButler Letters, June 1917
Dear Eva,
It was a relief to get your note Friday evening and know that
commencement had not been too much for you or that nothing else
had happened to you. And I'm glad we have Sunday mails as today
brought me your longer letter [note - no sign of this longer
letter]. I don't see but what your commencement exercises went
off first rate, and I'm glad you enjoyed it and received so many
lovely flowers. I wonder if the amiable Dr.W.W. enjoyed it with
his usual bubbling enthusiasm; back about the middle of April
he told us teachers that there was only time to get up a fair
commencement, and as things weren't moved much faster even after
that, I thought the whole thing might be prejudged as impossible
on his part. Didn't Dr.McClellan or whoever the minister was
that was looking out for your spiritual welfare have any argument
in rebuttal after listening to your answer in the class poem?
The lightening must know you enjoy it, and probably doesn't bother
friends.
I am surely pleased that you are to be where you can continue
to be near Miss Tolbert thru the summer.
This noon I went down town with Tom Beers (of Cromwell - and
Co.2 up here) for the real meal we promised ourselves. We tried
the New Cumberland Hotel and what a meal we did have - chicken
soup, roast turkey and roast pork, mashed potatoes, corn, apple
charlotte, strawberry shortcake and ice-cream - at a real table,
with real chairs, real table linen and china; I never dreamed
that such things would seem so extraordinary. Whether I can go
back to mess to-night or not I don't know. I guess I've never
written you but what I've talked something about eating, have
I? So, lest you think that the satisfaction of my appetite be
the chief end of my existence, I think I had best say no more.
I wrote you Wednesday afternoon, as we had a free day of Memorial
Day, but don't much believe it reached you before you left for
Philadelphia. This past week has seemed shorter in passing than
the others, presumably because of the holiday. We have had drill
in marching movements two hours every morning except Friday,
& Tuesday when it rained so hard. More of our drill is now
in the formations on the firing line, - how to deploy from the
column of march into the skirmish (firing) line, (called extended
order drill), and how to advance the firing line during engagements.
The drill before this week has been more of it what is known
as close order drill - marching movements used when not under
fire ; and we still have work in this close order drill - I hope
it's kept up , too, for some of the movements are pretty complicated
to the untutored , like myself, and it needs a lot of practice
to get them fastened on the mind. Then every morning we have
had a half-hour, as usual, of calisthenics, setting up exercises,
or whatever you want to call them, and a half-hour of bayonet
drill. The last hour and a half of the morning, & of the
afternoon have been as before conference and study periods, and
the evening will always be a study time; and we are certainly
getting crowded. When I get back to teaching, I am never going
to have any mercy any more, and worry as to whether the lessons
I assign are too long or hard or not. When the students object,
I shall have as a byword, "Why, when I was at Plattsburg",
etc.,etc. I'm sure that will be a silencer to all except the
keen ones who discover ancient passages about considering the
lilies of the field. The first hour of each afternoon we have
had signal work, and there are two codes we have to work on now;
the first code we learned was what is known as the semaphore,
in which certain relative stationary positions of the arms indicate
certain letters, and as its based on a system, its not hard to
learn, but it takes a great deal of practice to get to read a
message fast. The new code we have been taking up this week is
known as the wig -wag (and I believe in one of my earlier letters
I erroneously referred to the semaphore as wig-wag); it might
be called a visualization of the international Morse telegraphic
code. For instance, A in the telegraph is .- (dot-dash) - in
the wig-wag signal it is inclining the flag to the right 90 [degrees]
& then to the left, starting from a vertical position in
front of the body, & going back there on each movement. A
dot is going down & up on the right side, & a dash going
down and up on the left. There is a definite number of words
we shall have to be able to send or receive in a minute, in each
code, as part of the qualifications for our commissions, and
of course we are trying in our practices gradually to work up
to the qualifying mark. We practice this signal work in the large
pine grove south of the camp, each squad (8 men) practicing together;
none of our squad has reached the qualifying mark in either code
yet, and I don't believe many others have either. The other half-hour
of every afternoon has been spent in the position, aiming, and
trigger-squeeze exercises with the rifle - under the head of
musketry training. I think I've described them before. Friday
morning we had our first practice hike with full marching equipment,
rifle, pack , and cartridge belt; only a little two hour jaunt
but rather hard on the shoulders at first.
Each squad, for practice in giving commands, and exercising leadership,
beginning this last week, has had to furnish the platoon leaders
and guides for one day in all the drill & exercises we have.
The company is divided into four platoons, as I think I said
before, and in an engagement, or anytime, as far as that is concerned,
each one has a leader, and next under him the guide; the 1st
and 2nd lieutenant in each company are leaders of the 1st and
4th platoons, respectively, and the leaders of the other two
platoons and the guides of all of them, are usually positions
held by the six sergeants that each company has. Our squad had
Friday, and I drew by lot the job of 4th platoon leader. This
was the morning of the hike, so there wasn't the usual close
order and extended order two hour drill; this would have been
some what harder to take care of than the rest of the day's program
was.
Yesterday morning we had another examination, and this is to
be, I believe, a weekly affair. In the afternoon, so that I wouldn't
forget how to do it, I stood in line at the quartermaster's department
for about an hour to get a little more equipment. Church, who
occupies the lower tier of my bunk, (in Plattsburg language,
my "bunky") was with me in the line, so that we practiced
signals to pass the time away. Later in the afternoon I took
a walk with a man by the name of Bodurtha, who teaches school
in New Haven, Conn.; a man very much of the right sort, but he
asks questions & says things in such a peculiar - blunt way,
is it? - way that I'm absolutely at a loss as to how to take
him; and I make answers, which seem positively insipid at times,
but there seems nothing else to say.
Last evening, the New England division was treated to an entertainment
outside Co.5 barracks, (where they have a piano) and men from
each of the New England companies, who were clever at Scotch
songs, vaudeville songs, tricks, and humorous recitations, and
all that sort of thing, performed. And in between times a man
at the piano played songs for everybody to sing. I found Tommy
Woodward, a classmate and fraternity brother of mine at college,
and of Co.1 here, and enjoyed the performance with him; and except
for one or two things it was very enjoyable.
This morning I went out with Ralph Gabriel and some other men
for a little drill on our own hook, until a thunder shower drove
us in; and then I worked on a little stunt, the results of which
are enclosed. {note - Gram must have put the "enclosed"
elsewhere as there was nothing else in the letter]
I think I must be completely accounted for, for the week.
You addressed your letter to Plattsburg, Pa., but apparently
it didn't delay it any. I'm wondering if on that first letter
of mine from here, which you never got, I did a similar stunt
and wrote Conn., or did something like that.
Your first Sunday in the city, where you like nothing except
the milk wagon on stone pavements at four A.M.! I hope you'll
find other things to like during the summer.
Now I must write Mother.
Ever your friend
Sylvester B. Butler
[This is only part of the return letter Gram wrote to Gramp.
I have not found the rest of it in among the others. Strangely
enough, Gram seems to have been the more careful one about keeping
letters. This letter is written on paper with a raised round
seal that reads "THE WANAMAKER STORES" around the edge,
and in the middle "Philadelphia, New York, Paris, London."
It would probably have been written about June 6th as that was
Wednesday and her day to write, though from Gramp's next letter
, it sounds as if there was at least one other letter, earlier
than this , that she wrote him. --Sue Czaja, granddaughter]
-----------------------------
.....I see the next corner says Market & 11 then I know I
am going the wrong way and walk back.
I always bump into City Hall before I remember that I only wanted
to go to 13th Street.
Aren't you afraid to have a Church in the bunk right next to
you? I'll give you the nickel for that next time I see you. Perhaps
by that time you will have forgotten to ask for it.
Did I tell you that Mr.Davis wants you to write to him? He asked
me to ask you to, Commencement night and I am afraid I forgot
to ask you.
I sent home for my camera so that we could take some pictures
of the hills and falls here. They are very nice.
What did you mean by saying in your Memorial day letter that
in Middlesex they have a theater, a theater that is better than
the Strand? Don't you know that is impossible? I was in it twice,
once for 8th Grade Graduation and once for movies and I know.
They have real movies there "shootin' movies" that
poison High School students minds. You must remember and be careful
how you talk about Pleasantville.
You aren't the only one who ever marched at the head of a parade
on Memorial Day. That was an honor I once had, just because I
happened to be a Camp Fire Girl leader.
I have also been to a flag raising - almost. I was going to
take cousins Harvey and Dorothy [Battersby] last Saturday but
I forgot to come home in time, but I saw "die Band"
and heard it. It struck two correct notes so it beats your bugler.
It is time for Miss Tolbert.
Your friend,
Eva Lutz
Dear Eva,
Your letter, or should I say, letters, of your first days in
the city expressed you in a thousand ways and hence cheerful
during all of them. Your scheme for the summer comes rather suddenly.
I think it will be a very nice, and no doubt a wise thing to
do, but coming as your announcement did, as new to me, and without
any of the details as to just how you came to do it, it is rather
hard for me to know just what to say - and you asked if I didn't
think it a "dandy scheme". Is the course a training
for kindergarten work or grade work? When do you begin? What
is it you're going to work at for your tuition? What does Miss
Tolbert think about it - or perhaps she did some of the arranging?
I'm a regular question box, am I not? Tell me all about it you
can; I'm eager to hear everything you can tell me about your
plans. I'm sure that to spend your next fall teaching would be
the next best thing to going to college; I know you would enjoy
it, children couldn't help liking you, and you would no doubt
have more time in that work to do other things you enjoy, than
in other kinds. I'm very glad for you that arrangements are all
made so nicely, and do hope you'll enjoy the course . Don't get
discouraged if some things seem hard at first; I know you will
do just as well as you possibly can - which is a very great deal.
The lights went out on me just two lines above last night, so
I am now writing by the rather doubtful 4:30 light which is filtering
thru the west window. I hope you and Mrs. Miller will grow to
be good friends, and then probably you won't have to stick to
formal tidbits; that difficulty was perhaps eliminated after
your Sunday afternoon talk. It is a great comfort to have Mothers
who take her attitude in times like these; I know, for my own
blessed Mother is taking everything very wonderfully, too. Ralph
has been trying to get into the Connecticut National Guard, which
will be called into active service the latter part of July, but
on two occasions in the last two weeks he has been going to have
his examination and has been prevented by illness. For some time
back he has had occasional terrible attacks of indigestion, and
I just got word from Mother last night that he may have chronic
appendicitis; the doctor hadn't as yet definitely determined.
All my folks, that is, Father, Mother, Ralph and Winnie Russell,
his lady, drove way up to Wellesley last weekend to see Lucinthia,
the first time any of them had been up to see her in all the
three years she has been at college. It's quite a beautiful ride,
and Wellesley is situated very beautifully. I was mighty glad
Mother took the chance to go, as she never goes away very much.
I had been scheduled earlier in the spring to be on the party,
but later events have naturally prevented me. I am the only one
who has been up to see her before; I went up a year ago last
fall and took her to the Yale-Harvard game, which was played
at Harvard that year.
I had some rather startling news yesterday - well, it would be
of scarcely any interest to you, but I'll tell it, now that I've
started: my friend Ernest Binks and Miss Stieberitz of Bridgeton,
the folks who were to come down to Pleasantville Easter vacation
to see me, were married on May 19th in Rye, N.Y. A very sudden
affair, and I presume the war had something to do with it; Mother
in her letter wrote me he had registered Tuesday for the draft
as married, and in the very next mail came the formal announcement.
I am disappointed because I'm afraid it will make unpleasantness
in both families, but hope not, and I know nothing of the details.
This week I heard from that Educational Psychology examination
I took in April; probably you will recall my speaking of it at
the time I took it. I passed it at 77, and feel quite puffed
up about it. I really had been somewhat afraid of the result
as I hadn't been able to spend a respectable amount of time studying
for it.
It's almost getting-up time, and I must get this off in the first
mail, if you are to have it before Sunday. I think you are doing
the right thing not to get into the war arguments, even though
you do burn; you know how much you would convert your aunt and
the rest if you did. But I know how hard it is to sit and stifle
oneself at times.
Good-bye for this time.
Ever your friend
Sylvester B. Butler.
Dear Eva,
We are having another rainy Sunday, and everybody seems as glum
as some old rheumatic. It has rained some the whole week; I think
there hasn't a day passed without some. Plattsburg is a great
place for thundershowers, I'm told, all summer, and I think we
had four last week. They always bring you to mind, because you
like them so, and have spoken of them so often and so enthusiastically.
I neglected to acknowledge the class day and commencement tickets
and invitation when I wrote you Thursday evening. Thank you for
sending them. I don't believe I ever gave any opinions as to
the merit of the performance, did I? Well, it was very fine,
only the red and black necktie wanted to know if it wasn't tied
straight.
I would like to see that old, old house you spoke of, as I am
quite crazy on the subject of ancient houses and relics. It's
strange, I had a letter from Sister just a couple of days before
yours, telling me about an old house she had just visited - one
known as the old Fairbanks house, ten or a dozen miles from Wellesley;
she said it was built in 1636, and was the oldest frame house
in the country, and was kept in its original shape, and filled
with old heirlooms of all kinds. It was in the course of quite
a wonderful trip she took - 15 miles and back in a two horse
carriage - to the Blue Hills Meteorological Laboratory with a
Meteorology class; the observatory was on a very high hill from
where they could see way out into Boston harbor on one side,
and, on the other way up to a Mount Monadnock, in New Hampshire;
and it was a beautiful ride all the way.
How many people are there at your Aunt's home? Does your Aunt
Katie, whom you mentioned as helping out in your scheme, live
there or somewhere else? It surely is nice that you have them
there to make your home with. Have you heard very much from Pleasantville?
How is Frank? It seems so strange that I never saw the boy, for
I feel as though I knew him. I'll bet he misses you. Is he keeping
the Manor for you? The chief reminder I have here of our Manor
is the frogs, who nightly carroddle in a swampy section across
the road back of the camp. The first note of the frog brings
before me in an instant the field and little pond back of the
barn, just as it appeared that moonlight evening when I barely
escaped a sewing party in time to join your exploring expedition
- the night of the hoop-skirts and the lantern. But you won't
want me to say any more, as you didn't want to write any more
than a little bit, because it made you so lonesome. Me too. I
get set off into the most poignant fits of lonesomeness at times,
but I am thankful for pleasant memories.
Company 4 has acquired a piano but it grows wearisome already.
A choice of about six current popular pieces is all one has to
hear, except occasionally, as today, when there has been a little
more variation, and some decent music has been played. I can't
see what it is that anyone likes in those silly, shallow, mountebank
popular pieces, played over and over and over again. A lieutenant
with our company turned around to me the other evening I was
standing near the piano, and some clap-trap was being rattled
off, and with a sort of smack of the lips remarked enthusiastically
"That's good stuff" - well, perhaps the expression
of appreciation fitted the object of it.
This week we have had our drills every morning with our full
packs on our backs , but I think are getting quite used to the
burden. It was worst Tuesday morning, when after an hours close-order
drill, we marched on a two hour and a half hike; I never knew
quite such a physically relieving feeling, as when I removed
the pack on our return that morning. Next week will complete
the first month of work, which ends the first period of training;
the instruction everyone in the camp has had has been purely
in infantry work. For the other two months, men will be separated
into infantry, cavalry, artillery, and engineer companies; I
am sticking to the infantry, as cavalry won't be used much in
the war, artillery doesn't appeal to me, because too mathematical
& mechanical, and I haven't had an engineering education,
so there's never been much question as to which branch of the
service I should try for. Some men in the camp have already been
discharged as unfit - physically unfit, or in any way showing
themselves incompetent for the duties of an army officer, and
in the course of the reorganization this week, a large number
of others will be given their discharges. Just how many no one
seems to know; the newspapers have had it a large number but
our captain inferred that the reports were greatly exaggerated.
In one of my first letters, I wrote you what would happen to
the men of the camp at the end of the training period, according
to what we were told at first, and according to what I supposed
it would be when I enlisted - that is, some to receive commissions
and be put into immediate service training and officering the
draft armies in the fall, others, a great many, to get commissions
and be called on when needed, and some to be discharged as unfit.
But a notice posted on all the barrack bulletin yesterday, one
given out by the War Department, seems to change this materially;
I wouldn't burden you with the tale of it, only I believe it
affects me considerably. This notice says: (I'll put it in numbered
form to remind you of American History at 9:55 A.M.)
1) The best qualified in each training company will be selected
as officers (Majors (4), Captains, 1st lieutenants, and 2nd lieutenants
- about 15 of each) for the corresponding regiment in the first
draft armies of 500,000. That is, for instance, Co.4 here will
furnish officers for the 4th New England regiment of the draft
armies.
2) Others who are qualified will get lieutenant's commission,
and be put into service as additional officers for training their
corresponding regiment, and be regularly constituted officers
in the later half- million; also might be put into service as
temporary officers in the regular army.
3) Men who give promise as competent officers with additional
training will be encouraged to enter the second camp, which will
start Aug.27th, and according to the notice, their number will
be small, and they will be men of exceptional merit who had no
military experience before coming here.
4) Men who just survive the training camp for the three months
and do not "demonstrate affirmatively that they have the
fitness and efficiency necessary in an officer", will be
discharged at the end of that period.
This makes it appear that men without military experience can
look for little more than encouragement to take another three
months, and only men of exceptional merit will get this far (according
to paragraph 3). There are so many such men in camp, and as they
were encouraged to join without regard to it, that I can't quite
understand this new phase of things. It makes it look like a
long time before I'll be of any use to the nation, and that I
don't like. But as I just wrote Mother, we'll just keep plugging,
keep our eyes and ears open, and see how things go. I'm at least
glad I didn't wait to try to get into the second camp; there
is definitely going to be one, or series of them at different
places, as now starting Aug.27th, it was announced last week.
I haven't heard any more from home about Ralph, so I am hoping
he is getting along better. I think from the persistence of the
attacks, whatever, that he'll have to have his appendix out sometime.
It's hard for me to think of chronic appendicitis without thinking
of one whose pet topic was "My Side", next possibly
to "Hearts I Have Enthralled." Not so the brother -
not a word from him till he has to.
I must do a little studying, after I've gone out to get an orange
or something to remove the taste of baloney hash we had for supper.
What a horrible parting thought! Forget it a second - Good night
Ever your friend,
Sylvester B.B.
[Included with the letter was a little folded piece of paper,
with a flower inside, that read:]
A fringed polygala, ragged robin, or any- thing you'd like to
name it - for your collection.
The whole company was studying Field Service Regulations of the
U.S. Army one afternoon last week in the pine grove south of
the camp, and this peeped up at me just as I was finding a good
shady place to read. I had no place but my pocket to put it in
for some time, so that it was a little faded before I could press
it.
S%%%%%
[note - My Field Guide of Flowers show these two flowers he mentions
to be quite different flowers, and this looks more like the picture
of the Ragged Robin, but is hard to tell after all these years.
-- Sue]
[This is another letter from Gram with no date or salutation,
but perhaps she was just being unconventional. It must have been
started about June 10th, and then posted the 13th -- Sue]
-------------------------------------
[written in pencil]
I made a resolution never to write you anymore in pencil but
it seems that when I feel like writing pencil is the only thing
near at hand.
We have had thirty-two people to see us today at least half of
them are down stairs now and I'm tired of company.
I am going to make company taboo at Hemlock Manor if I can coax
Miss Tolbert to go back with me. I want her to go and turn farmer.
I hate the city. I don't care if I have to stay a hecka [note-
I have no idea what this word means, maybe it is German? Any
idea Karen? I'm sure of the first 4 letters, but what I have
as "a" could be an "ov", "or",
"er, or something else] all my life. I don't want to get
experienced as Miss Tolbert says I must. I just want to do to
suit myself. I want to do things I like, not horrid insincere
things that I hate and I don't think I'm selfish because I want
to suit myself once in a while, but I don't care if I am.
At the end of that last paragraph I was dragged down stairs again.
Today I have met so many aunts, uncles, and cousins and would
be cousins that I don't know who is who or what's what. But I
did have some pleasure. I went and gathered daisies and I also
picked two whole tubs full of peonies for our guests. I certainly
did hate to give them away. Miss Selfishness again but they were
so beautiful and sweet.
It is now time for all good childrens and grown ups to be in
bed so good-night.
Eva
Monday June 11.
Tomorrow is me brudders birfday an' I don't know wat ter git
him?
I took the loveliest bunch of peonies down to Miss Tolbert today.
Everyone on the subway (almost) stopped to admire them. They
were all white and so many of them you couldn't see me.
I suppose I am foolish but I really am tired of the city. They
don't even have a four o'clock milk wagon out here for my amusement.
I am trying to coax Miss Tolbert to go back to Hemlock Manor
with me and turn farmer. We could have lots of fun and it would
be grand there. We could take lots of books and just read, live,
and be happy. I know I can never be happy in the city. My aunts
think it is just because I don't want to be. Maybe it is I'm
sure I don't know why.
Next day- Today. June 12.
I was awful, terrible today. I spent the whole day with Miss
Tolbert. Came home in a terrible crush in the subway and found
Aunt Mealie had a visitor - a man. She had made me a new rose
pink dress which is very pretty and she told me to go up stairs
and dress up. So up I went fixed my hair all nice and pretty,
put on my new dress and my Aunt Katies old fashioned breast pin
and bracelets and down I went. I slide into the room and made
my prettiest bow to my uncle Jacob whom I had not seen for ten
years. I was never very much of a favorite of his because I used
to be so quiet ["used to be so quiet" is underlined]
so of course I had wanted to look my best when he saw me for
the first time after I had grown up. He must have been favorably
impressed as he spoke to me twice during the evening. [now written
in pen]
It has rained every day for a week or a month. I'm not quite
sure but what it might have been a year. I never saw such weather.
It don't keep me in tho: I'm out in all kinds.
I suppose I'll have to get used to the city. I guess I'm not
going to get to leave it.
I have seen so many different kinds of uniforms that I have been
wondering what yours is like. Is it blue or brown? Does it have
brass buttons? It should you know according to tradition.
I guess I better stop writing in this letter now as I just started
again but see some tennis racquets approaching and I can't write
with a racket around.
Your friend
Eva Lutz
Highland Park,
Llanarch, Pa.
c/o Mrs.Battersby.
Dear Eva,
It's starting in to be good and hot now; yesterday was extremely
so, and to-day promises similarly. It cools down quite a little
in the night, though, and the early mornings are delightful.
I frequently get out before the regular rising time, before the
majority rise, and enjoy a few whiffs of it when its so nice
and clear and fresh. This morning I saw the moon the narrowest
I think I have ever seen it between last quarter and new moon;
it was almost like a new moon, only that the crescent was of
course on the other side; it had rained in the night and the
last clouds hadn't quite gone down over the horizon, so that
the sun , just filtering thru, was a great dull red ball, and
that was why, I suppose, it was easier to see the moon. No doubt
a great many have seen the moon even smaller - the comparatively
few who are ever up so early - but I don't ever remember seeing
it so myself.
The army is a great place for rumors. Someone has a brand new
one about every five minutes, so that any remark outside the
ordinary run of small talk is greeted with "Another rumor
started." At present there are three subjects about which
most of the rumors are concerned: first, the somewhat dubious
time we are to receive some remuneration - the sum and substance
amounting to little more than that we'll get something sometime;
second, the place where the men who have been selected to train
for the field artillery service are to be sent, rumor having
it Fort Sill, Okla., Syracuse, N.Y., Montauk, Long Island, and
various places; third, the number of men who are to receive their
honorable discharge at the end of this week, and on what basis
they are to be invited to go.
- afternoon -
We got caught in the rain this morning way out in the woods without
any ponchos or other protection; a few men were able to get into
an abandoned cow shed, and a very few who weren't particular
into an abandoned pig-sty, and the rest, including myself, under
the poor protection of young trees about the height of those
in that big field by the green ghost house. Someone asked me
if I had been hiding under a leaf so you can see how dry I was;
it was only a brief shower, and as it's come out pleasant since,
I've gotten quite dry again.
It seems strange up here to use so much Canadian money as we
do; as this is so near the Canadian border, it is natural for
it to circulate here freely, and I should say that it constitutes
a quarter of the small change in circulation. Down home, one
gets a Canadian piece every so often and then has a dickens of
a time getting rid of it, but it passes just as freely here as
United States currency.
I had a letter from my brother early in the week and he is getting
better. He is recovering from a slight attack of appendicitis,
and I hope it won't bother him again for some time. I presume
he took his physical examination for Troop B, Cavalry, Connecticut
National Guard, Tuesday evening, but haven't heard from home
as yet whether he was accepted or not.
I wish that I had a little picture of you of some sort. I was
going to ask you for one, before I left Pleasantville, but when
developments took me off in such a hurry, I forgot to. I know
once you told me that you had quite a few, but I suppose they
are all down at your home. But if you happen to have some little
snapshot taken by some of your cousins or friends there sometime,
or if you do have some earlier ones with you, would you send
me one? I should appreciate it very much. If you'd care for my
honorable physiognomy in exchange, I don't have very much to
offer, but believe I have left down home one or two of a set
of inexpensive photos taken two years ago, which, according to
my folks, make me look frightfully young. Or I may have a snapshot
or two, more realistic, but I don't happen to think of any at
present, which only include me. If you'd like one, whatever I
have, I'll send, or bring it to you, if I can get down to Pleasantville,
in late August, after the training camp is over.
I haven't heard from you for a week. Didn't my last mid-week
letter get to you before Sunday? I'm not waiting for your letter,
before sending this along, so as to be sure it reaches you before
Sunday this time. Something tells me, though, a familiar handwriting
will appear in the next mail, but it will be just too late to
hold this and still get it off at the right time. I'm the original
anniversary man, as you may know, so just to keep up my reputation,
might remark that tomorrow is a year since I accepted the Pleasantville
teaching position. What's the matter with people who remember
such things? A fellow in my squad with whom I've been practicing
signaling quite a little persists in sending me Spanish words,
so, to show how much I know, I'll say Adios instead of Good-bye
(only I knew that long ago) this time. I hope everything is going
to your liking.
Ever your friend
Sylvester B. Butler.
Dear Eva,
This week-end has seemed in some ways much like the first days
of camp for we have been all split up and companies reorganized.
for the first month everyone got the same training - elementary
infantry training - and were divided up into 18 companies (or
36 if I counted both the New Englanders & New Yorkers); now
for the next two months, or eight weeks, to be exact, we are
divided into 9 companies of infantry, 1 troop of cavalry, 3 batteries
of field artillery, 1 of coast artillery (the branch of the service
your cousin is in), and 1 company of engineers; as a general
rule men were allowed to state their preference & assigned
to different branches accordingly, but there were more applied
for field artillery that could fill the three batteries, so that
a selection was made from those applying and the rest had to
stay with the infantry or the "doughboys" as we are
called. The cavalry men & artillery men are in separate barracks;
this of course takes a great many men from each company, the
way we were before, and infantry men from companies above No.9
were assigned to fill up the gaps in companies 1 to 9. So I am
still a member of Co.4, but it is a somewhat different company
than it was before. After the new men had come in yesterday we
were taken out and lined up according to height just as we were
that first day, redivided into squads as we stood, and reassigned
to bunks according to our new squad. I still have an upper but
Church is no longer below me (perhaps that will absolve you from
the nickel debt). A fellow by the name of Burke, a new man in
the company is now my "bunkie", and he seems to be
a nice fellow. He just graduated from the University of Vermont.
Church is still in the squad, also Mr. Short, the corporal of
our old squad; the rest are elsewhere, some in other squads,
one to cavalry and one to artillery. Goodness! You don't care
about all this truck, I imagine, but I get started & seem
to take a long time untangling myself. I wonder if you know what
I mean when I speak of the various branches of the service, infantry,
etc. You recited very well the military information you had gotten
from your cousin John, but "nary a word" about the
vast store of information I have given you, so I imagine that
what I have written about military matters hasn't meant very
much. Infantry includes of course the regular foot soldiers,
& cavalry those on horseback; artillery men are those who
man the big guns that are drawn on wheels.
Last week I wrote rather discouragingly of the chances of an
inexperienced man like myself getting a lieutenant's commission
at the end of the present training period. But after a talk the
whole New England regiment had from Major Stewart, in charge
of the training of the regiment, Friday evening, things look
brighter, as he gave us some definite assurances on the matter
- about 45 in each training company here will be regular officers
in the first draft contingent; all others who are qualified will
get their commissions and will probably be assigned to the first
draft contingent as additional instructors, and will be appointed
regular officers in the next or a later contingent; a few will
be ordered to train another 3 months; and a few will be discharged.
I hope that's final, and that I can at least fall in the second
group. There has also been a lot of newspaper talk about great
numbers of men being weeded out shortly, but he also assured
us on this point that no one would be discharged except at their
own request, or for physical disability, of for obvious unfitness,
until the end of the three months. It's a relief to have the
matter settled, as everyone has been pretty much worried.
My brother joined the Connecticut National Guard this last week,
having passed the physical examination Tuesday. The National
Guard, as you probably know, is composed of the various State
militias, and may be called into national service in part or
whole, whenever the country needs it. That part of it which has
not yet been called out, will be called out July 25, I believe,
and put into training; and I presume, although I don't know,
that National Guardsmen - not all of them of course, but a great
many - will be the next to go across the water after Pershing's
army of regulars, which may be now on the way, or is going shortly.
The first draft contingent - a half million - will train in the
fall and I suppose start going over in the winter, if the war
last that long.
The Saturday night entertainments are getting added features
every week . This last week a stage was built out in the pine
grove south of the camp, and rude seats to accommodate two or
three thousand. Last night a band played, and there was the usual
run of vaudeville skits, the best ones being hits on various
aspects of out camp life.
Yesterday afternoon I took a lovely walk around the grounds of
the Hotel Champlain, two miles south of the camp. The hotel is
at the top of a round hill which slopes on the eastern side to
the lake shore, and commands a magnificent view of the lake and
the country for miles around , with the mountains for background
on almost every side. The sides of the hill are all wooded with
splendid trees, especially the tall stately cedars, finer than
any I ever saw - and one can walk for a long time thru perfect
silence. I saw many fine large wild lilies-of-the-valley, one
of which I selected and am sending you; also I found a four leaf
clover there, and am going to let you have some luck from it
too. Mine hasn't come yet, but the four leaf clover is a really-truly
good luck omen - my one superstition - and if you say you must
find it to enjoy its benefits - why you have found it, - in this
letter. This morning I took another walk up to the same place
with Mr. Short and made what I consider a great find, the yellow
lady slipper which I am enclosing. These are very rare down home,
but perhaps not so much so here; at any rate, it has been a life
long, but hitherto unfulfilled ambition of mine to find one,
and I was tickled to pieces to get this; I think you said you
were making a collection, so I thought you would like to add
this to it. [note - the lily-of-the-valley and about a leaf and
a half of the four leaf clover are still in the letter. the lady
slipper must have been a very moist flower when he sent it as
there were obviously some damp spots making for some later moldy
spots making for some difficult reading at this point.]
I have become almost certain, after reading your letter some
more, that two or three letters of mine haven't reached you,
because these were some of the questions I asked which you didn't
answer, and there was nothing in your last letter which referred
to anything I had written in last Sunday's letter or the one
in the middle of the week before that. I think the reason is
probably that you didn't tell me to put Highland Park in the
address, as you did in the last letter. Naturally I don't remember
all the thought-gems included but I know one asked you some questions
about your summer scheme. I hardly knew what to say, you sprang
it on me so suddenly without saying anything about how you came
to get it fixed. But it seemed to be a wise thing at any rate
and, if the college plans failed to go thru for the fall, and
you could teach, it would surely be the next best thing. I was
mighty glad everything was fixed so nicely for you, and was hoping
and still hope you will enjoy it. And I was interested to know,
if you could tell me, when you were to begin, what you were to
work at for your tuition, whether it was for kindergarten teaching
or what, how you came to work out the plan, and what Miss Tolbert
thought of it, or what part she had in working it up. Please
tell me all about it next time you write, unless in the meantime
you have gotten the letter I asked you these things in before
and have told me.
You ask me about my uniform. It is the brown one, which is the
regular service uniform in the United States Army; if there are
any blue uniforms worn now, they are probably just dress-up uniforms
of some National Guard organizations - probably your cousin knows
more about that than I do. And there are no brass buttons - only
black painted metal ones with an eagle and some other figures
stamped on them; I'll try to remember & get some post cards
and send to you to give you some idea of the way we look (when
I get paid).
The next two months they tell us will be much harder than the
first one ; as far as actual work is concerned, I presume they
will be, but we are more used & better adapted to the life,
and that will make up for a great deal - at least I think it
will be so with me.
I am anxiously waiting your next word.
Good-night.
Ever your friend,
Sylvester B. Butler
[Postmarked June 23, 1917, apparently started about the 19th-
Front page again missing.]
....store where we used to live and the house next to it. I knew
every step of the way altho it has been over ten years since
I have been there .
I peeped in the police station to see my favorite policeman but
he wasn't there. My aunt told me he hadn't waited for me to grow
up but was married and had three children. Then I went to the
cemetery to see the two graves all covered with pure white pebbles
which had always interested me when I was small and had not known
their story but only that a girl and a boy who had been drowned
were buried there. It seems that a girl went down south one winter
and became engaged to a young man . She came back North and he
and his sister came on a visit to her. These three and two more
boys and another girl were going to visit Atlantic City when
he received a telegram from his mother saying not to go as she
dreamed he was drowned in the ocean. They didn't go but went
out on the Delaware instead, a storm came up and the whole six
were drowned. The mother took the sister's body south but let
the boy stay here with the girl. Wasn't that a sad story. The
graves are so different from the other graves being just covered
with pebble and plain head stones - one saying
Rose
Age 18.
the other
Roy
Age 22.
It is no wonder that they attracted me as a child even before
I knew their story.
(I am out under the cherry tree writing this and it is getting
dark so I am not sure whether I am hitting the lines but am trying
my best.)
I climbed the tree last night all by myself and got some cherries,
they were fine. I wish you could have some. Could you? If you
can and let me know and there are some left when I get your letter
I will send you some. I got your two last weeks letters today
at once so I doubt by the time I get your letter that there will
be any cherries. Today is the nineteenth.
I can not say "I am glad to hear your friends are married."
Nor would it be proper to say I am sorry to hear they are married.
I can only say I am surprised and wish them happiness. I can
do that for I almost knew them, didn't I?
I am glad that you enjoyed the commencement and the red tie was
tied straight. Did you see the poem in that weeks paper and the
essay the following week.
You ask how many people there are in my aunts home. I will give
you their names. Aunt Kate - lives in South Vineland but was
up all last week fixing up her Highland park home which she wants
to sell. Papa's aunt. About 60. Uncle Jake - her husband he is
up this week. About 58. Aunt Katie - It is strange but few of
the Lutz's ever marry, she is an example of this. She is papas
half sister and about (sh) forty-two - don't tell! Uncle Harvey
- The head of this house. He is Aunt Melie's husband, Aunt Melie
- Aunt Katies sister and Harvey & Dorothy's mother. Cousin
John - about 32 another shining example of the Lutz failing.
Dorothy - age ten - curly haired - dark. Harvey - age two, dark,
mischievous (temperful) in short a boy. I am his especial pet
and he'll be good as long as I stay up.
I have to kiss little Harvey and Dorothy night and morning and
so tonight at supper Harvey looked over at me so pitifully and
said, "I can't eat yet where you bit me this morning."
Everyone nearly died. It seems he got a gum boil and never noticed
it until after this morning's accident so of course I got the
blame.
Do you know I have only received one short note from home. I
wrote to Frank and sent him a little birthday present but I never
received an answer and that was the twelfth of June. I haven't
heard about the Manor either as he hasn't written. I certainly
would like to see it again. I think I will run down about Sunday
a week and get some more things and visit it.
Did I ever tell you that our two lilies of the valley were the
only ones that bloomed up there. I picked them the day of our
house party and did not know which to send you so of course I
kept both for myself. I also got two tiny leaves of ivy just
shooting out and I will send you one of them.
At least thirty times I have tried to get enough news in this
letter to send but I am going to send it this morning "whether
or no."
I got you last letter last night and feel highly honored because
you sent me your yellow lady slipper. Don't you really want it
yourself as it is your first one?
I am afraid my collection is rather biased as most of the things
are mementoes from Hemlock Manor.
[no name at the end]
Dear Eva,
Your letter came this noon, so once again I am glad we have Sunday
mail . I am taking the long wait I have had as punishment for
the imperious passages in you-know-what letter; and for them
I ask your forgiveness. I hope I need say nothing more.
Aren't you frightened at all the thirteens around your work?
I always found 13 very lucky, however; so does Pres. Wilson,
(or is it Friday he finds lucky?). With these two illustrious
precedents, you can go on your way fearlessly.
I have also been out to Willow Grove; only two years ago, too,
at just about this time, but wasn't too old to ride on the roller-coaster,
and take in some of the other things. Now I expect you'll tell
Miss Tolbert that the next time you go out. I remember hearing
a fine concert by Victor Herbert's orchestra when I was there;
do you know who is the musical attraction at present?
Probably your cherries are all gone by now, but I appreciate
your thoughtfulness. I could have them; there are no rules here
about not receiving and keeping such things at your bunks. I
love cherries more than any fruit, and have been thinking lately
quite regretfully of the cherries ripening and going by without
my assistance down home.
This afternoon I took a fine long walk with Church, and took
in lots of nice things I know you would enjoy. We went by way
of the western part of the town, where there are some beautiful
homes & shrubs and shade trees, not huge and elaborate estates,
but just fine old homes. Plattsburg must be a very old place,
as there seem to be a great many very old homes here. The shade
trees along the residential streets are very beautiful, fine
tall elms and maples, and there are hardly any vacant spots.
Then we went west along a country road for three miles perhaps
(What difference does the distance make, I wonder? I guess it's
because we have to be so careful of it in military map work).
I saw my first oriole here; I remember you said you saw one right
after you got up one morning on your Manor House party. After
a while we turned to the south, where for a while I succeeded
in imagining myself going toward Bargaintown mill pond from the
English Creek road. There was a field along this road where I
believe no less than an acre was covered with deep orange colored
flowers something like a purple daisy in shape (naturally not
in color); it was simply lovely. But that wasn't all; the field
had a background of slim birches, thickly grown together, and
practically of the same height; they were the white birch, so
there was first the white of the slim trunks, then a silver color
to the leaves, at least the light struck them to make them appear
that way. And finally at one end, just in front of the line of
birches was a little grove of pines; Orange, white silver, deep
green - I wish I could give you an adequate idea of how they
looked. As we walked on a little further we came to quite a large
saw mill on the Saranac river; the logs come down the river from
where they are cut and flow thru a runway right into the mill
where they are sawed; on the other side there is a very large
dam, and a waterfall over it 25 feet high, which makes a tremendous
spray down below. After we crossed the river we turned back toward
the camp by another country road; we found lots of wild strawberries
there. I picked one of those orange flowers to send you, but
it faded, and I can't bring it back, even after having put it
in water.
My new bunkie - Burke - is a very funny chap - humorous, I mean,
not odd. His natural Irish humor and humorous manner is of just
the sort to set me off. I'm afraid it will get me some time when
I'm not supposed to laugh. The whole new squad is more congenial
than the old one. This week we have had rifle practice every
other day out on the range, and this will continue for three
weeks more. I think you would perhaps be interested to hear how
we do this - hope I'm not telling you a lot of things which are
very boresome reading.
[illustration of the rifle range set-up]
Did I ever claim to be an artist? I hope not. At any rate, in
the background there is a bullet-proof embankment. that is, they
can't get all the way thru. Against the embankment are 36 targets,
in front of which is a trench where men reach up with a disk
on the end of a long handle to indicate where a shot hit on the
target. Back at the 100 yd line, and every 100 yds, there are
stakes, numbered to correspond with the target, to indicate positions
from which each target is to be shot at. And back of each stake
from whatever line we are shooting on for the day, is a frame
field desk for the scorer. Only one company goes on the range
at a time, and each has about an hour, I think, perhaps it's
less. The company is divided up into groups of five men, and
each group assigned to a stake corresponding to one target. One
of the group acts as scorer until the others have shot. Each
man has ten shots, five of which this week have been from lying
down, five from sitting or kneeling . If you hit the bull's eye,
it counts 5, the first ring around it 4, the next 3, and the
last 2. You know what you have done because whoever is in the
trench at your target indicates with one of his disks just where
you have hit; and if it's a bulls eye, he uses a white disk,
if a 4, a red disk, if a 3, a cross, if a 2, a black disk, if
a miss, he waves a red flag across the target. The scorer at
the desk behind you records the score for each shot and when
the ten are made, they are added and the score sheets are turned
in at the end of practice. The first day we shot at 200 yards,
the second at 300, and tomorrow we shall shoot at the 500 yard
line. Someday pretty soon our company will be detailed to indicate
the shots for the rest of them, in that trench. Naturally there
is no danger in it, unless you take a notion to climb out of
it. With the bull's eye counting 5, there is, you see, a possible
count of 50 on the ten shots. I only made 26 the first day and
20 the second. The low man in our squad buys ice-cream for the
rest of the squad; it was my privilege to buy the ice-cream Thursday;
if I have to buy it again tomorrow, I think it would be wise
to "squeal" on the bet - Discretion being still the
better part of valor.
I'm sorry you have heard so little from your home. I hope when
you go down for a week-end you will find everything allright.
No, you didn't tell me about our lilies-of-the-valley before.
Don't you think I ought to scold you for not knowing which was
which? Thank you for the little ivy leaf. Of course I don't want
the yellow lady slipper for myself, even if it is my first; I
meant you to have it. You keep the two lilies-of-the-valley for
a time - subject to demand on sight, should I say? (Being a business
woman, you ought to know.) Very gladly I give the titles of the
Wind and Weather poems; One without any, Gypsies, When the 3rd
gypsy and I went to Somers Point, Smugglers Cove, Hemlock Manor,
My Sparrows, All the World's agin a Feller, Spring fever, My
Spring Garden at Hemlock Manor, Stars, The Elegy to a late- lamented
Arbutus (this one didn't have a real title, but probably my designation
will tell you what it is), Reddy Redbird, Mein little Deutsch
Girl, Skating - All of which have been kept a deep dark secret,
as per instructions, and opened, from time to time, like a miser's
treasure box, for the sole enjoyment of the miser, me.
You must be sure and address my honorable last name on the envelope
very plainly after now, for one of the new men in the company
is a Sylvester B. Bubier; I almost opened a letter from his girl
the other day, when I didn't know that his first name was the
same as mine. Isn't it rather strange that we should have just
the same initials, last names starting out just alike, and a
rather uncommon first name alike? He isn't afflicted with Benjamin
in the center, though.
Good-night.
Ever your friend
Sylvester B. B.
Dear Sylvester
Yesterday Miss Tolbert and I went out along the Wissihicken again
and we certainly did have one fine time.
We started out for "dress parade" but we ended with
my making her climb to the top of some of the steepest hills.
Hills that went straight up to the skies.
We walked and walked, I guess we walked at least eleven miles,
and I was getting worried as my aunt had told me to come home
early. At last we met a park guard who told it was just two miles
to Valley Green an old inn about a mile this side of Saint Martin's
station.
We decided we would dine there and I could telephone in that
I was going to spend the night at her house. We walked and walked
and at last we came up to the old inn and I telephoned and secured
permission to stay, then I gave myself up to enjoyment. Oh it
was so beautiful, a real real old country farm house turned into
a tea room. The house is along the banks of the river and the
happy people were singing as they floated by in canoes. Gay couples
galloped up on horse back, stopped for a bite to eat and were
off again. The house itself was just too nice almost to be true.
The floor was covered with bright rag carpet, an old spinning
wheel stood in one corner by the dandiest fireplace, and there
were built in window seats and spindley furniture and old fashioned
pictures. We had the cosiest table and the darlingest light turned
down real low right in the middle of it. We had toast and marmalade,
and salad, and lamb chops, and tea and I poured it. That was
the first time I ever officiated at the tea pot so it is no wonder
that I am enthusiastic about it. The china was so pretty and
dainty and tiny you just feared to touch it and everything tasted
so good. I wish you had been there, I know you would have loved
it. The house was just like you would think Hemlock Manor was
once, only Hemlock is much nicer and larger. There were millions
of Hemlock trees there, trees whose branches it seemed would
brush the stars from the skies, but of course no hemlock will
be as nice as my first Hemlock nor any hills as nice as My Hills.
That shows a narrowness of mind I suppose but that is a characteristic
generally accredited to women so I'm not different from the rest
of them.
We talked about you while we were there. Don't you think it is
horrible to talk about people behind their backs? You can say
all sorts of things and they'll never know it.
I copied the pattern of the luncheon set in my head and I have
started to crochet the lace already. If Miss Tolbert and I live
together this winter we are going to use it, I mean if it is
presentable of which at present I am in doubt. I am doing the
crocheting and Miss Tolbert the criticising so we are both doing
our bit. It is seven chain stitches, a double crochet into the
third stitch, three stitches another double crochet into the
former stitch, three more stitches, a double backward crochet,
three more stitches and a single crochet into the third of the
seven, and then repeat. Please don't attempt to understand how
to do it as I fear you will get as mixed in it as I do in Military
matters. You complimented me on remembering the military officers
and I felt elated until just now I discovered that I had forgotten
all but the different names, which I have always known, but as
for positions ---. Please send me a return list of their order
and I will memorize it. Before I had rushed in and sent my knowledge
to you because I wanted you to think I was up in military matters,
but that was over a week ago and of course as I had only learned
them for the occasion I have forgotten them.
Yesterday when I was on the car I met my cousin Melva whom I
have not seen for two tears. She is my Mother's, father's, brother's,
son's, daughter and the girl who perhaps I told you came down
one day and went crabbing with us and who threw the crabs back
overboard because they were green and not red ripe. She said
she was down last Sunday and going down again this Sunday, to
our house. She said they have bought a boat house down along
the bay so I guess they will go down often.
I want to stay with Miss Tolbert the rest of the week as her
sister is going down to Cape May. My Aunt said I might. I certainly
was glad I was away yesterday as my cousin John, my cousin Johnnie,
my Uncle John, my cousin Elizabeth, her husband, my Aunt Elizabeth,
my cousin George, my cousin Katie and her husband and daughter
and at least sixty others were out to visit. It was some lucky
escape for me. Anything I hate is to be on parade (also I have
to be on good behavior) for a lot of relatives. Hasn't she grown?
She looks like mother She looks like father. Are you sixteen
yet? Do you remember me? Don't you remember the time I spanked
you for stealing my forget-me-nots? and a million other complimentary
things like that were hurled at me last Sunday so I conveniently
had a visit to pay yesterday and I'll never regret miss seeing
some more people, who knew my father when he was a tiny little
boy in his first pair of red copper toed boots and a brand new
cane, which he swung in a manner so "darling cute in imitation
of his father." I don't really mind hearing people tell
about my father and his father and mother, but then they usually
also tell about such pleasant things as my spankings, and they
even remember about the time I swiped a red pepper and they came
in and caught me with my head under the refrigerator. Red peppers
are pretty and attractive to children so they oughtn't burn so,
or be put just out of reach. I'll never forget that pepper either
but I do wish others wouldn't remember such things or at least
not remind me of ....
[the last page seems to be missing this time]
Dear Eva,
I went to see the camp photographers today, so stopped in to
see what he had showing Co.4, and picked out a few postcards
which I am sending to you. They are taking lots of these pictures
all the time, finding out from the men at the time they are taking
them to what company they belong, and then, when they are made
up, samples are posted up in the photographer's building, Co.4's
and each company's being grouped separately.
That must have been a beautiful little party you and Miss Tolbert
had last Sunday. Indeed I should have loved to have been there
with you. It would have been rather different than the last time
we had lamb chops together; I might possibly have made it bear
some resemblance by dropping a chop on the floor and then immersing
it in the finger bowl. I am so glad you can be with Miss Tolbert
so much and have such nice times. And I'm really awfully glad
you feel more contented with the city than you did; having Miss
Tolbert there, I was sure you would after the first weeks were
over. How long do you work every day? I hope you don't get too
many days with "bushels of work." My sister is working
during the summer, too, in a life insurance office, where she
has been once before for a summer, and where my brother used
to work.
Hills that brush the skies! I was going to tell you about mountains
in the clouds, but you have beaten me. The mountains are visible
here everywhere, but I never happened to see clouds below their
crests until this week. Every other morning we go out into the
country for field work, an attack problem one day, a defense
problem another, some other combat problem another. And it was
on one of these mornings this week I saw my first mountain clouds.
It was a beautiful morning, the atmosphere was as clear as could
be, and how the mountains and all did tempt one away from the
problem in hand while wandering around the low ridge selected
for the purpose, working out an imaginary trench system for the
position. And not only did the mountains tempt the eye &
spirit , but also oceans of wild strawberries underneath, the
appetite. I allowed myself a few squints at the landscape, and
naturally didn't let all the berries whose path I crossed get
by. Others quite shamelessly hunted for berries - at least seemed
to be watching the ground immediately underneath very intently.
Sunday afternoon.
Last evening I went to the Saturday night regimental show, which
has grown with each week. Now they have outside vaudeville performers,
brought up from New York to entertain us, and admission is charged.
The first on the bill was a hoop-roller, who would have several
hoops in the air at once, or would have several rolling on the
floor and back to him at once, or would start rolling at some
place where they would have to take a circuitous route to get
into a certain enclosure, and he only missed once; every imaginable
stunt with hoops he could do. Then there were a couple of strong
men who did some quite wonderful gymnastic stunts together, such
as one of them lying on the mat, holding the other by the feet
as the latter stood upright, then letting his arms go down gradually
backwards; really quite a marvelous feat, but I can't describe
it very intelligently. Two chaps had an amusing dancing act -
when they finished, they asked the audience what it's favorite
dance was, and whatever it was, they agreed to do it; someone
in the rear shouted to them to do the St.Vitus'. [note - for
those unaware, this is actually a medical affliction.] We have
Sunday night entertainments, too, now, and tonight's promises
to be very worthwhile. Sousa's band is to be here, and a group
of very famous actors from New York is it furnish the entertainment.
I hear it talked of as the Lamb's Gambol. The Lamb's Club is,
I believe, an organization of stage-artists, comprising among
others those who are to be here to-night. I don't know much about
it, for I don't follow stageland closely. I have heard that next
week the Boston Symphony Orchestra is to be here for Sunday evening;
I certainly hope it's true.
This morning I took a seven or eight mile walk with Tom Beers,
the Cromwell man I have spoken of before, and another chap by
the name of Cotterelli, who also came up here from Cromwell;
but I had never met him until today. His home isn't Cromwell,
but he had been working there for the greenhouse firm about a
year. We walked up to the Hotel Champlain grounds to get the
view, and incidentally envied the comfortable looking civilians
in white flannels and civilized blue serge coats, while we were
cased in by out tight fitting khaki uniforms. From there we walked
back into the country.
This has been a hard week, and I have been working every minute
of the time. We have taken up a new subject three hours of every
day, which is very difficult for me; this is map sketching. We
have a certain area given us to map out according to scale, indicating
the slope of the land all over it by what are known as contour
lines, indicating roads, fences , houses, trees, telegraph wires,
and many other things by certain standard signs used in the U.S.
Army for the purpose. It would be quite useless to attempt to
describe how it's done in detail. I can't get good scores on
the range yet, but hope to become as good a shot as I can , for
if & when I have men under me to show how to do it, it would
never do, or it wouldn't help matters, if they found out I wasn't
a good shot. I think even now I could show anybody how to shoot,
fairly well, but it's another thing to do it.
Another holiday this week; what's on the docket I don't know.
I've heard there is to be a regimental parade, but that was the
report about Memorial Day, too, and it never materialized. I
used to think, as a child (when I was 1st, not 2nd), that the
Fourth of July was about the finest day in the whole year, and
for a month back would count the weeks and even days, before
it was to come. And likewise, or contrariwise, I should say,
the fifth of July, when it was over, was about the glummest day
of the year, and I hated everything I had to do.
I had a letter from Carey last night. He is really quite an entertaining
writer, and expresses himself very graphically. He tells me that
Cruse has started in a law office in Millville, "beginning
his meteoric career as a jurist". "His future appears
roseate to him", he goes on, "and he thinks that he
can handily bring into play his personal magnetism and wonderful
oratorical proclivities to carve for himself a huge chunk of
success." I can hear B.M.C. talking about it. I don't know
how many times he told me about the $15,000 a year he was to
make ere long, when he got into the legal profession. Carey has
turned farmer for the present, and he and his brother are together
running quite a large place their father has, working from soon
after sunrise to almost sunset, he says.
Would you like a fleur-de-lis, or blue iris, for your floral
collection ? I am sending you one I picked last Sunday; I have
been pressing it in one of my books, so that it would get flat
enough to send with a letter. I sent you the Wind and Weather
titles last Sunday in a letter; did you get it? What does your
bacchanalian mail-man do with the letters he doesn't deliver?
Auf wiederschen.
Ever your friend
Sylvester Butler
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