Private Peat | Page 3

a public holiday, and Chapelou in Northern
Ontario, where we had our first parade of the trip. There was a
tremendous crowd to meet us here, a great concourse of people to
welcome these stalwarts of the West. We lined up in as good formation
as possible, and our sergeant, who was very proud of himself and of
us--mostly himself--majestically called us to attention.
"From the left, number!" he gave the command. Such a feat, of course,
is an impossibility.
"From the right, Sergeant," yelled old Bill.
"No," answered the sergeant, "from the left." The crowd roared and the
sergeant raved. Finally our captain straightened us out, but the sergeant
to this day has never forgotten the incident.
North Bay passed, then Ottawa, Montreal, and at last we arrived at
Valcartier. So far the life of a soldier had been anything but a pleasant
one. My body was black and blue from lying on the hard boards, and I
was eager, as was every other man, to leave the train at once; but as our
camp was not quite ready we had to stay in the cars another night.
It was a relief, I assure you, when on the morning of September first we
marched into Valcartier. Such a sight: tents everywhere one looked; all
around little white marquees. I said to Bill, "Is this the regular training
ground?" To my surprise he informed me that this great camp had been
organized within the last two weeks.
I marveled at this for I did not believe we had a man in Canada with the
organizing ability to get a camp of this size in such splendid shape in so
short a time. We were finally settled in our quarters and told that we
were to be known as the Ninth Battalion, One-Hundred-and-First
Edmonton Fusiliers.
The second day we were in camp the bugle sounded the assembly. Of

course I did not know an "assembly" from a mess call, but the others
ran for the parade ground and so I followed.
Gee! what a mob! There was a big man sitting on a horse. Bill said he
was the colonel. He made a speech to us. He told us we were fine men.
"You are a fine body of men," said he ... "but we are unorganized, and
we have no non-commissioned officers."
I whispered to Bill, "What's a non-commissioned officer?"
Bill looked to see if I really meant it. "A sergeant, a corporal--anything
but a private," he replied.
"Will all the men who have had former military experience fall out,"
commanded the colonel; "the rest of you go back to quarters."
"Have I had any former military experience, Bill?" I was eager for
anything.
"Sure you have," said Bill. "We'll just stay here and maybe we'll be
made sergeants."
About six hundred of us stayed! But, believe me, if they had all had as
much military experience as I, we wouldn't have been soldiers yet.
When the adjutant came around, he gave me a look as much as to say:
"That kid certainly has got a lot of nerve." He offered to make Bill a
corporal, but as that would have transferred him from D Company to F
Company he declined rather than leave me.
This will give you some idea of the kind of organization or
non-organization when the First Contingent Canadians was formed.
Not only in our own battalion but nearly anywhere in the regiment
almost anybody could have been a non-commissioned officer--certainly
anybody that had looks and the nerve to tell the adjutant that he had had
former military experience.
It was not very long before we began to realize that soldiering, after all,

was no snap. There was the deuce of a lot to learn, and the deuce of a
lot to do.
To the rookie one of the most interesting things are the bugle calls. The
first call, naturally, that the new soldier learns is "the cook-house," and
possibly the second is the mail-call. The call that annoyed me most at
first was "reveille." I had been used to getting up at nine o'clock in the
morning; rising now at five-thirty wasn't any picnic. This, especially
when it took a fellow half the night to get warm, because all we had
under us was Mother Earth, one blanket and a waterproof.
It was the second day at camp that we started in to work good and hard.
Reveille at five-thirty A.M.; from six to seven Swedish exercise, then
one hour for breakfast when we got tea, pork and beans, and a slice of
bread. From eight to twelve saw us forming fours and on the right form
companies. From twelve to half past one more pork and beans, bread
and tea. Rifle practise, at the butts, followed