“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.