Desertion in the US Army (II)
Victorian Armies
That it is not intolerable to others is of no weight; men pursue happiness by different paths, and the advantages, or disadvantages of a certain kind of life are things which each man determines for himself. That some men are, by nature, fickle, and become dissatisfied for trivial reasons, cannot be denied; but no one will contend that 40 per cent. of the recruits we enlist are of this nature.
Judging both from my own experience and that of others, I believe that of every one hundred recruits enlisted ninety-eight intend honestly to serve their term of enlistment. And I think that any man who has ever served as a non-commissioned officer will agree with me in this statement.
Assuming this, it follows that there must be something in the conditions of a soldier’s life which renders it unbearable to many. What that something is, we must learn, not by study of statistical tables, not by asking certain men why other men have deserted, nor by inquiring the reason for their act from deserters themselves, but by an examination of the daily life of the soldier, considering his duties, his recreations and his associations.
Let us take the case of a recruit enlisted at a post and assigned to a company. A non-commissioned officer is detailed to instruct him in drill, and for three or more hours per day he is practised in the setting-up drill, the facings, and the manual of arms. How tiresome these exercises are, we, who have practised them, know.
Yet, though this drill lasts for a month or more, the recruit rarely deserts at this period. He does not appear to become disgusted and weary with the constant repetition of these exercises. In fact, after his drill for the day has ended, he is often seen alone practising the manual of arms. At last he is pronounced ready for duty as a private, and is detailed for guard. His first guard is always an event in his life. He strives to learn his orders exactly, and to do his duty well.
Here then, at the end of about two months’ service, we have an energetic and contented soldier. But at the end of six months, we often find him a listless, discontented creature, cursing the Service, or possibly already a deserter. What has caused the change? It may be answered that “the novelty of the life has worn off,” but this can hardly be called a sufficient reason, for novelty passes from all things; and mechanics do not abandon a trade because their apprenticeship is over.
The change is due to the fact that, though physically well cared for, often, mentally and socially, he is starving. A struggle is going on in his breast; on the one side are his mental and social needs, on the other, his sense of duty and his fear of punishment; and on the issue depends whether he will become a deserter or remain a soldier.
The duties which employ his body do not occupy his mind. He no longer takes any interest in them. Why should he? On drill he can obey the commands “Fours Right,” and “Fours Left,” “Present Arms,” and “Carry Arms,” quite as well as the man on his right, who has been doing the same thing for fifteen years. He will never be able to do it any better, or, at any rate, never well enough to be excused from a single hour of it, no matter how well he may do it.
The man on his right learned the manual of arms in 1873, but on rainy days must still drill in barracks. Practice brings no improvement, or, if it should, improvement brings no exemption from practice. What interest is possible?
On other duty it is much the same. On fatigue he finds that the quantity of time, not of work, is considered. If he do one hour’s work in eight he is not censured, as long as he “keeps moving.” And if he should do eight hour’s work in one, he must still “keep moving” for the other seven.
Such are his garrison duties; no matter how anxious he may be for improvement, he has reached the limit. A useless and frivolous drill, in which he is seldom the equal, and never the superior of the average militiaman, is presented to him as the most important branch of military knowledge. Unless his company be ordered into a field he may serve his entire enlistment without even learning how to pitch a tent. He learns his duties only by word of mouth. In England we find one firm alone publishing thirty-four volumes for the use of enlisted men in learning their military duties. In the whole United States — not one.
I have read of a system of punishment (said to be unduly severe) employed in some penitentiaries by which the convict, though always working, was never allowed to finish anything. Some traces of this system are found in our Service. Orders concerning drill, issued by Department commanders, often deprive post and company commanders of the power to excuse any man, no matter how proficient, from the tiresome, monotonous routine of company drill. Thus the soldier, no matter what his length of service, never finishes his primary instruction.
The hardest of physical labor, when accompanied by mental interest, is seldom tiresome, as witness the miles traveled by the hunter in pursuit of game. But even physical inactivity, against which the mind rebels, becomes wearisome, as, for instance, waiting for a railroad train. The soldier is always waiting.
That is not the amount of labor required in our army, but the lack of interest taken in that labor, which makes it unbearable, can be clearly shown. The men who do the most work are not the men who desert; men on extra and daily duty, whether mechanics or laborers, rarely desert; cooks always growl, but still remain; farriers and saddlers seldom desert; while the men who do the most work for their small pay — the cavalry blacksmiths — generally end their service by honorable discharge.
It may be urged that the daily toil of the laborer in civil life is just as monotonous. Such is seldom the case; but, even if it be, this monotony for the laborer ends at sunset. His evenings are his own. But the soldier, after his day’s duty is done, is forbidden to seek recreation; he must not stray without the limits of the post; or, if he do, must hasten back to answer his name at tattoo. The time of tattoo is generally 9:00 P.M.. This is later than any entertainment begins, and earlier than any closes; the effect is, therefore, to prevent the soldier from enjoying his evenings.
Tattoo does not exist in the field, and, therefore, must be considered only as a feature of garrison life. Its antiquity cannot prove it of value, for what was necessary in one age may be worthless in another. Considered, then, as a feature of garrison life in the present day, is it of any value and, if so, of what? I have asked this question of many officers and have never yet received a satisfactory answer.
Some reply that it “keeps men in the post,” but this answer is of no value unless it be also shown that some gain results from thus keeping men in the post.
I firmly believe, if the opinions of all company commanders could be obtained, that ninety per cent. of the number would favor abolition of tattoo. Those who favored its retention would probably assign as their reason “that it acts as a restraint upon the soldier,” as though the soldier were a creature to be forever and invariably restrained.
But government interests demand that the soldier secure a necessary amount of sleep. We must, therefore, require him to be in bed at a certain hour. Tattoo is a means to this end. But this end can be better accomplished by having the non-commissioned officer in charge of barracks make a “check roll- call” at 10:30 or 11:00 P.M.. This system would insure men being in barracks at the hour designated, and staying there.
A man who returns to barracks at 10:30 P.M. rarely leaves again that night. But, under the present system, many men defer their departure from the post until after tattoo, and thus reach the neighboring town at an hour when respectable places of amusement are closed, and only houses of low resort are open.
But some contend that tattoo is no hardship, “because the soldier can always get a pass.” Two replies may be made to this: First, the soldier cannot always get a pass; second, application for a pass must be made before 8:00 A.M.; and the average man, in the Army or out, does not know in the morning how he will pass the evening.
An objection to the abolition of tattoo may be “that it would leave the post without men;” but there is no more danger of this than there is of the simultaneous withdrawal of all deposits from a bank. And should one-half of the garrison be absent from after retreat until 10:30, what harm would result? There can be no sudden demand for their presence unless in case of fire; and who ever knew of alack of men at a fire in a military post?
But suppose that the soldier be on pass, and, after retreat, wend his way to the town near his post, has he then the same opportunities for social enjoyment as the day laborer? Most decidedly not. He is a social outcast, and because of the uniform he wears.
The uniform of his country is, theoretically, a thing to be proud of, but, practically, a badge of disgrace. One must wear the uniform of an enlisted man to feel the truth of this, and I have felt it. The laborer, his day’s work over, may dress himself in his best, and become, on the street or at the theatre, the equal of his employer. How is it with the soldier?
Let a girl, no matter how well dressed, walk down the principal street of any garrison town by the side of an enlisted man in uniform, and nine-tenths of the observers will assume that she is a servant girl, while the assumptions of the remaining tenth will not be so charitable.
This post is a verbatim copy of an article by Lieutenant William D. McAnaney, of the 9th Cavalry, that was originally published in Volume X (1889) of the Journal of the Military Service Institution of the United States. The original version of the article was provided with extensive notes, which are not reproduced here.