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