My messmates liked to pull pranks, even Noble and Jimmy. They said it was all in good fun, and it might have been, but a known routine invited many opportunities for sabotage, and just as I’d done on the march, I adjusted my strategy.
The next evening, I marched into the latrine right behind Beebe and found an empty spot directly across from him so my presence wouldn’t be missed. I loosened my ties, dropped my breeches, and sank onto the hole in one smooth motion, my shirttails providing cover, my eyes on the floor.
I stayed long enough for Beebe to leave and a few more men to straggle in. I even managed to urinate and ease the constant ache I’d suffered since enlisting. It was the most horrific thing I’d ever done, and my neck broke out in welts of mortification afterward, but at least a dozen men had seen me, and that was my goal. I couldn’t imagine making it a regular occurrence—that was tempting fate—but I’d done it.
Bathing was a different matter. I washed in the pond a full two hours before the horns of reveille woke the camp, when it was so dark I couldn’t even see myself. I submerged myself in my clothes and washed them while I wore them. I became adept at shimmying off my dripping drawers and untying my altered corset beneath my shirt to avoid ever being completely naked. But I worried how I would manage when winter came.
I kept myself as neat and tidy as possible, brushing my coat, shining my boots, and maintaining my equipment, if only to avoid extra attention and inspections, which happened to some of the more slovenly soldiers.
I don’t doubt many of the men noticed my beardless face and my clear complexion. My skin had always been my finest feature. I’m sure there were those who registered the unmanly shape of my hips and the comparatively narrow breadth of my shoulders. Perhaps they even laughed a little at the unfortunate “bonny boy” in their ranks who spoke softly when he spoke at all. I kept my voice pitched as deeply as I was able—it had always been husky—but it was not low enough; it wasn’t even as low as Jimmy’s. I imagined my company talking among themselves. Robbie looks a little feminine. Not his fault. None of us can do much about the way we look.
But then I kept up during the march, led them in drills, and handled my weapon with as much speed and accuracy as anyone else in my company, and they stopped seeing the parts of me that might have made them wonder before.
I was accepted as a man because for me to be a woman was unfathomable.
A partial solution to my problem came with picket duty. Captain Webb’s company was assigned to water guard—which was exactly what it sounded like—from the Red House to the great chain. We stood sentry along the perimeter, overlooking the water, a man posted about every ten rods. Considering no vessels passed beyond the barrier, the section of river we were assigned to watch was quiet duty. The war continued mostly in the south, and for the moment, there was nothing else for the new recruits at West Point to do but watch and drill, and we were given no orders beyond that.
I volunteered for the night shift from ten until two at the northernmost end, the watch no one else wanted, though a handful of others drew the short straw and manned the positions closer to the chain.
It allowed me an excuse to sleep when the hut was relatively empty and leave the barracks when most of the men were just settling down to bed. And my latrine and bathing habits went unnoticed. The stench of soldiers in close quarters as the temperatures rose into June, as well as their tendency toward evening misadventures was not something I missed, and it was on such a night when General Paterson approached my post, surprising the line with an inspection.
I called out as I’d been instructed to do—“Who comes there?”—and he bade me to be at my ease. I had not seen him since our arrival, except from a distance, and was struck once more by his size.
He was tall, a good deal taller than me, and broad of shoulder. He didn’t wear a hat or his uniform, and in the moonlight he was colorless, his pale shirt and tan breeches giving him the look of a man who couldn’t sleep instead of an officer performing an examination. The planes of his face were shadowed and his expression obscured. I was comforted that mine would be as well.
“You’ve been on water guard every night, soldier. Surely there is someone else who can take a shift?”
I was surprised that he knew, though my post was nearest to the Red House where he resided. “I volunteered for this watch, sir,” I said, keeping my voice soft and low. “I like the quiet.”
“I do too,” he said. I thought he would move on, but he hesitated. “Remind me of your name?”