Mr. Ducrot sinks back upon his pillow, dead tired, almost too tired to sleep, and strives to bring a little order out of the chaos of his mind. The oft-repeated names Ducrot, Dumbjohn, Duflicket, Dumbguard float through his head, indescribably confused with mattresses, pillows, stern-looking cadet officers, vicious yearling corporals, rows of red-faced plebes, chins drawn way in, and the perspiration streaming down their faces. The events of the day are hopelessly jumbled in his mind. A feeling almost of failure creeps over him, and in the solitude of the night a yearning for his home seizes him. All through his breast spasmodic sharp pains play hide and seek. The great loneliness to which men are prey, fills him with sadness and melancholy until a pleasing drowsiness drifts along and smothers Mr. Ducrot into unconsciousness. This period of training of the new cadet is familiarly called “Beast Barracks.” It lasts for about three weeks, at the end of which these new men are sent to camp to join the Battalions. It is necessary to segregate them for at least this length of time: otherwise they would be so wooden that they would be sticking their front rank files in the head with a bayonet. It is not difficult to discern the origin of the name “Beast Barracks.” In the cadets’ mind, their breaking in is only comparable to the taming of some wild animals. The training is undeniably severe for a tenderfoot, but its “beastly” character is an imaginary creation. To the new man, however, it seems awfully real. I well remember my own feelings. When I was standing in the fierce sun, “bracing” in ranks along the cement walk of the Area, occasionally a white dog upon the hill opposite would come lazily snooping around the ash cans: I envied him his freedom. It seemed to me that I envied everyone except my classmates in misery. In my imagination I saw in flaming letters above every door I entered: “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” As I was re-christened Mr. Ducrot, I began to think I was someone else, I felt as if I must have died and that this was my second tour on earth, a punishment for a wicked first life. “There must be some way of getting out of this,” I reflected, but then, I thought that if the officers and cadets in charge of me had gone through with this training I could also. And I did,--Alleluiah! [Illustration: Moving from Barracks to Camp]