Cadet Days. A Story of West Point
"Did you clean this gun yourself, sir?"
"Yes, sir."
"If this were not your first tour of guard duty, Mr. Graham, and you had not to learn sentry duty, I would put you on colors." And all the rear rank and file closers and most of the front rank heard him say it.
Now while a plebe must be berated for every blunder he makes, and is perpetually being ordered to do better next time, the idea of his doing so well the first time as to excel the performance of even the "lowest-down yearling" is still more unforgivable in old cadet eyes. It was not until dinner-time, however, that Mr. Glenn's commendation of Corporal Pops began to be noised abroad. The adjutant, in his dissatisfaction with the yearling candidates for colors, had virtually instituted comparison between them and a plebe marching on for the very first time, and comparisons of that nature were indeed odious. And so it resulted that through no soldierly fault, but rather from too much soldierly appreciation of his duties, Geordie Graham had fallen under the ban of yearling censure, and was marked for vengeance.
This is not a pleasant thing for an old cadet – a very old cadet – to write. There were plenty of Third Class men who, had they heard the adjutant's remarks as made, and the conversation between Mr. Woods and Graham as it occurred, would have taken no exceptions; but such affairs are invariably colored in the telling, and gain in exaggeration with every repetition. There was no one to tell Geordie's side of the story. There were few yearlings who cared to question the adjutant as to the exact nature of his remarks. Without any formal action at all, but as the result of their own experience the year before and the loose discussion held in group after group, by a sort of common consent it was settled that that plebe must be "taken down." Not only must he be called upon to apologize to Mr. Woods on marching off guard on the morrow, or else give full satisfaction, cadet fashion, in fair fight with nature's own weapons, but he must be taught at once that he had too big an idea of his importance as a sentry. That might be all very well a year hence, but not now.
At the risk of court-martial and dismissal, if discovered, two members of the Third Class who had just scraped through the June examination, and by reason of profusion of demerit and paucity of brains were reasonably certain of being discharged the service by January next, "shook hands on it" with one or two cadets more daring – because they had more to lose – that they would dump Mr. Graham in Fort Clinton ditch that very night; and as Fort Clinton ditch lay right along the post of Number Three for a distance of some sixty yards, that would probably be no difficult thing to do. "Only it's got to be a surprise. That young Indian fighter will use either butt or bayonet, or both," was the caution administered by an older head.
"Keep your eye peeled, Graham," whispered Connell to him just after supper. "Some of those yearlings are going to try and get square with you to-night."
Pops nodded, but said nothing. He had noticed that during supper neither Mr. Woods nor any of the Third Class men at the table looked at or exchanged a word with him. Frazier, all excitement, had overheard Cadet Jennings, one of the famous boxers of the corps, inquire which was "that plebe Graham," and had seen him speak in a low tone to Geordie.
"I have a message for you from Mr. Woods, Mr. Graham," was all that Jennings had said, "and will see you after you march off guard."
Pops well knew what that meant. From many a graduate, and especially from Mr. McCrea, he had heard full account of the West Point method of settling such matters. It differed very little from that described by that manliest of Christians, Mr. Thomas Hughes, in his incomparable boy-story, Tom Brown's School-Days at Rugby, and Pops had never a doubt as to what his course would have to be. It was one point he could not and would not discuss with his mother, and one which his father never mentioned. Pops had said just what he meant to Mr. Woods, and he meant to stand by what he had said.
But meantime other yearlings proposed to make it lively for him on post that night, did they? Well, Geordie clinched his teeth, and set his square, sunburned jaws, and gripped his rifle firmly as the relief went tramping away down the long vista under the trees. The full moon was high in the heavens, and camp was wellnigh as light as day. A nice time they would have stealing upon him unawares, said he to himself; but his heart kept thumping hard. It was very late – long after one. Only at the guard-tents was there a lamp or candle burning. It was very still. Only the long, regular breathing of some sleepers close at hand in the tents of Company A, the distant rumble of freight trains winding through the Highlands, or the soft churning of the waters by some powerful tow-boat, south bound with its fleet of barges, broke upon the night.
Mr. Allen, officer in charge, had visited the guard just before their relief was on, and, going back to his tent, had extinguished his lamp, and presumably turned in. It was very warm, and many of the corps had raised their tent walls; so, too, had Lieutenant Webster, the army officer commanding Company A, and Pops could see the lieutenant himself lying on his camp-cot sleeping the sleep of the just. His post – Number Three – extended from the north end of the color-line, on which Numbers Two and Six were now pacing, closed in around camp for the night, down along the north side, skirting the long row of tents of Company A; then, with the black, deep ditch of Fort Clinton on the left hand, the gravelled pathway ran straight eastward under the great spreading trees, past the wall tent of the cadet first captain; beyond that the double tent of the adjutant; then near at hand was the water-tank; and farther east, close to the path, the three tents of the bootblacks and varnishers.
The four big double tents occupied by the four army officers commanding cadet companies were aligned opposite their company streets, and some twenty yards away from them. The big "marquee" of the commandant stood still farther back, close to the shaded post of Number Four – and all so white and still and ghostly. The corporal of the relief came round in ten minutes to test the sentries' knowledge of the night orders. Pops challenged sharply: "Who comes there?" and went through his military catechism with no serious error. Half an hour later the clink of sword was heard, and the cadet officer of the guard made the rounds, and still there came no sign of trouble. Twice had the call of the half-hour passed around camp. "Half-past two o'clock, and a-l-l's well," went echoing away among the moonlit mountains, and still no sight or sound of coming foe.
"They won't dare, it's so bright a night," said Pops to himself. "Only an Apache could creep up on me here. They have to come from the side of camp if they come at all. They can't get out across any sentry post."
Pacing slowly eastward, his rifle on his shoulder, turning vigilantly behind him every moment or two, he had reached the tank where the overhanging shade was heaviest and the darkness thick. Opposite the shoeblack's tent he turned about and started westward again, where all at the upper end of his post lay bright and clear. He could see the white trousers and belts of Number Two glinting in the moonlight as he sauntered along the northern end of his post. Then of a sudden everything was dark, his rifle pitched forward into space; something hot, soft, stifling enveloped his head and arms, and wound round and round about him – all in the twinkling of an eye. Cry out he could not. Brawny arms embraced him in a bear-hug. Sightless, he was rushed forward, tripped up, and the next instant half slid, half rolled, into the dewy, grassy depths of Clinton ditch. Unhurt, yet raging, when at last, unrolling himself from the folds of a drum-boy's blanket, and shouting for the corporal of the guard, he clambered back to his post. Then not a trace could be seen of his assailants, not a sign of his beautiful gun.
CHAPTER VII
There was excitement in camp next morning. Beyond rapid-running foot-falls and certain sounds of smothered laughter among the tents, nothing had been heard by any sentry, plebe or yearling, of the assailants of Number Three, yet they must have been three or four in number. Geordie was sure of that; sure also that they must have concealed themselves in the shoeblack's tent or behind the trees at the east end of his post. Once clear of his muffling, his loud yell for the corporal of the guard had brought that young soldier down from the guard-tents full tilt. (It transpired long afterwards that he was expecting the summons.) It also brought Lieutenant Webster out of bed and into his trousers in one jump. "Deviling sentries" was something that had not been dared the previous summer, and was hardly expected now. The officer of the guard, too, thought it expedient to hurry to the scene, and those two cadet officials were upbraiding Mr. Graham for the loss of his equipment and equilibrium when Mr. Webster interposed.
Cadet Fulton, of the Third Class, was on the neighboring post, Number Four, and declared that he had seen neither cadets nor anybody else approaching Mr. Graham's post, nor had a sound of the scuffle reached him. He must have been at the south end of his post at the time (as indeed he was, as it also turned out long after), otherwise he could have seen the marauders had he so desired. Mr. Webster got his bull's-eye lantern and made an immediate inspection of camp, finding every old cadet in his appropriate place, and unusually sound asleep. Meantime it was discovered that Mr. Graham's shoulder-belt had been sliced in two, and that his cartridge-box and bayonet-scabbard were also gone. The gun and equipments, therefore, on which he had bestowed so much care and labor, and the adjutant such commendation, were partially the objects of assault. The officer of the guard sent for a lantern, and bade Geordie search along the ditch for them. So down again, ankle deep in the long dew-sodden grass, did our young plainsman go, painfully searching, but to no effect. Lieutenant Allen, officer in charge, who had in the meantime dressed and girt himself with sword-belt, came presently to the scene and ordered him up again.
"One might as well search for a needle in a hay-stack, as you probably knew when you sent him there, Mr. Bland," said he, not over-placidly. He was angry to think of such daring defiance of law and order occurring almost under his very nose. "Go to the first sergeant of Company B and tell him to credit Mr. Graham with a full tour of guard duty, and order the supernumerary to report at once at the guard-house. Mr. Jay" – this to the corporal of the guard – "you remain here in charge of this post until relieved. Now go to your tent, Mr. Graham, and get to bed. You've done very well, sir. This matter will be investigated in the morning."
But Pops was mad, as he afterwards expressed it, "clean through." "I'll go if you order me to, sir, but I'd rather borrow a gun and serve my tour out, and let them try it again." And Mr. Allen, after a moment's reflection, said: "Very well; do so if you choose."
Whereupon Geordie went to his tent, finding Benny awake and eager for particulars. Taking Foster's gun and "trimmings," as they used to call cadet equipments in the old days, he hurried back. Mr. Allen was still there.
"Did you recognize no one – did you hear no voice – see nothing by which you could identify any one?" he asked.
"No, sir; it was all done quick as a flash. I didn't hear a thing."
"Have you had any difficulty with anybody? Had you any inkling that this was to happen?"
Graham hesitated. He knew the cadet rule: "The truth and nothing but the truth." Indeed, he had never known any other. He knew also that were he to mention Mr. Woods's name in this connection, it meant court-martial, in all probability, for Woods. What he did not know was that that young gentleman was perfectly well aware of the fact, and for two reasons had had nothing whatsoever to do with the attack: one was that in the event of investigation he would be the first suspected; the other that, having taken exceptions to Mr. Graham's retort to the extent of demanding "satisfaction," he was now debarred by cadet etiquette from molesting him – except in one way.
"I'm waiting for your answer, Mr. Graham," said the lieutenant.
"Well, sir, I suppose every new cadet has difficulty with the old ones. This was nothing that I care to speak about."
"With whom had you any trouble, sir? Who threatened you in any way?"
Geordie hesitated, then respectfully but firmly said:
"I decline to say."
"You may have to say, Mr. Graham, should a court of inquiry be ordered."
But Pops knew enough of army life to understand that courts of inquiry were rare and extraordinary means of investigation. He stood respectfully before his inquisitor, but stood in silence, as, indeed, Mr. Allen rather expected he would do.
"Very well. You can post Mr. Graham again," said he, finally; "and you will be held responsible, Mr. Officer of the Guard, in the event of further annoyance to him to-night."
But there was none. At half-past three the relief came around, and Geordie turned over his post to Connell. There was some chuckling and laughter and covert glances on the part of old cadets when they went to breakfast, and Benny Frazier was full of eager inquiry as to what had become of his rifle and equipments. But Geordie was still very sore over his discomfiture, and would say nothing at all. No sooner had the detail broken ranks, after being marched into Company B's street on the dismissal of the old guard, than the drum-boy orderly appeared and told Geordie the commandant wished to see him.
The Colonel was seated in his big tent, and the new officer of the day, Cadet Captain Vincent, of C Company, was standing attention before him.
"There must be no repetition of last night's performance on your guard, sir," Pops heard him say, as he stood on the gravel path outside awaiting his turn, and wondering why Mr. Bend, the acting first sergeant of his company, should be there too. Any one who happened to be on the lookout at this moment could not fail to see that a number of cadets had gathered at the east end of each company street, and, though busied apparently in animated chat with one another, they were keeping at the same time a close watch on the commandant's tent. Mr. Vincent saluted, faced about, and gravely marched away, holding his plumed head very high, and looking straight before him. It wouldn't do to grin until he had passed the line of tactical tents (as the four domiciles of the company commandants were sometimes called). Yet he felt like grinning. No one man could suppress the impulse of mischief rampant in the yearling class, and Vincent knew it. And then Pops was summoned. The colonel looked him keenly over.
"You are sure you recognized none of your assailants last night?"
"Perfectly sure, sir. I had no opportunity."
"Have you heard anything as yet of your rifle and equipments?"
"No, sir; nothing at all."
"Mr. Bend," said the colonel, "issue Mr. Graham a brand-new rifle – one that has never been used; also new equipments. His were taken because they were the best cleaned in the class. We'll save him as much trouble as possible in the future – until those are found."
And so, instead of the "veteran outfit" that would doubtless have been issued to replace those lost, Geordie found himself in possession of a handsome new cadet rifle, bayonet, cartridge-box, and bayonet-scabbard. Mr. Bend, as instructed, carefully registered the arsenal number on his note-book. The first and second classes, breaking ranks after their morning duties, came thronging back to their company street to get ready for dinner. The yearlings promptly clustered around Bend.
"The colonel tried to get him to tell," said he, in answer to eager questions, "but he wouldn't. You're safe enough, Woods, if you don't push matters any further."
"But I've got to," said Woods, in a low tone. "Jennings has seen him already, and Ross says it's got to be one thing or the other."
Mr. Ross, the authority thus quoted, was the cadet first lieutenant of Company B. There are generally certain magnates of the senior class to whom mooted questions are referred, just as in foreign services the differences among officers are examined by the regimental court of honor, and it may be said of Mr. Ross right here that he never refused his services as referee, and rarely prescribed any course but battle. There were still some fifteen minutes before the dinner drums would beat; and when Mr. Jennings came over from Company A and took Woods aside, the eyes of the entire street were on them. A prospective fight is a matter of absorbing interest from highest to lowest.
"One moment, Jennings," said Bend, joining the two; "before you go any further in this matter, I want you to know that when many a plebe might have been excused for giving the whole thing dead away to the commandant this morning, Mr. Graham stood up like a man and wouldn't tell."
"Of course he wouldn't!" answered Jennings, shortly. "Mr. Graham's a gentleman. All the more reason why Woods can't swallow his language."
"Well, see here; I think Woods brought the whole thing on himself," said Bend, sturdily. "This is no personal row, and that young fellow has been taught all his life that a sentinel is entitled to respect, in the first place, and is expected to do his whole duty, in the second. I'm not 'going back on a class-mate,' as you seem to think, but I want you, and I want Woods here, to put yourselves in that plebe's place a moment, and say whether you'd have answered differently."
"We can't back out now," answered Woods, gruffly. "The whole corps knows just what he said, and it will be totally misjudged if we don't demand apology. He's got to apologize," he went on, hotly, "or else fight; and it's not your place to be interfering, Bend, and you know it."
"I wouldn't interfere if it were a simple matter of a personal row between the two; but this is a matter in which – and I say it plainly, Jennings – this young fellow is being set upon simply because he's been raised as a soldier, and knows more what's expected of a soldier than any man in his class, and – by Jupiter! since you will have it – than a good many of ours, you and Woods in particular." And now the cadet corporal's eyes were flashing. "What's more, Jennings, I believe Woods's better judgment would prompt him to see this thing as I do, but that you're forcing a fight."
By this time ears as well as eyes of half of B Company – First Class, yearlings, and plebes – were intent. Bend, indignant and full of vim, had raised his voice so that his words were plainly heard by a dozen at least. Fearful of a fracas on the spot, Cadet Lieutenant Ross sprang forward.
"Not another word, Bend! Be quiet, Jennings! You two can settle this later. I'm witness to what has been said; so are a dozen more. Go about your other affair, Jennings."
Jennings was boiling over with wrath. In cadet circles almost as much opprobrium is attached to the bully who is over-anxious to fight as to the shirk who won't fight at all – not quite so much, perhaps – but Jennings turned away.
"You'll hear from me later on this score, Bend," he growled. "I'm at Woods's service for the moment, and I decline any officious meddling on your part." With that he strode up the company street, his face hot and frowning.
Geordie was pinning a collar on his plebe jacket at the moment, and had resumed the gray dress of his class-mates in order to march with them to dinner. So had Connell. Foster and Frazier, all excitement, had been watching the scene down in front of the first sergeant's tent.
"Here comes Mr. Jennings, Graham," said Benny, excitedly, and the next instant the burly figure of the A Company corporal – Woods's friend – appeared at the tent door. It wasn't the first time he had been accused of a bullying tone in conveying such a message. A First Class man, splashing his close-cropped head and sun-browned face in front of the next tent, emerged from behind his towel, and, still dripping, came forward as Jennings began to speak.
"Mr. Graham, my friend Mr. Woods considers himself insulted by your language at the dinner-table yesterday, and he demands an apology."
Geordie's face was a little white, but the blue eyes didn't flinch a particle.
"I've none to make," was the brief answer.
"Then I suppose you will refer me to some friend at once. You know the consequences, I presume," said Jennings, magnificently.
"Just as soon as I can find some one," answered Geordie. "I'll look around after dinner."
"Well, you want to step out about it," was the curt reply. "There's been too much shilly-shally about this matter already."
"That's no fault of mine!" answered Pops, firing up at the instant. "Connell, you'll stand by me, won't you? Mr. Jennings, you can have all the satisfaction you want; and, what's more, just you say that if I can find out who stole my gun last night there'll be no time fooled away asking for any apologies."
"Bully!" gasped Benny, with eager delight; and Foster smote his thigh with ecstasy.
"All right, my young fighting-cock!" sneered Jennings. "We'll accommodate you – and begin to-night during supper. See that you and Mr. Connell here are ready."
"Oh, one moment, Mr. Jennings," interposed the First Class neighbor. "Mr. Graham is possibly ignorant of the fact that as a challenged party it's his right and not yours to name the time. Fair play, if you please, now; fair play."
"Oh, he'll get fair play enough," said Jennings, impatiently.
But here the clamor of fife and drum, thundering away at "The Roast Beef of Old England," put an end to the preliminaries. All through dinner nothing was talked of at the table of Company B but the coming mill between Woods and Graham, the first of the inevitable series of fisticuffs between yearling and plebe. Of course, too, by this time Graham's virtual challenge to his assailants to come out and own up was being passed from lip to lip. Of course, it was always the understood thing that if a plebe objected to his treatment and demanded satisfaction, the offender must fight. Only, by the unwritten code of the corps, there were certain things which it was held a plebe should take as a matter of course, and not look upon in the light of personal affront; and being hazed on post was one of them. Mr. Otis, their next-door neighbor, took the trouble to explain this to Pops later in the afternoon, and Geordie listened respectfully, but without being moved. He had been taught all his life just the reverse, he said. A sentry was a sentry all the world over, and whether Life-guardsman in London, soldier in the Sioux country, or plebe at the Point, it didn't make a particle of difference to him. "I may be wrong, Mr. Otis, but it's all the fault of my bringing up."
"Confound the pig-headed young sawney!" said Otis, afterwards. "He's as obstinate as a mule, and, what makes it worse, he's perfectly right; only the yearlings can't see it, and he'll have no end of fight and trouble, especially if he licks Woods to-night."
Now here was a question. Woods had all the advantage of the year's splendid gymnastic training, under as fine a master as the nation could provide. Every muscle and sinew was evenly and carefully developed. He was lithe, quick, active, skilled with foil, bayonet, and broadsword, and fairly well taught with the gloves. He had borne himself well in the two or three "scrimmages" of his plebe year, and the Third Class were wellnigh unanimous in their prediction that he'd "make a chopping-block of that plebe." Geordie was bulkier than his foeman, a splendid specimen of lusty health, strength, and endurance; but he lacked as yet the special training and systematic development of the yearling.
"Take 'em a year from now," said Mr. Ross, "and there's no question but that Woods'll be outclassed; but to-day it makes one think of Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu."
And so the afternoon wore away, and the excitement increased. Jennings was in his glory.
"It'll be a beauty," was the way he expressed himself. "That plebe's a plucky one. I may have to give him a lesson myself yet." And he bared his magnificent arm, and complacently regarded the bulging biceps.
"If it's two years from now when he tries it on," remarked Mr. Otis, when Jennings's remarks were repeated to him, "may I be there to see! It's my belief Mr. Jennings will get a lesson he richly deserves."
