Cadet Days. A Story of West Point

But though declared victor, as anybody could have predicted he would be, Jennings was anything but a happy man. He had lost his chevrons. He had lost much of the popularity that had attended him since the plebe camp of the previous year, when his class-mates hailed him as one of their champions. He saw that now the better men looked upon him as verging close upon bullyhood, holding that he had forced the fight between Woods and Graham and then forced another between himself and Bend, a man whom he clearly outclassed. This in itself was enough to hurt him seriously, but there were graver matters afoot. Glenn had never yet dropped the "Mister" in speaking to him, and, by the unwritten laws of the corps of cadets, that meant "keep your distance." The invariable custom of the old cadets, First Class officers and all, was to "Mister" everybody in the Fourth Class from the date of their entrance until the coming of the following June – nearly twelve long months – but then to drop the formal title, and welcome the new yearling to the comradeship of the corps. Then every yearling in good standing expected to be hailed by his surname or the jovial nickname, and in return to be accorded the proud privilege of addressing even the first captain and adjutant as friends and comrades – as "Rand" and "Glenn," as the case might be. West Point recognizes no secret societies, no oath-bound fraternities. There is one general brotherhood, initiation to which occupies fully ten weeks, probation nearly ten months, but membership is for life or good behavior. Now Glenn plainly said by his manner that he neither liked nor trusted Jennings, and Mr. Rand, the big first captain, who was at first so friendly to him, now began to hold aloof. It was anything but as a conquering hero he returned from the battle with Bend. He had expected no such display of cool, nervy, determined courage against such odds. He was sore without and within, though he had received, of course, no such heavy punishment as had sent Bend to the hospital. He sat with his silent second in his tent, applying wet sponges to his bruises and noting how few were the congratulations, how indifferent the inquiries as to his own condition. Later he was lying on his blankets revolving matters in his mind, wondering what he could do to restore his waning popularity, when he heard some plebes chatting eagerly in the B Company tent just back of his own. "Graham's got his gun again all right," was what they were saying, and before he could arrive at further particulars who should appear at the tent door but the adjutant and Cadet Captain Leonard. They bade him lie still, but they had a question or two to ask.

"You were on post on Number Three last evening, Mr. Jennings," said Glenn, "and for full an hour before tattoo, when Mr. Graham's new rifle was exchanged for an old rusty one. The new rifle was found in the weeds near the dump hollow close to your post. Did no one cross your post?"

"Not a soul that I saw," promptly answered Jennings, "and unless it was found in the south ditch of Fort Clinton, it must have been hidden nearer Number Two's day post than mine."

"We have questioned Number Two," said Glenn, briefly. "He denies all knowledge of it. He says, what's more, that nobody could have got away without his seeing him. It was Mr. Douglas, of the Fourth Class, as you know, and this was his third tour."

"Oh, I can't pretend to say no one got across my post. No one can be at all parts of that long beat at the same time. It was cloudy, too, and pitch dark. Anybody could have crossed up there at the west end while I was down by your tent. If the gun was found there, it is more than likely some one did cross. It would have gone hard with him if I'd caught him."

"Then you're sure you saw no one – had no conversation with anybody?"

"I saw no one cross. I held conversation with half a dozen – class-mates and plebes both – when I happened to be down by the tank. There were Cresswell and Drake, and Curry early in the evening; they were condoling with me about being 'broke.' Then there were plebes coming down there frequently; I had more or less chaff with them, and Major-General Frazier among them. I heard him spouting about his exploits. Where was the rifle found?" continued Jennings.

"Oh, out near the east end of the old dump hollow, hidden among the weeds and rubbish," said Leonard. "But never mind that just now. It was brought to my tent, and you are reported to have said you thought it was the work of some plebe. Why?"

"Well, lots of 'em are jealous of Mr. Graham for getting colors so easily for one thing. They think the commandant shows him partiality. They say it's because Graham's father is an army officer. That's why I think they might have put up the job among themselves."

"Yes? And how did they know where the old gun was hidden – the one that was taken from him the night he was dumped into the ditch off Number Three? You think plebes did that?"

But that was something Jennings could not answer. He stopped short, and was evidently confused.

There was indeed something queer about the case. Very little the worse for its night in the weeds, thanks to there having been no dew, for the night skies were overcast by heavy clouds, the rifle was brought in by a drum-boy orderly, who said he stumbled upon it accidentally. Glenn had cross-questioned sharply, but the boy persisted in his story. It was the same youngster whom Benny had employed to buy him cigarettes at the Falls. Pops was overjoyed to get his beautiful rifle again, and, personally, well content to drop any effort to find the perpetrator. Indeed, it seemed for a time as though nothing was being done. Bend came back to duty with discolored face, cool and steady as ever, and Jennings kept away from the B Company street, where he now had few friends. Geordie began to wonder when the yearlings would decide to summon him to Fort Clinton to settle the score still hung up between Woods and himself. It was awkward sitting at table with a man to whom he couldn't speak.

Meantime every day and hour made him more at home in his duties and in the new life. Of course it wasn't pleasant to be everywhere hailed as "Corporal" Graham, and to be compelled, whether in ranks or out, wherever he moved, to stalk along with his shoulders braced back, his little fingers on the seams of his trousers and the palms of his hands turned square to the front, his elbows in consequence being spitted to his side like the wings of a trussed chicken; but this was the method resorted to with one and all the new-comers, whether naturally erect or not, to square the shoulders, flatten the back, and counteract the ridiculous carriage of so many – at least, of the Eastern city boys. Anglomania in exaggerated form was epidemic on the Atlantic seaboard just then, and to insure recognition in polite society it seemed to be necessary to cultivate a bow-legged, knee-sprung style of walk, with shoulders hunched forward, chest flat, elbows bent at right angles, and carried straight out from the side; these, with a vacuous expression of countenance being considered "good form"; and strenuous measures were resorted to at the Point to knock it out of such college-bred youngsters as sought to set the fashion in the corps.

But what appetites they had! How dreamless were their hours of sleep! How vigorous and healthful the days of martial exercise! Squad drills were all finished now. Fully uniformed and equipped, the whole plebe class was in the battalion. A "live" superintendent was watching every detail of their doings. The system of responsibility among the officers, both graduates and cadets, was such that no disturbance of any account occurred by night, no hazing of a harmful nature by day. The roar of the morning gun and the rattle and bang of the drums brought Pops from his blanket with a bound. He was always one of the first to appear in front of his tent, sousing head and chest and arms in cool water, then rubbing the hard skin red before dressing for roll-call. Benny, on the other hand, self-indulgent and procrastinating, copying after the old cadets, thought it more professional to lie abed three minutes longer, and then come flying out at the last minute, frequently to be reported late at reveille, and demerited accordingly. So, too, in many another matter. Howsoever excellent he may have appeared on parade in command of the High-school Cadets, Benny was no model on drill as a high private. His wits, too, had a way of going wool-gathering, and while young men like Geordie and Connell paid strict attention to business and rarely received reports of any kind, the "Major-General" was in perpetual hot-water, and ever ready to lay the blame on somebody else. One thing he could do to perfection – that was make explanations. He wrote a beautiful hand. He was plausible, pleading, and successful. He was as full of excuse as an Irish laundress.

"He's got more reports on the delinquency books than any one in the class," said Pops, reproachfully.

"Yes," said Connell, whimsically, "and more of 'em off."

And thereby hangs a tale.

No cadet can expect to get along without ever receiving reports. Any boy who so desires can readily obtain reports aggregating one hundred demerit in a single day; yet if he receive that many in six months, out he goes into the world again, discharged for failure in discipline. The breaches of regulation in the power of a boy to commit are simply myriad. Only by determination to conform to rules in the first place and eternal vigilance in the second can he live without demerit. Even then the faintest slip – a loose button, shoestring, drawer-string, a speck of dust, a tarnished belt-plate, an instant's mooning on drill or parade – renders him liable. To utterly avoid report one has to be all eyes, ears, and attention.

Now, while it is hardly possible to get along without ever receiving a report, it is equally impossible to be perpetually receiving them without being more or less to blame. Here was Benny's weakness. He blamed everybody but himself, and, so believing, sought to convince the commandant. Before camp was over it was said of him that he got off many a report he richly deserved – a most unfortunate reputation at West Point – for there the first lesson taught and the last insisted on was "the truth in everything, and nothing but the truth."

As read out by the adjutant each day after parade, and posted at the tent of the sergeant-major, the delinquency list of the corps was a long one. Every cadet reported for an offence from "absence from reveille" to "dusty shoes" had forty-eight hours within which to render a written explanation, something after this form:

Camp Reynolds, West Point, N. Y.,August 1, 18 – .

Offence. – Absent from reveille.

Explanation. – It was raining. The tent walls were battened down. I did not hear the drums until some one called me. I was in my tent all the time.

Respectfully submitted,A. B. Smith,Cadet Private, Fourth Class, Company B.

A cadet reported absent from any duty had to explain and say that he was on limits at the time or else be court-martialled. Except for absences he need offer no explanation unless he so desired. If satisfactory explanation were tendered, the commandant crossed off the report; if unsatisfactory, he so indorsed the paper and sent it forward to the superintendent four days later. The cadet had still the right to appeal to the superintendent, but if no appeal were made it was posted in the big record books at headquarters, and stands there yet in black and white. It is odd to read what little blunders our biggest generals made in their cadet days. Now Geordie got few reports, and wrote fewer explanations. Benny spent half his time submitting excuses.

One evening there was a crowd of visitors at parade. The band had just begun its march down the front of the motionless gray-and-white line. The commanding officer, Lieutenant Webster, in lonely dignity, stood with folded arms facing the colors out in front of the centre, the most conspicuous figure on the field. Twenty paces behind him was the long, deep rank of visitors seated on camp-chairs, chatting and laughing in subdued tones, and watching the gray battalion on the color-line. Suddenly a little mite of a boy, who had broken away from some gossiping nurse, came toddling gravely forth upon the sacred ground, and, with all the innocence and curiosity of childhood, moved slowly yet confidently on until close to the blue-and-red-and-gold statue, and there halted with much wonderment in the baby face, and began a careful study of the strange, fascinating object before him. The spectators shook with merriment. The laughter could not be controlled, and in a moment the epidemic had reached the battalion. "The whole front rank shook and snickered," as Geordie afterwards wrote home. Mr. Webster's face grew redder than his trailing plume, and he bit savagely at his lip in his effort to control his sense of the ludicrous. But when a French bonne burst through the line of visitors and charged jabbering down on the little innocent, only to drive him full tilt in between the battalion and its now convulsed commander, to capture him midway, and to be pounded, pommelled, and stormed at in baby vernacular as she bore him away, "Why, I just bust my chin-strap trying to keep from laughing," said Connell, "and almost every plebe in the line was 'skinned' for highly unmilitary conduct, laughing in ranks at parade." Plebes always catch it on such occasions. Geordie had controlled himself to the extent of suppressing any sound, but Benny had gurgled and chuckled and exclaimed aloud.

And yet when the reports were read out the next evening, and the plebes were holding an impromptu indignation meeting, big Harry Winn stopped and asked Graham what explanation he was going to write.

"None at all," said Pops. "I suppose I did laugh – I couldn't help it."

But Benny Frazier, who had not only laughed aloud, but uttered some expression of boyish delight, said, "Well, you bet I don't mean to swallow any two or three demerit if an explanation will get it off." And Geordie looked at him without saying a word.

Two days later the colonel sent for Pops.

"Mr. Graham," he said, "you have offered no explanation for laughing in ranks at parade; most of those reported have done so; why didn't you?"

Geordie colored, as he always did when embarrassed. Finally he said: "The report was true, sir. I couldn't help it exactly, but – I had no excuse."

"Well, in a case like this, where something comical really appeared, I do not care to see a cadet punished, provided he comes forward and explains the matter. Your tent-mate, for instance, explains it very well, and says he couldn't help smiling a little, so I took his report off as a matter of course. It seems to me you have allowed several reports to stand against you that were removed in his case. I shall remove this one. That is all, sir." And Geordie saluted, and walked thoughtfully away.

How could Frazier truthfully say he had only smiled; or worse, how could he imply that he did nothing else, without so saying, when Graham and others well knew he both laughed and muttered audibly? Geordie began to understand why it was that Frazier seldom showed his explanations.

Yet, when Benny eagerly asked him what the colonel said, Pops knew not how to tell him what was uppermost in his mind. And he had promised to be Frazier's room-mate.

That evening Mr. Glenn, the adjutant, called him aside.

"Mr. Graham, your confinement in camp will expire next week, and I understand Mr. Jennings is saying that as soon as you are released you will have to meet either Mr. Woods or himself. I have seen Mr. Woods, and told him that you have done all that is necessary; that he was wrong in the first place. Now should Mr. Jennings make any demands, I wish you to refuse, and refer him to me."

Two days later Benny Frazier, with white, scared look in his face, said: "Pops, do you know anything about it? Jennings has just been put in arrest – conduct unbecoming a cadet and a gentleman – and they say it's about your rifle."

CHAPTER X

Yearling faces in camp were looking very solemn one hot August morning. Cadet Jennings, in arrest, had sought permission to speak to the commandant; had been granted an interview, and had come back with very little of his old confident, even swaggering, manner. He had been in close arrest six days, the object of much sympathy among certain of his class-mates, because it was given out that he was to be made an example of, all on account of suspected participation in the trick that had deprived a plebe, temporarily at least, of his new rifle; which, according to yearling views, he had no business with, anyhow. Several things happened, however, which wiser heads in the corps could not account for at all. First, Jennings had sent for and held some confidential talk with Frazier. Frazier was seen that night in conversation with a drummer-boy in rear of the orderly's tent – "Asking him to get me some cigarettes," explained Benny. Two days later the Honorable Mr. Frazier arrived at the Point, and spent a long afternoon with his son; and saw him again in the visitors' tent that evening. This time Mr. Frazier senior did not favor the officers with accounts of Benny's prowess at the high-school; he even avoided them, especially the superintendent and commandant, both of whom he referred to subsequently as men with very narrow views of life. He spent a day at the Falls below, and took a West Shore train and hurried away.

The last week of August came. The days were hot; the nights so chilly that the guard wore overcoats from the posting of the first relief after tattoo. In the distinguished quartet of occupants of plebe hotel No. 2 of Company B three at least had been marvellously benefited by their experience in camp – "Corporal" Graham, Connell, and Foster. Their clear eyes and brown skin told of the perfection of health and condition; but "Major-General" Frazier looked far from well. He was evidently troubled in mind and body, and utterly out of sorts.

Camp was to be broken on the 29th, and the tents struck, in accordance with the old fashion, at the tap of the drum. The furlough men would return at noon on the 28th. Once more the ranks would be full, and the halls and barracks echoing to the shouts of glad young voices; but meantime a solemn function was going on – a court-martial for the trial of certain members of the corps. Messrs. Ferguson and Folliott of the Third Class had been "hived" absent at inspection after taps. Lieutenant Cross, commander of Company D, who was making a bull's-eye count about 11.30 one moonlit August evening, found these two lambs of his flock astray, and directed Cadet Lieutenant Fish, officer of the day, to inspect for them every half-hour. It was 2 A.M. before they turned up – young idiots – in civil garb and false mustaches. Each had already an overwhelming array of demerit. Each had barely escaped deficiency at the June examination. Each felt confident his cadet days were numbered, and so, courting a little cheap notoriety, they determined to make a name for what used to be termed "recklessness," and "ran it" down to Cranston's Hotel in disguise. Their fate was assured – dismissal – and their trial occupied no time at all. No one recognized them while away from the Point. It was sufficient that they were absent from their tents more than half an hour.

And then Cadet Jennings was called, and, as was the custom in those days, Cadet Jennings had asked a First Class man to act as his counsel, and Cadet Ross was introduced as amicus curiæ. The court sat in a big vacant room in the old Academic that summer, an object of much interest to swarms of visitors impressed by the sight of a dozen officers solemnly assembled at a long table, clad in the full uniform of their rank. It was also a matter of no little wonderment to certain civil lawyers enjoying a vacation, who looked upon the slow, cumbrous proceedings with sentiments of mingled mirth and derision.

Our good Uncle Sam, when first starting his army a century ago, copied the pompous methods of the soldiers of King George as set forth in the Mutiny Act, and there had been hardly any change in all these years. Lieutenant Breeze, a lively young officer, was judge-advocate of the court, and appeared to be the only man who had a word to say in the premises. Counsel, unlike those in civil courts, rarely opened their mouths. Questions they desired to ask were reduced to writing and propounded by the judge-advocate. Answers were similarly taken down. The court had been in session only an hour over the yearlings' cases when they sent for Mr. Jennings. Presently Graham and others, returning to camp from dancing-lesson, were hailed by the officer of the guard.

"You are wanted at once at the court-room; so is that Major-General tent-mate of yours. Get ready as quick as you can, Mr. Graham. Full dress, with side arms."

Hastening to his tent, Graham found Benny already there, and in ten minutes they were on their way. Benny was very white and scared, Geordie silent. Lieutenant Breeze must have been waiting for them. Graham was summoned in at once. Many a time he had seen courts-martial out on the frontier, and so went promptly to the witness seat and pulled off his right-hand glove. Breeze wasted no time in preliminaries. He knew his man.

"You swear the evidence you shall give in the case now in hearing shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God," he said; and Geordie, standing erect and looking him in the eye, his own hand uplifted, answered,

"I do."

"He'd tell it anyhow," whispered a New York lawyer to a friend. "That boy couldn't lie if he tried."

While the judge-advocate was pencilling a few loose slips of paper, Geordie glanced around him. The sides of the room were well filled with spectators, ladies and gentlemen visiting the neighborhood, and curious to see a military court in session. Major Rawlins, of the Engineers, was president, while two captains and eight lieutenants made up the court. To the left of the judge-advocate, at a little table, sat Mr. Jennings with his counsel. Geordie took the chair to Breeze's right, pulled on his glove again, adjusted his bayonet-scabbard, and sat erect. The first two questions were as to his name, and whether he knew the accused. Then he was told to give, in his own words, the facts connected with the disappearance of his rifle. Few boys could have told the story more tersely.

"What was the number of the new rifle?" asked the judge-advocate, and Geordie gave it. Had he recognized, by voice or in any way, any of his assailants? Not one. Had he been able to ascertain how the rifle was taken, or by whom? He had not. Was there no one of his tent-mates left at the tent the evening the exchange was made? None that he knew of. Where was Cadet Frazier that evening? Geordie didn't know; he did not see him until bedtime. Mr. Jennings was asked if he desired to question the witness, and wisely refrained.

Certain members of the court looked as though they might elicit something; but when the judge-advocate said, in response to a whispered query, "I have all that from another witness; this one knows nothing about it," the court subsided and concluded to wait.

Even as Geordie was wondering if Mr. Breeze meant Frazier, and what Frazier could possibly know, the brief evidence he had given was read over to him, and he was told he could return to camp. The judge-advocate accompanied him to the door, and Geordie heard him say to the orderly:

"I want that drummer Doyle at once. Why is he not here?"

"We can't find him, sir, anywhere," was the answer.

"Well, go again, and tell the drum-major to have him hunted up. He had no business to let him away from barracks."

As Geordie started out into the open air, he caught sight of Benny's woe-begone face. What could have happened to him?

"Detained as a witness before the court-martial," said the officer of the day to whom Frazier was reported absent at dinner roll-call; but Pops found him lying on his bedding when they got back to camp. He didn't want to talk, he said; his head was aching. He was all upset about something, that was evident. No, he didn't want any dinner. Jennings and his counsel had joined the battalion at the mess-hall with unimpaired appetites and confident mien. The plebe it was who seemed all gone to pieces. By parade-time a strange story had come into the camp by way of the visitors' tent. Court had adjourned until the witness Doyle could be found, and Mr. Frazier, whose testimony it was supposed would materially harm the accused, had not harmed his case at all. In brief, Frazier, acting under instructions evidently, tremblingly admitted that he was aware of some joke being played on his tent-mate that night, but refused to answer questions on the ground that answers might incriminate himself. The sensation among the plebes was tremendous. Everybody jumped to one conclusion – Frazier must have taken part in "the robbery," as they now began to call it.