Cadet Days. A Story of West Point
But Mr. Ross came to the rescue. "Wait until you hear the whole story," he said. "It can't be told now, but will be when the excitement has died away and it is safe to tell it."
And so the youngsters had to wait. Connell and Foster seemed to shrink from their class-mate instinctively. It was Graham who simply would not believe that ill of him.
"I can't tell as yet. I've given my word to Ross and Jennings," said Benny, with a wail in his voice. "Don't go back on me, Graham, and you'll never regret it." And, taking the side of "the under dog in the fight," Geordie held out his hand.
The 28th came, and still no tidings of the missing witness. Doyle, the drummer, had vanished, and no one knew whither. The furlough-men came back at mid-day, looking probably for the same tumultuous greeting that had been accorded their predecessors for years back – a charge of the First and Third Classes from camp, and a smashing of Derby hats – but they were marshalled direct to barracks instead, and, completely uniformed and equipped, marched over to join the battalion in style most matter of fact. The plebes spent the last evening in camp listening to the distant music of the hop, and singing, reciting, and dancing for the benefit of the returned Second Class men. Certain celebrities of their number were, with appropriate ceremonies, presented to such Second Class men as preferred "devilment" to dancing, among them "Corporal Pops, the coyote-killer of the Colorado, famous as bear-hunter, scalp-taker, and sign-talker," and for the last time Geordie was on duty entertaining old cadets until the tattoo drums, but no one turned out Benny Frazier. A yearling will not even have fun at the expense of a plebe whose conduct is considered shady, and the belief in the Third Class was general that Frazier, through motives of jealousy, had connived at the "hiving" of his tent-mate's rifle.
And yet when Connell said to Graham, "I was going to room with Foster, but I'd far rather live with you. Do you think we can fix it now? Foster is willing to live with Clawson," he could hardly believe it when Geordie answered:
"I've promised to live with Frazier, and though I'd rather live with you than any man I know, I won't go back on my promise."
Geordie did not tell what he might have told, that on the evening of the 27th, after a long talk with his father, who came at noon and left before parade, Frazier had almost pleadingly said to him: "They're all down on me now, Graham, and if you turn from me I won't have a friend left in the class. If you and I room together, they'll know you don't believe me mean enough to take your gun. Appearances are all against me simply because I can't tell without involving some poor fellows whom dismissal would ruin for life just because they'd taken part in what they meant to be only a joke." And Graham answered that he meant to stand by Frazier until the thing was all cleared up.
There were plebes who came to Geordie and told him he was making a mistake. So did Mr. Otis, but the latter went away all the more convinced that "Corporal Pops" was too pig-headed even for a Scot. It was almost pitiful to see the way Frazier clung to his companion now. It looked to everybody as though the boy were jealously afraid of seeing his friend and protector, so called, talking with anybody else. Time and time again he reminded Pops of the agreement, until at last, annoyed, Geordie turned suddenly upon him and said:
"Look here, Frazier, does nobody keep promises where you come from?"
Then Benny concluded it was time to hold his peace.
In the presence of a thousand spectators on a glorious August day, every tent in camp went down at the tap of the drum, and what an instant before had been a white-roofed city turned into a bustling hive of gray coats, folding, rolling, and cording up the snowy canvas. All baggage had been moved to barracks earlier in the day, and now in full ranks, all four classes present, the companies fell in, and the corporals, who had served all summer long as sergeants, stepped back into the ranks, and the plebes gazed in silent awe upon the grave, dignified young soldier in the white cross-belts and crimson sash who so keenly looked them over before reporting "All present, sir," to Mr. Leonard. The returned furlough-men took their places, as became members of the Second Class, in the front rank. Certain yearlings, much to their disgust, had to fall back to the rear, and as far as faces could be seen at all any one could distinguish which was which. The boys who had spent the summer in camp were brown as autumn berries; they who had spent their summer at home were pallid by contrast.
For the last time in camp adjutant's call sounded on the color-line, and the band had to take station beyond the sentry on Number Two, in order to leave room for the re-enforced battalion.
"Guides posts!" rang out the adjutant's command.
"Keep your eyes to the front, plebe," ordered the red-sashed first sergeant, returning to his station through the gap on the right, when he found two Fourth Class men gazing obliquely at him in mingled awe and admiration.
Clash! went the rifles into the gloved left hands as the battalion presented arms to Colonel Hazzard.
"Take your post, sir," was that eminent soldier's response to Glenn's superb salute. Back to his station on the right fluttered the adjutant's plumes as the companies wheeled into column, tossed the light rifles to the shoulder, and then, to the merriest, blithest of music, strode buoyantly away in the wake of the band, the drum-major boring with his tasselled baton a hole through the heart of the crowd.
Geordie's pulses beat high with every stride. Welcome hard work, hard study, even the long gloomy wintry weeks and months, for plebe camp and palms-of-the-hands-to-the-front were now things of the past.
That night Glenn read the list of sections to which the classes were assigned. Great was the importance of certain Fourth Class men designated in orders as section marchers, and by no means inconsiderable was the jealousy among their class-mates inspired by this purely accidental and temporary gift of authority. The Fourth Class for instruction in mathematics was divided in alphabetical order into eight sections, Cadet Abbott being detailed as marcher of the first, Dillon of the second, Griggs of the third, Kenney of the fourth, and so on down the list. Frazier, who had been very meek for several days, asked Graham if he didn't think it extraordinary that they should be ordered around by a fellow like Dillon?
"Why, I don't believe I've ever heard him speak ten words. What makes them put such galoots in command of sections when there's others, like you, for instance, that know how to handle 'em?"
Pops grinned. He understood what Benny was thinking of.
"It's all part and parcel of the system of teaching fellows like me, as you put it, that obedience is the first thing we have to learn," said he, good-naturedly, and then went busily on with the work of getting the room in the prescribed order.
As plebes they had enjoyed only what is termed "Hobson's choice." They could have either the top or bottom floor on the north front of barracks – the cold, sunless front – and so they found themselves in the third division, or, as it was technically termed, the "Third Div. Cock-loft"; that meant on the top floor of the third division from the east. It took little time to arrange their household affairs. Each cadet had his own alcove or bedroom, separated one from the other by a wooden partition. On the side nearest the wall was a light iron bedstead; on this a single mattress, folded back during the day, and made down only after tattoo. Piled in order on the mattress, folded edges to the front, and vertical, were first the sheets, then pillows, then blankets and "comfortable." On iron hooks in the partition, each in his own alcove, and in the following order from front to rear, the boys hung their overcoats, rubber coats (once called the "plebeskins"), the uniform coats, gray jackets, gray trousers, "such underclothing as may be allowed," and at the rearmost end the clothes-bag for soiled clothing. Against the front post of the partition was the little wooden wash-stand, a bucket of water, with cocoa-nut dipper, on the bottom shelf the white washbowl, inverted, with soap-dish, etc., on top; a slop-bucket on the side opposite the hall; a little mirror in the middle of the mantel-shelf; rifles in the rack near window; dress hats on the shelf thereof; accoutrements and forage-caps hung on the pegs to the right and left of the rack; candle-box in the fireplace (which was neatly whitewashed); nothing on the steam coil or heater; all other clothing in the open-faced set of shelves termed the clothes-press; brushes, combs, shaving materials, collars, cuffs, handkerchiefs, belts, and gloves, each folded or stacked in separate piles on the upper shelf; shirts, etc., on the next below; white trousers, underclothing, etc., on the lowermost, and nothing under it; text-books on the top of the press against the wall, upright, and backs to the front; broom behind the door; chairs, when not in use, against the table; table against the wall opposite the fireplace; shoes aligned at the foot of the bed, toes to the front, and always to be kept neatly dusted; "clocks, pictures, statuettes, etc., not allowed."
Everything was kept in spick-span order, and the orderly board, giving the name of the cadet responsible for the general appearance of things during the week, hung on the pillar of the alcove partition. Each cadet posted his own name in plain block letters over the alcove, over his half of the clothes-press, over his equipments, etc., and on the back of the door his "hours of recitations," to account for his absence from the room at any inspection. For half an hour after breakfast, dinner, or supper, and on Saturday afternoons, cadets could visit in barracks, or go from room to room. At any other time and during call to quarters, day or night, visiting, even to the extent of opening and looking in one's next door neighbor's door, was punishable by demerit and confinement.
When little Dillon came around to give out the first lesson in algebra, as received from their section instructor, Lieutenant Barnes, Pops was all attention, and carefully noted it in his new algebra. Benny wanted to chaff Mr. Dillon by asking him if he supposed he could march a squad as far as the Academic, and was suddenly reminded of his uncertain status by being curtly told to mind his own business. In ten minutes Pops was deep in his work, but Frazier, giving a sniff of contempt on glancing over the pages, tossed his text-book on the table, went to the window and, strumming on the glass, gazed long and wearily out upon the starlit sky. This being a West Point cadet wasn't what it was represented to be by a good deal.
CHAPTER XI
Mid-September came, and with it certain changes. The court-martial which had been in session during the latter part of camp stood adjourned, awaiting the call of its president. It was understood that, owing to the unaccountable disappearance of a material witness, the case of Cadet Jennings could not be pressed. Musician Doyle had totally vanished, no man could tell whither. He had left his "kit" and his few belongings at the barracks down in Camptown, and had taken with him only the clothes he had on, said the drum-major. Some people thought he was drowned, but most believed that he had deserted. He was last seen at the Falls the night before the convening of the court. In the meantime, Mr. Jennings remained in arrest with extended limits, which meant that he had the privilege of exercising in the gymnasium and walking the area, but could enter no division in barracks other than his own. The two yearlings tried at the same time with him were quietly summoned to the office of the commandant one day and told to pack their trunks. They were out of uniform and off the Point before the order of the War Department was read that evening at parade dismissing them from the service. Benny Frazier was recovering his self-confident manner, and rapidly losing the meekness of spirit displayed during his troublous days the last week in camp, and Pops was losing something of his splendid brown color, and not a few hours of sleep.
In very truth Geordie's hard times were at hand. He was not a natural mathematician, and the lessons in algebra, so carelessly conned and tossed aside by his gifted room-mate, were proving long and hard to our young trooper. Barrack life differed very materially from that of camp. Reveille came at the same hour, the gun and the drums letting drive together at the first stroke of 5; the drummers came marching in across the Plain and through the resounding sally-port, then rattled and banged a moment, one in each hallway, then reunited in the area, and by 5.10 the whole corps would be jumped into ranks at the brisk assembly, about one-fourth of their number rushing out only at the last instant. Then came the rapid roll-call, the few moments of sweeping and dusting before police inspection, the brief soldier toilet, the march to breakfast, etc. There was time for study before the first recitation for all those studiously disposed – which most of the corps had to be – and then at 7.55 the bugle summoned one-half the entire battalion to recitation – the First Class to engineering, the Second to mechanics, the Third to analytical geometry, and the Fourth to algebra; the highest sections in each reciting, as a rule, first hour, and the first hour at West Point meant just half an hour longer than it does anywhere else. The sections began recitation by 8.5, and were recalled by the bugle at 9.30, at which time the other half of the battalion was formed and marched, each section by its own marcher, to the rooms vacated by the upper half of the class.
One word now about West Point recitations. The section-rooms were severity itself in their furniture, which consisted only of blackboards or slates on three sides of each room, two long benches, one on each side, a wooden desk and chair on a little wooden dais between the windows for the instructor. There used to be a stove in the centre, in case of mishap to the steam supply, and that was all, unless chalk, pointers, and erasers were counted. In soldierly silence the section marched to the door, hung their caps on pegs outside, went to their places, stood attention, facing inwards, while the marcher reported, "All are present, sir," then took their seats. On the slate back of the instructor were written the page and paragraph to which next day's lesson extended, and it was each cadet's business to note it. No time was lost. The instructor, a lieutenant especially distinguished for scholarship while a cadet, called up his pupils one after another, giving to the first four demonstrations to work out on the front boards from the lesson of the day. The next four were sent to the side boards with problems on leading points in the lesson of the previous day, and the ninth man "jumped" to the floor and was put through a cross-examination in some subject under discussion that was intended to thoroughly sound the depth of his knowledge. Each cadet on being called stepped to the centre of the floor, "stood attention," facing the instructor, received his enunciation, faced about, went to the board, wrote his name and the order in which he was called up (that is, first, second, or third) in the upper right-hand corner, then went to work. No communication of any kind was allowed. As soon as his work was finished the cadet faced about, stood at ease until called upon to recite, then, pointer in hand, he began: "I am required to discuss the Problem of the Lights," or "I am required to deduce a rule for such and such a purpose," or, generally, whatsoever his task might be. Then he proceeded in his own words to do it.
All this time the instructor sat quietly listening and mentally criticising. The whole idea of the West Point system is that the reciting cadet becomes for the time being the instructor, endeavoring to explain the subject to somebody who knows nothing at all of the matter. Then comes the instructor's turn. If the recitation has been full, every point fairly, squarely met and covered, not a jot or tittle requiring further elucidation, the instructor generally says, "Very well, sir, that'll do," and the young gentleman goes to his seat sure of a "max.," or "3," on the weekly list. If the instructor has to ask a question or two in order to establish the pupil's thorough knowledge, 2.9 or 2.8 may result; 2.5 is really a good mark; 2 is fair; 1.5 what would be called "fair to middling" on 'Change; 1 is only tolerable, and zero a flat and utter failure, or its equivalent, a statement that the cadet doesn't "know enough about it to attempt a recitation." Many a cadet has taken zero and a report for neglect of studies rather than make a bungling performance, but the instructors are ordinarily men of such mould that they soon get to gauge their pupils thoroughly, and instead of letting a young fellow doom himself to failure, they patiently question, "draw him out," and there demonstrate that he knows not a little of the subject, and mark him accordingly. Recitations go on every morning in the week, Sundays alone excepted.
The West-Pointer has only one half-holiday, and that Saturday afternoon, and then only those whose conduct has been up to the mark can enjoy it – confinement to quarters, or "walking punishment tour," being the fate of many a boy regularly as the day comes round. And so by Saturday the cadet has recited five, or possibly six, times in the morning recitations, and on Monday the class reports are published, showing the exact standing in every study of every man in the corps. It is comical sometimes at the start to see how the plebes attempt to work off the time-honored excuses of the school-boy. They are worthless at the Point. Even if he were really so ill he could not study, the cadet cannot be excused by the instructor. The young gentleman has to go to his first sergeant at reveille, ask to have his name put on the sick-book; then when sick-call sounds he is marched down to the hospital and states his case to the doctor, who can order him into hospital if the matter be at all serious, or prescribe some remedy, and mark him excused from first recitation, from drill, or whatever may be necessary. Now anywhere else that would mean "excused from attending recitation," but not at West Point. Unless actually in hospital and under medical care the cadet must go to the recitation-room with his class, there report to the instructor, "I am excused from reciting, sir." The fact is noted on the record for the day, and, taking his seat, the cadet follows his comrades' work as best he may.
While one-half the corps is at recitation, the other half, each cadet in his own room, is required to be at study; no visiting is allowed. At 11 the heavier recitations are over for the day. From this hour on the time given to each is only about fifty-five minutes in the section-room. At 12.55 the first drum beats for dinner. All sections are then dismissed; books are hurriedly returned to rooms, and by 1.5, in solid ranks, the battalion is marching down to Grant Hall. From the time they get back to barracks – about 1.35 – until the bugle again sounds at 2, is release from quarters. At 2, recitations begin again. Law, languages, drawing, drill regulations, or something of that character, take up the afternoon until 4, then all are marched (and it is march, march all the time) to barracks, where they have five minutes in which to get ready for afternoon drill. In September the school of the battalion is the prescribed exercise, followed by parade at sunset, these giving way in October, as the days become shorter, to artillery drills at the various batteries. Supper comes after parade, and evening "call to quarters;" study hour, thirty minutes after the return of the battalion from supper. Study goes on until tattoo, which, when Pops was at the Point, was sounded at 9.30, followed by taps at 10. Each cadet was expected to make down his bedding for the night at tattoo, and to be in bed, undressed, and with his light extinguished when the drum sounded at 10 o'clock. Officers of the First Class and cadet staff and first sergeants of the Second Class were the exceptions. These were permitted lights until 11, the cadet officers being assigned to duty all over barracks as inspectors of sub-divisions, each one having two floors, or eight rooms, under his control, and these he was to inspect at morning police call and at taps.
What with turning out at 5 A.M. and studying, reciting, exercising in the gymnasium or on drill, the plebes, at least, were ready to go to bed at 9.30; some found it impossible to keep awake until then.
Such being the general programme, let us see how it applied to Geordie and Frazier. The former was fidelity itself in his desire to observe regulations and perform his duty. Benny, eager and enthusiastic at first, was rapidly developing traits that proved him to be just the reverse. Week and week about each became responsible for the condition of the room, his name being posted as orderly. They were in the subdivision of Cadet Lieutenant Webb, the first officer to inspect their room each day. Later came the inspections made by the cadet officer of the day, and, almost invariably, morning and evening, a visit from Lieutenant Allen, the commandant of Company B (or "the B Company tack," as termed in the corps). If at any one of these inspections anything was found amiss – chairs or broom, caps or accoutrements, washbowl or buckets or books out of place, dust on mantel or dirt on floor – the inspector never stopped to ask who was at fault; he simply glanced at the orderly-board to see who was responsible, and down went that gentleman on the delinquency book, and that meant – unless the report were removed – so many demerit and so much light punishment.
Pops found no trouble in keeping himself and his room in order, but he couldn't keep Benny. Before the 25th of September, "Graham, orderly," had been reported four times for things he really could not help, and all due to Benny's careless habits. Once it was washbowl not inverted, another time broom out of place, and twice chairs out of place. Benny, the last one to use these items during his room-mate's absence, had left them as found by the inspector. Pops remonstrated, gently at first, but afterwards sternly, and Frazier either sulked or else swore he left everything all right; "somebody must have come in and upset them."
This was bad enough, but worse was to follow. Before the end of the month, every Saturday evening at parade, the adjutant was busily reading "transfer orders," principally in the Fourth Class. Fluent in recitation. Benny Frazier had made a brilliant start. This part of mathematics he had been over time and again, and he was transferred to the first section at the first order. At the second order, along about the 20th, poor Geordie heard with heavy heart his own name read out for transfer, not up, but down. "Cadet Graham to the fourth section." He had worked hard, very hard. He studied faithfully every possible moment, while Benny was listlessly yawning, dozing, or scribbling. A few minutes conning over the familiar pages put him at his ease as to the lesson of the morrow, while Graham worked on with reddening eyelids. Sometimes the latter would appeal to Frazier to explain points that were perplexing to him, and Benny at first seemed rather pleased to do so, but he was no patient instructor, and not especially gifted in the method of proving why this or that was thus and so. He thought Geordie ought to see it all at a glance.
What with going up to the first section at a bound and believing himself on the high-road to the head of the class, coupled with the fact that now there was so very little time given to anything but recitation and study, Benny began to look upon himself as out of the shadow and into the sunshine of prosperity once more. Then came an order releasing Mr. Jennings from arrest. No case had been established. The court simply had to acquit him. The rifle affair was being forgotten in the press of other matters. "Nothing succeeds like success." Class-mates could not but admire Frazier's fluency in recitation, and Graham, silent, reserved, studying day and night, was not the prominent figure in his class-mates' eyes he had been in camp. Presently Benny's manner, from having been meek and appealing, began to be patronizing and superior. Then as pride and confidence reasserted themselves he began to chafe at any authority over him. The third week in barracks Frazier got four reports as room orderly; the fourth week Pops's name was hoisted to the top of the orderly-board, and he gravely told Benny he hoped he'd be careful.
