MARK IN DISGRACE.
"In my excursions into the various fields of knowledge I have never yet
had occasion to investigate the alleged discoveries of phrenological
experimentalists, and yet----"
The speaker paused for a moment, long enough to sigh mournfully. Then he
continued:
"And yet I had, I think, sufficient perception of character as
delineated by the outlines of physiognomy to recognize at once the fact
that the person to whom we refer is in no way a coward."
"I wish I had, Parson," responded his companion, ruefully rubbing a
large lump upon his forehead. "I wish I had."
The thin, learned features of the first speaker found it difficult to
indicate any amusement, and yet there was the trace of a smile about his
mouth as he answered.
"You say he 'licked' you, to use your own rather unclassic phrase?" he
inquired.
"Licked me? Wow! He gave me, sah, the very worst lickin' I ever got in
my life--which is very natural, seeing that when a feller gits licked
down in Texas they bury him afterward. I reckon I'd be a gunnin' fo' him
right now, if 'twarn't seein' it's Mark Mallory. Why, man, a feller
can't stay mad with Mark Mallory long!"
It was just dinner time and Parson and Texas were sitting on the steps
of barracks, waiting for the summons and talking over the events of the
previous day.
"And how did this encounter originate?" inquired the Parson.
"All in my foolishness!" growled Texas. "You see yesterday morning when
he didn't turn up to fight that 'ere yearling fellow Williams, I thought
'twas cause he was scared. An' so I got mad an' when he did turn up I
went fo' him. An' then I went fo' the hospital."
"His conduct did seem unaccountable," rejoined the other. "And yet
somehow I had an instinctive intuition, so to speak, that there was an
adequate reason. And one is apt to find that such impressions are
trustworthy, as, indeed, was most obviously demonstrated and
consistently maintained by the German philosopher, Immanuel Kant. Are
you acquainted with Kant's antinomies?" the Parson added, anxiously.
"No," said Powers. "I ain't. They ain't got to Texas yit. But I wish I'd
had more sense'n to git mad with Mark. I tell you I felt cheap when he
did explain. I kain't tell you the reason yit, but you'll know it before
long. All I kin say is he went down to Cranston's."
"To Cranston's? I thought we weren't allowed off the grounds."
"We ain't. But he took the risk of expulsion."
"And another, too," put in the Parson, "the risk of being called a
coward an' being ostracised by the cadets."
"I dunno 'bout the astercizin' part," said Texas, "but I know they
called him a coward, an' I know they cut him dead. There won't even a
plebe speak to him, 'cept me an' you an' Injun. An' it's what I call
durnation tough now, by Jingo!"
"It don't worry me very much," put in a voice behind them.
The two turned and saw Mark looking at them with an amused expression.
"It don't worry me much," he repeated. "I guess I can stand it if
you'll stand by me. And I think pretty soon I can get another chance at
Williams, and then----"
"If ye do," cried the excitable Texan, springing up, "I'll back you to
murder him in jist about half a minute."
"It won't be so easy," responded Mark, "for Williams is the best man in
his class, and that's saying a great deal. But I'll try it; and in the
meantime we'll face out the disgrace. I can stand it, for really there
isn't much privation when you have three to keep you company."
"I reckon," put in Texas, after a moment's thought, "I reckon we'll have
to put off aformin' o' thet ere new organization we were a-talkin'
'bout. Cuz we kain't git anybody to join ef they won't any of 'em speak
to us."
"I guess we three are enough for the present," said Mark, "at least
while all the cadets leave us alone. And if they try to haze us I think
we can fight about as well as the rest of them. Then there's Indian,
too, you know; I don't think he can fight much, but he's----"
"Now, see here!" cried an indignant voice from the doorway, "now see
here, you fellows! I think that's real mean, now, indeed I do. Didn't I
tell you fellows I was going to learn to fight?" he expostulated.
"Didn't I? Bless my soul, now, what more can a man do?"
Mark winked slyly to his companions, and put on his most solemn air.
"Do?" he growled. "You ask what more can a man do? A man might, if he
were a man, rise up and prove his prowess and win himself a name. He
might gird up his loins and take his sword in his hand and sally forth,
to vindicate his honor and the honor of his sworn friends and allies.
That is what he might do. And instead what does he do? In slothfulness
and cowardice he sits and suffers beneath the rod of tyranny and
oppression!"
Mark finished out of breath and red in the face.
"Bless my soul!" cried Indian.
"Such a course is by no means entirely unprecedented," put in Stanard,
solemnly. "It is common in the mythology of antiquity and in the legends
of mediaeval times. Such was the course of Hercules, and thus did Sir
Galahad and the Knights of the Round Table."
Poor Joe Smith was gazing at the two speakers in perplexity. He wasn't
quite sure whether they were serious or not, but he thought they were,
and he was on the verge of promising to go out and kill something,
whether a cadet or a grizzly, at once. The only trouble was that the
tall, sedate-looking officer of the day, in his spotless uniform of
gray and white and gold with a dazzling red sash thrown in, strode out
of the guardhouse just then; a moment later came the cry, "New cadets
turn out!" and Indian drew a breath of relief at being delivered from
his uncomfortable situation.
Saturday afternoon is a holiday at West Point. The luckless plebe,
having been drilled and shouted at for a week, gets a much-needed chance
to do as he pleases, with the understanding, of course, that he does not
happen to fall into the hands of the yearlings. If he does, he does as
they please, instead.
Saturday afternoon is also a holiday time for the yearling, too, and he
is accustomed to amuse himself with variety shows and concerts,
recitations and exhibition drills, continuous performances that are
free, given by the "beasts," the "trained animals," or plebes.
It may be well at the start to have a word to say about "hazing" at West
Point. Hazing is abolished there, so people say. At any rate, there are
stringent measures taken to prevent it. A cadet is forbidden in any way
to lay hands upon the plebe; he is forbidden to give any degrading
command or exact any menial service; and the penalty for breaking these
rules is dismissal. The plebe is called up daily before the tactical
officer in charge of his company, and asked if he has any complaint to
make.
Such are the methods. The results are supposed to be a complete stopping
of "deviling" in all its forms. The actual result has been that when a
yearling wants to "lay hands upon the plebe" he does it on the
sly--perhaps "yanks" him, as one peculiar form of nocturnal torture is
termed. When the yearling wants some work done, instead of "commanding"
he "requests," and with the utmost politeness. If he wants his gun
cleaned he kindly offers to "show" the plebe how to do it--taking care
to see that the showing is done on his own gun and not on the plebe's.
And the plebe is not supposed to object. He may, but in that case there
are other methods. If he reports anybody he is ostracised--"cut" by
every one, his own class included.
This being the case, we come to the events of this particular Saturday
afternoon.
"There were three wily yearlings
Set out one summer's day
To hunt the plebe so timid
In barracks far away."
Only in this case there were half a dozen instead of three.
Now, of all the persons selected for torment that year, with the
possible exception of Mark and Texas, the two "B. J.'s," Indian was the
most prominent. "Indian," as he was now called by the whole corps, was a
_rara avis_ among plebes, being an innocent, gullible person who
believed implicitly everything that was told him, and could be scared to
death by a word. It was Indian that this particular crowd of merry
yearlings set out to find.
Mark and Texas, it chanced, had gone out for a walk; "Parson" Stanard
had, wandered over to the library building to "ascertain the extent of
their geological literature," and to get some information, if possible,
about a most interesting question which was just then troubling him.
And poor Joe Smith was all alone in his room, dreading some visitation
of evil.
The laughing crowd dashed up the steps and burst into the room. Indian
had been told what to do. "Heels together, turn out your toes, hands by
your sides, palms to the front, fingers closed, little fingers on the
seams of the trousers, head up, chin in, shoulders thrown back, chest
out. Here, you! Get that scared look off your face. Whacher 'fraid of.
If you don't stop looking scared I'll murder you on the spot!"
And with preliminary introduction the whole crowd got at him at once.
"Can you play the piano? Go ahead, then. What! Haven't got any? Why
didn't you bring one? What's the use of being able to play the piano if
you haven't a piano? Can you recite? Don't know anything? You look like
it. Here, take this paper--it's a song. Learn it now! Why don't you
learn it? What do you mean by staring at me instead of at the paper?
There, that's right. Now sing the first six verses. Don't know 'em yet?
Bah, what will you do when you come to trigonometry with a hundred and
fourteen formulas to learn every night? Have you learned to stand on
your head yet? What! Didn't I tell you to do it? Who taught you to stand
on your feet, anyhow? Why don't you answer me, eh? Let's see you get up
on that mantelpiece. Won't hold you? Well, who said it would? What's
that got to do with it? No! Don't take that chair. Vault up! There. Now
flap your wings. What! Haven't got any? What kind of an angel are you,
anyhow? Flap your ears. Let's hear you crow like a hen. Hens don't crow?
What do you know about hens, anyway? Were you ever a hen? Well, why
weren't you? Were you ever a goose, then? No? Well, you certainly look
like it! Why don't you crow when we tell you? What kind of crowing is
that--flap your arms, there. Have you got any toothpicks? What! No
toothpicks? Don't suppose you have any teeth, either. Oh, so you have
toothpicks, have you? Well, why did you say you didn't? Take 'em out of
your pockets and row yourself along that mantelpiece with 'em. 'Fraid
you'll fall off, eh? Well, we'll put you up again. Humpty Dumpty! Row
fast now! Row! Get that grin off your face. How dare you smile at a
higher classman! You are the most amazingly presumptuous beast that I
ever heard of. Get down now, and don't break any bones about it,
either!"
All these amazing orders, rattled off in a breath, and interspersed with
a variety of comment and ejaculation, poor Indian obeyed in fear and
trembling. He was commanded to fall down, and he fell; he was commanded
to fall up, and he protested that the law of gravitation----"Bah! why
don't you get the law repealed?" He wiped off a smile from his terrified
face and threw it under the bed. Then, gasping, spluttering, he went
under and got it. He strove his very best to go to sleep, amid a
variety of suggestions, such as which eyes to shut and which lung to
breathe through.
This went on till the ingenuity of the cadets was nearly exhausted. Then
one individual, more learned than the rest, chanced to learn the
identity of the Indian's name with that of the great Mormon leader. And
instantly he elbowed his way to the front.
"Look here, sir, who told you to be a Mormon? You're not a Mormon? Got
only one wife, hey? None? Then what sort of a Mormon are you? Why have
you got a Mormon's name? Did you steal it? Don't you know who Joseph
Smith was? No? Not you, the great Joseph Smith! Suppose you think you're
the great Joseph Smith. Well, now, how on earth did you ever manage to
get into this academy without knowing who Joseph Smith was? Didn't ask
you that, you say? Well, they should have! Fellow-citizens and cadets,
did you ever hear of such a thing? There must be some mistake here. The
very idea of letting a dunce like that in? Why, I knew who Joseph Smith
was about seventy-five years ago. Gentlemen, I move you that we carry
this case to the academy board at once. I shall use my influence to have
this man expelled. I never heard of such a preposterous outrage in my
life! Not know Joseph Smith! And he's too fat to be a cadet, anyhow.
What do you say?"
"Come ahead! Come ahead!" cried the rest of the mob, indignant and
solemn.
And almost before the poor Indian could realize what they were doing, or
going to do, the whole crowd arose gravely and marched in silence out of
the room, bent upon their direful mission of having the Army Board expel
Indian because he had never heard of Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet.
And Indian swallowed every bit of it and sat and trembled for his life.