HEROISM OF THE PARSON.
The cadets of the academy are organized into a fire department for the
safety of the post. It is the duty of the cadets upon the sounding of
the alarm--three strokes of the bell, or a long roll on the drum, or
three shots, as the case may be--to fall into line immediately and
proceed to the scene of the fire. One brigade has charge of a hand
engine, another forms a bucket line, etc.
West Point was, of course, thrown into the wildest excitement on the
instant that the cry was raised. The cadets poured in from every
direction, and in a few moments were on the way at double-quick. Army
officers, the soldiers of the regular army at the post, infantry and
cavalry, all made for the scene.
The Observatory Building was found to be in imminent peril, apparently;
there were no flames in sight, but smoke was pouring from every crevice.
Prompt and quick to act, some heroic young cadet leaped up the steps and
burst in the door with an ax, though it was not locked and needed only
a turn of the knob to open it. The moment an opening was made a cloud of
smoke burst forth that drove the party back before it, and at the same
instant a cry of horror swelled up from the fast-arriving crowd.
With one accord everybody glanced up to one of the windows on the floor
above. There stood a figure, nothing but the head visible in the smoke,
a figure of a badly-frightened lad, yelling at the top of his lungs for
help! help! help! And the crowd gazed at him in terror. It was Indian,
apparently in peril of his life!
Who should save him? Who? The thought was in everybody's mind at the
moment, and yet every one hesitated before that barrier of blinding
smoke. And then--then suddenly a roar of cheers and shouts swelled up as
a hero came to the fore. When every one else trembled this hero alone
was bold. He had dashed wildly from the woods, a tall, lanky,
long-haired figure. He had fought his way through the craven crowd, his
coat tails flying and his long elbows working. He had dashed up the
steps, his light green socks twinkling with every stride. And now, while
the crowd shouted encouragement, he plunged desperately into the thick
of the smoke and was lost to view.
The crowd waited in breathless suspense--one minute--two--and still the
imperiled lad stood at the window and the hero did not appear. Could it
be that he was lost--overcome by smoke and flame? The throng below hated
to think of it and yet--no, there he was! At the doorway again! Had he
failed to accomplish his noble purpose? Had he been driven back from the
work of rescue? No! No! He had succeeded; he had gotten what he wanted!
As he dashed wildly out again the people saw that he carried under his
arm a great, leather-bound volume.
"Dana's Geology" was safe!
And a moment or two later somebody put up a ladder and the unfortunate
"Mormon" climbed down in haste.
Meanwhile, what of the fire? Encouraged by the example of the "hero,"
the cadets rushed in to the attack. But, strange to say, though they had
hand engines and buckets and ladders, they could find no fire to attack.
Several windows having been smashed, most of the smoke had escaped by
this time--there had really been but very little of it, anyway, just
enough for excitement. There is a saying that where there is smoke
there must be flame, and, acting on this rather dubious statement, the
gallant fire brigade hunted high and low, searching in every nook and
corner of the building, and even searching the desk drawers to see if
perchance the cunning fire had run away and hidden there. And still not
a sign of flame.
The mystery got more and more interesting; the whole crowd came in--the
smoke having all gone by this time--to see if, perchance, a little more
diligent search might not aid; and the people kept coming until finally
the place was so packed that there was no room for the fire anyway. And
so finally every one gave it up in disgust and went home, including the
gallant fire brigade. And the three conspirators in the woods went, too,
scarcely able to hide their glee.
"It's jest one on them ole cadets!" vowed Texas.
Of course, the Army Board ordered a strict investigation, which was
made--and told nothing. All that was found was a few bits of broken
glass in one room, and an "examination paper" in another. Indian was
hauled up, terrified, to explain; he described his hazing, but
steadfastly refused names--which was good West Point etiquette--he
vowed he knew nothing about the fire--which was the truth--also West
Point etiquette. And since Indian was mum, and there was no one else to
investigate, the investigation stopped, and the affair remained a West
Point mystery--a mystery to all but three.