Now don't go off half cock; folks never gains
By usin' pepper sarce instead o' brains.
--_Biglow Papers._
If Cadet Magnus Kindred knew in a general sort of way that all the
simple, loving women folk at home were praying for him morning,
noon, and night, "and watching thereunto with all perseverance," it
was with a very easy remembrance of the fact, and not the faintest
idea that anything but pleasure touched the case. And he would have
simply shouted at Rose's panic over the unexplained "B. J." In fact,
if anybody knows the origin of those two cabalistic letters, Magnus
certainly did not.
Indeed, he had scant time for running down questions. Drills began
as soon as examination was over, and were pushed on "fiercely" (as
Randolph declared), hot sun or no sun, rested or tired. Though Magnus
had been used to such an active open-air life that all this came easier
to him than to some others. As to the rest, he got along pretty well
for a "pleb," having a certain sensible nature which made light of
hardships, and was not quick to take offence. So when he was jeered and
pointed at, chin poked in and toes pushed out, he rarely said anything
stronger, even to himself, than, "Just you wait!" Good common sense
everywhere befriended him, even when the drill masters abused their
power, or first classmen showed their prowess by "jumping" plebs.
So he brought in water and cleaned guns; stood attention, and stood his
ground; and when the time came for that amusement, "advanced ghosts"
in the most correct terms, but kept his musket against all attempts of
Cadet Devlin and his compeers. Nay, on one such occasion, he gave the
marauder the most accurate measure of himself upon the ground that the
young man had ever had. Of course Magnus was reported, but he gave too
straight answers for the charge to stand, and the upshot was that Mr.
Devlin lost his chevrons "for hazing plebs." The whole account caused
great consternation at home, only lulled by the assurance Magnus gave
that if he had let anyone take his gun, he himself might have been put
in "light prison" or sent home in disgrace. For to the bewildered mind
of a pleb in those early days, anything might happen.
Devlin swore vengeance, and in a small way carried it out. But young
Kindred laughed off some things, ignored others, and now and then gave
Mr. Devlin a blaze out of his honest eyes before which that gentleman
rather shrivelled up. Nobody liked to exactly try to handle Charlemagne
Kindred: there was about him "a look of unknown quantities"--as Mr.
Upright remarked one day. Cadet Upright was a staunch friend; and it
was a blessing to all the plebs in Camp Hard that year that he was head
man over them.
"Come and clean my gun, Mr. Kindred," he would say, adding, when Magnus
was in the tent, "The gun is not very dirty, and there is no hurry
about it, but you must be doing something, and in here is better than
out there."
A fact which Magnus realised when from the cool recesses of the tent he
saw other plebs fetching water in the sun, or standing attention for a
lecture from Mr. Devlin: teased and worried and laughed at by Mr. Prank.
It was during the fervid days of that July that Rig ("poor Rig," as
Magnus generally termed him in the letters home) went through a small
bit of experience which, by his own account, made him "a sadder, if
not a wiser, man."
The morning was intensely hot. The plebs had been out at their early
drill and now in the canvas shade were enjoying a few minutes' rest.
Guard-mounting was just over, and for a brief space no one had anything
special to do. The visitors' seats were nearly deserted, with only
a few sentimentals from either side the colour-line still lounging
there. The sentries paced up and down in full fatigue dress: the row of
stacked arms shimmered in the heat.
In his tent Magnus was devouring over again the last night's letter
from home, and so did not notice what was going on, until the shadow of
Cadet Prank in the tent door made him look up in time to see Rig (alias
McLean) start to his feet and stand very stiff indeed.
"Good-day, Mr. McLean," said the man with chevrons. "Don't disturb
yourself, I'll not come in. I know you've been hard at it this
morning, and I really hate to ask you to go out again,--but in such
a case,"--and Mr. Prank gazed into the glowing sunshine in deep
perplexity.
Magnus, watching from the depths of the tent, saw the gleam which no
effort of Prank's could keep out of his eyes, with the dangerously
solemn lines about the mouth. But poor Rig at such honeyed words from
an upper classman, lost what little everyday perception belonged to
him. "He's just got to learn for himself, though," thought Magnus,
looking on with intense amusement.
Mr. Prank suddenly turned and glanced suspiciously down towards the
listener; but Magnus was all quiet, behind his letter.
"You see, Mr. McLean," Prank went on, dropping his voice a little, "I
want a man I can trust, to do me a small service. If you are not too
much fatigued--it would not take long."
Visions of Mr. Prank for his bosom friend, and Camp Hard suddenly
transformed into Elysium, floated before Rig's eyes.
"Yes, sir,--no, sir," he answered, gathering up the points.
"It is really but a minute's work," said Prank with another glance over
Rig's head towards Magnus; "but a particular friend of mine has gone on
guard without his gloves. Most absent-minded man alive! And if the Com.
comes along, he's ruined. So I thought if you would just take them to
him--you see _I_ should have to report him. He's on post No. 6."
Mr. Prank held out a pair of immaculate white gloves. But now Rig drew
back. To waylay a sentinel on his beat, was something so clearly beyond
pleb limits that he took fright.
"Yes, sir," he began; "certainly, sir. But you know, sir, it's against
orders, I believe----"
Mr. Prank drew himself up to all his inches.
"That will do," he said. "Of course, I don't know much about
regulations and never heard the orders. Very kind of you to instruct
me, I am sure; I shall not forget it! Sorry to have disturbed your
toilette, Mr. McLean, but I thought such a trifle could not seriously
put you out. Someone else, probably, will be kind enough--whose hair
curls easier than yours."
And tucking the white gloves into the cadet pocket (his sleeve), Mr.
Prank strode haughtily away.
Rig felt miserable. He did not see that Magnus in his dark corner was
shaking from head to foot. But to lose his character for obligingness!
With a bound he was after the retreating chevrons.
"Oh, Mr. Prank!" he said. "Of course I didn't mean that you didn't
know, sir; and I have just thought of a way, if you think it will do. I
can hang the gloves on one of the bayonets where the arms are stacked,
you know, sir, and then he can get them for himself."
"The very thing!" said Prank, with a well-kept face. "I see you are
bright, Mr. McLean, as well as obliging. Take the gloves, my dear
fellow, and be quick. And count upon me hereafter."
With a swelling heart Rig stepped briskly up to the shining row of
guns, where not an inch nor a line was out of the most spick-and-span
state of military precision, and hung the white pendant on a glittering
point of steel. And as he turned--alas! he was tapped on the shoulder
and marched off to the guard tent "for tampering with the arms."
"I shouldn't have minded that so much," he said afterwards to Magnus,
"if I hadn't been such a double-distilled fool. And I'm not a fool
really, you know,--but I'm not 'a gem of purest ray serene,' either.
And I just lost my head with being told I was."
Plenty of that sort of sport (to give it its common name) went on in
Camp Hard, and even the most patient men grew tired of it, and the
most good-natured got cross. It is monotonous when all the fun goes to
somebody else. Even the straight shoulders sometimes rebelled against
the perpetual bracing up; and many a poor fourth classman wished that
his grey trousers had no side seam which could serve as a landmark to
his weary thumbs: for in those days "finning out" was in full force.
But indeed it was sometimes hard to take even what the law allowed.
A strict order had been published that no cadet should ask a pleb to
perform any menial service, but when Corporal Main remarked, "Mr.
Stone, there are some very dusty shoes in my tent,"--no more was
needed. Stone was just come in from drill, and ached in every inch; but
he went at the shoes, and cleaned and rubbed and polished for dear
life, while Corporal Main strolled off with Miss Flyaway, and told her
the story.
Again, another humane order was read out one day in the Mess Hall, to
the effect that in that place of supposed relaxation plebs need not
"brace," but might sit and stand "at will." But the minute the reader's
back was turned Cadet Prank drawled out:
"Boys, hadn't you all a great deal _rather_ brace up?"
And so many hurriedly answered, "Yes, sir!" that the contrary noes were
never counted.
That was the way of it; and by dint of being laughed at and pointed
at; drilled, straightened, pulled into shape, and called "beasts," the
fourth classmen began to feel as if in truth the name fitted. They
huddled together in corners, talked in whispers, and told endless
stories of home.