Their shields before their breasts, forth at once they go,
Their lances in the rest levelled fair and low;
Their banners and their crests waving in a row.
--FRERE.
The first week in June at West Point is such an old story that I had
best not say much about it here. The (generally) perfect weather,
the stirring drills, the crowd of lookers-on, with the sort of jail
delivery from study hours and usual restrictions. The cadets come out
and sun themselves like hibernated bees, or bears, with an unlimited
taste for honey. "Best" dresses sweep the ground, "best" bonnets brave
the wind; only the serene blue sky looks down unmoved at the show and
frolic and madcap doings of the people. It is a little older than they.
The furlough men are wild with joy and expectation; the plebs have
grown two inches since May. Second classmen are sporting imaginary
chevrons (the nearest some of them will come to it); and the almost
graduates walk at ease, kings in their own right. Bewitching damsels
repeat the question, "O, where do you expect to be stationed?" But
alas, the reply is not always, "Anywhere--with you!" That might have
been in yearling camp; but things have changed; cadet limits are down;
and Choice opens its eyes and waits.
In fact, there is need of some sober sense just now. For with the
looming up of Fort Grant or Custer; Barrancas, Camp Assiniboine, or
San Carlos: comes also the question of comforts and climates. These
delicate creatures can walk all day and dance all night in West Point
air. But what will their high heels do at Huachuca? and how will their
fair cheeks stand the heat at Eagle Pass? Are they brave to be left
with only soldier attendants when the young lieutenant is ordered off
on a scout after Indians? Can they make bread, where the baker does
not come round? and keep their sweet patience when some "ranking" new
arrival swoops down upon their pretty quarters, and bids them move? Or
again, what if the modest pay of a second-lieutenant should not comport
with twenty-dollar bonnets?
Such questions go for little, when it's "a girl I have known
for fifteen years"; but they press rather hard upon last week's
acquaintance. No wonder many a face in the class looks thoughtful. And
no wonder, either, that there are so many last leave-taking walks, for
just the fair outlines and the grand old river, near and among which
the men have won their shoulder-straps.
Among all the unwonted eyes that ever saw June come over West Point,
none could get more delight than did Cadet Kindred's two young sisters.
The mere shining out of the whole post in white trousers was an event.
And the guns that greeted the Board of Visitors were, to the full, as
imposing, as the various "planks" in that respected body. The girls
watched every point of the welcoming review, and then studied the
chosen guests as they trooped into the "big house" reception. But
better than chicken salad indoors, was the music discoursed by the band
in the pretty grounds outside. It may be said, however, that Violet did
not fail to see Mr. Trueman, in sash and plume, go up the steps with
the rest of the graduating class, and to think for one brief moment
that it might be pleasant to go there too.
Only parade that night, but a wonderful walk after supper; and next
day, and every day for ten more, a series of varied pleasures.
The examinations in the library were positively awe-inspiring; such
battle plans, such hieroglyphics. There was some trembling of heart
the first time they saw Magnus under fire; but he so plainly knew
what he was about, that fear soon passed into rejoicing. And when Mr.
Clinker was set to read Spanish, and the story (as translated) sounded
unutterably ridiculous, Mrs. Ironwood declared that her two girls
behaved better than she did.
Something of this in the morning; at night a concert; in the afternoon
a drill. Perhaps on the cavalry plain with the ear-tearing racket of
the Light Battery; where the guns were sometimes pointed at the ladies,
and the ladies cried out, and stopped their ears, and ran away; and
the hills sent back the thunder, and the descending sun half glorified
the clouds of dust. Or maybe they went down by the river, and saw
Mr. Trueman and a throng of unknown men build the pontoon bridge,
themselves sitting on the grass in a blaze of sunshine, which the north
wind softened down. With gay dresses on every side, and grey-and-white
men standing behind them, or down on the grass too. Sugar-plums in
many hands, the perfume of flirtation in all the air; and certainly
their own attendant cavaliers were well disposed for both these soft
delectations. But if Rose looked round, it was generally to put some
intelligent question, which Bouché could only answer in kind; and
Violet's bright eyes were too eagerly watching what Mr. True did with
his boat, to heed what Randolph whispered about _them_.
How skilfully those huge grey pontoons swung into line; how stirring
was the sounding tramp of the plank-bearers; how curiously they locked
arms going back, and how very charming was the walk over that strange
bridge when it was done.
[Illustration: CADET BOAT AND CREW]
Another day came skirmish drill, with the grey files in all sorts of
varied action; the men scattered over the plain as a sower casts his
seed. Speeding down in the hollow, dashing up the ridge, disappearing
behind the trees, and firing straight at the pretty spectators. In
those days, the short midway rest was all right for visiting; and so,
when the other men dropped down on the grass, Magnus and Mr. Trueman
and quite a little crowd came over to the seats, cap in hand. Smoky,
and dusty, and hot--and charming--for a few minutes of lively talk. To
the begrimed warriors every girl looked perfectly resplendent, in her
fresh summer dress.
Then, as the drill went on, and the privates came down on one knee
to fire, or crouched down, or lay at length, with the cadet officers
standing motionless behind them; what terribly exposed positions the
chevrons seemed to have! What a mark for the enemy's guns was each
straight figure, casting its motionless shadow across the sunlit grass.
Bullets might whistle over the men on the ground--but for these! It was
all too real; and the young sisters were glad when those on the ground
sprang up, and leaders and men were merged in an equality of danger.
One night there was the noisy, vivid, weird mortar drill; touched up
with talk, flitting changes of place, comments, explanations, and
fairyland bursts of red fire. What a night that was! The roar of the
guns, the soft-spoken words; the flash-illumined smoke, the dark
figures behind the "footlights" on the battery; the motley human mass
which the crimson fire caught in its red glow.
Less picturesque, but more breathless in interest, was the cavalry
drill on the plain and the grand charge.
In happy ignorance that surgeons and their attendants were in watchful
waiting, the two girls found the whole thing just magnificent, and
caught no hint of danger, even from other people's outcries. There was
one lady in particular, handsome, well-dressed, and knowing everybody,
whose son was in the drill, and whose fears were many and public. In
the midst of the most harmless evolutions she was, as she phrased it,
"on thorns"; and she danced about as if it were true.
Up on a seat to see better; down again that she might not see at all;
with little cries and shrieks and groans of fright or expostulation--it
was droll enough. Rose thought she would watch her when the charge
really came,--and forgot her as July forgets December.
There had been a few minutes of seeming quiet, the squad all down by
the library; but anyone who looked keenly could see this man examining
his bridle, and that one tightening the girth. You could see them
looking to their stirrups, or rising a little in the saddle to get a
better seat. Then they began to move forward, slowly at first, then
quicker, till the word was given:
"Charge!" and horses and men came tearing along like a Kansas cyclone
upon the resounding road.
In some of the quieter moments before the charge, Rose and Violet had
picked out two or three men they knew, noting their horses (they were
not all dark then); and now, even in that dusty whirlwind, the grey
and the black could be seen and followed. And--yes, certainly--Mr.
Trueman's horse has leaped the Hotel fence, and the plucky rider puts
him at it again, and comes bounding back. And Mr. Clinker's steed
has swerved at the crossroad and gone dashing along towards Trophy
Point, for freedom and Highland Falls. However, he missed in both,
and everything came out right, and nobody was hurt; and the drill was
pronounced in every way first-class. But for days after, when Violet
shut her eyes, she seemed to see the flashing sabres, and hear again
the ringing shout; and to watch that particular grey horse as he leaped
the hedge.
Then came graduation; and Violet had the first sight of Mr. Trueman's
diploma, as soon as he could step aside and show it. And Magnus was
made first captain, and Mr. Bouché shone forth as adjutant; and even
Mr. McLean found his arm adorned with three bright bars, to his own
astonishment.
"All owing to Kin," he confided to the two sisters. "If he hadn't
pinched me black and blue every day since Christmas, I should be on my
way back to Kansas, to hoe potatoes for the rest of my life."
It may be said, in passing, that Mr. Trueman lingered at the post for a
few days in "cits," and finally departed with a permit to show himself
in the Western home, and plead his own cause there.
Mrs. Ironwood lingered, too, even longer, to let her charge have a
taste of the pretty concerts and guard-mounting in camp; and then the
girls packed their trunk, and saw the hills fade away in a mist that
was all in their own eyes.