Among the formal official documents in the envelope which brought
such delight to the Graham family was one giving in detail the
qualifications necessary to secure the admission of a candidate to West
Point. He was subjected soon after his arrival, so said the papers,
to a rigid physical examination by a board of experienced surgeons.
Glancing over the array of causes of disqualification, it was apparent
to the doctor that an absolutely perfect physique was necessary, but
on all these points he felt well assured. As to other qualifications,
the age for admission of cadets to the Academy was stated to be between
seventeen and twenty-two years. Candidates must be unmarried, at least
five feet in height, free from any infectious or immoral disorder,
and generally from any deformity, disease, or infirmity which might
in the faintest degree render them unfit for military service. They
must be well versed in reading, in writing, including orthography, in
arithmetic, and have a knowledge of the elements of English grammar,
of descriptive geography, particularly of our own country, and of the
history of the United States. That seemed simple enough. On all these
points Geordie, as well as his father, had no doubt whatever. "Sound
as a dollar" was the universal verdict, and the wisdom of his father's
rigid system of training was all the more apparent. But when they came
to look over the formidable list of specimens of the problems and
questions which the candidates were required to solve and answer, the
boy's heart failed him a little. Even McCrea shook his head over some
of them.
"It is ten years since I went up for my examination, just as you are
to go, Pops—an army boy who had had precious little schooling; but I
don't remember any problems as hard as this one." And the Quartermaster
wrinkled his brows over a complicated example, while Captain Lane,
poring over a big atlas, was hunting for a chain of mountains he could
not remember ever before having heard of.
"It seems a queer confession," said the latter, "but I don't believe I
could begin to pass the entrance examination to the Academy, from which
I was graduated so many years ago. I certainly couldn't without months
of preparation."
The Colonel suggested that perhaps these hard nuts were ladled out in
order to stimulate the candidate to closer study. The questions really
propounded would not be so difficult. But the doctor and McCrea were
determined to take no chances.
"There are only three months left for preparation," said Graham; "the
question is how to employ the time to best advantage. George is willing
to study hard, and you and I to teach, but what I'm thinking is that we
may be wasting time on immaterial points and neglecting some that are
essential. Would it not be best to send him on and have him study under
some one who knows just exactly what is needed?"
And McCrea said, "Yes," and wrote forthwith to an old friend, an
officer whom severe wounds had incapacitated for active service, and
who had opened a school of preparation at the Point adapted to the
needs of candidates for admission. And so it resulted that early in
April, for the first time in his life, Geordie Graham was to leave
father, mother, and Bud, and, for the first time since he was a mere
baby-boy, to set foot across the Missouri.
Over that farewell we need not linger. How many big, salty tears were
dropped into the depths of the trunk no one on earth but the loving
mother who packed it could ever tell. Yet even now, face to face with
the inevitable separation, not one word would she say that might cast
a shadow over the hopes of her big boy, as she spoke of Geordie as a
means of distinguishing him from Bud, her "little Benjamin." Fondly had
she hoped that as he grew older Geordie's tastes would turn to some
other profession, but she hoped in vain. First, last, and all the time,
ever since the troopers at Verde decorated him with his Corporal's
chevrons when he was a mite of a four-year-old, the longing of his
heart was to be a soldier. For boys with that ambition there is no
school like West Point; for boys without it, any other school would be
better.
"There isn't a man in all 'E' troop that isn't sorry to have you leave
the fort, Geordie," said old Sergeant Nolan, as the boy went the rounds
at afternoon stables, bidding his friends good-bye, and taking a
farewell look at his favorite horses; "but what's more, sir," he added,
with a respectful touch of the cap visor as Captain Lane appeared,
"there isn't a man but that's glad he's going to West Point, and that
wouldn't like to see him with us again as our Lieutenant."
"But I'm not in yet, Sergeant," laughed Geordie. "There is Mr.
Breifogle to be considered. If he passes, there'll be no room for me;
and if he fails, why, I may too. In that event, I'll have to come back
and 'list just as soon as I'm eighteen."
And yet Geordie felt no such misgiving as he sat silently in the
dark corner of the ambulance, choking down some troublesome lumps
that had risen in his throat, and made his eyes blind as his mother's
arms were unclasped about his neck. The principal of the school which
young Breifogle had been attending for two years had told Mr. McCrea
that the boy was neither apt nor studious, that he had twice failed in
his examinations for promotion to higher grade, and that only after
infinite pains and much help had he been able to answer the sample
questions enclosed with his letter of appointment. When asked why old
Mr. Breifogle did not withdraw his son from a race in which he had no
chance, the master laughed.
"Breifogle is like a great many of our people who have become suddenly
rich," said he. "He thinks money and a political pull will do anything.
He refuses to believe that West Point is governed by rules that
even the President cannot violate. He is confident that all that is
necessary is for him to go on with Fritz in June, and the examiners
will not dare reject him, especially if Congressman Pierce is there,
too."
Now this was no exaggeration. Mr. Breifogle really thought it a very
unjustifiable thing in an army officer, supporting a family on so small
a salary, to undergo the expense of sending George all the way to West
Point and back, for back he felt sure he would have to come. It was
still worse to send him ahead of time and pay board and school bills.
He and Fritz would not go until June.
"I'm really sorry for the old fellow," said McCrea; "he's so thoroughly
earnest and honest in his convictions. It isn't his fault, either.
It is part of the stock in trade of many politicians to make their
constituents believe that for the benefit of their special friends
they have it in their power to set aside laws, rules, or regulations.
I haven't a doubt that Pierce has made the old man believe he 'stands'
in with the Secretary of War and the Superintendent of the Academy, and
that Fritz will go through West Point with flying colors. It will cost
Breifogle nearly a thousand dollars to find out his mistake."
This was several years ago, it must be remembered, in the days when all
candidates were required to present themselves for examination at the
Point instead of appearing before boards of army officers at convenient
garrisons throughout the country, as is the case to-day.
"No, Geordie, my boy," said McCrea, in conclusion, "I don't like to
take comfort in another man's misfortunes, but there is no chance
whatever for young Breifogle and every chance for you. All you have to
do is study and you'll win. I have said as much to the old man, for he
stopped me at the bank the other day and asked what I thought of the
case, and I told him frankly. For a moment he looked downcast; then he
brightened up all of a sudden, laid his finger alongside his nose, and
winked at me profoundly. 'Vell, you yust vait a leetle,' he said, and
turned away. I've no doubt he thinks I'm only trying to bluff him out
in your interest."
Two days more, and George, standing on the rear platform of the
Pullman, looking down with no little awe upon the swollen, turbid,
ice-whirling waters of the Missouri, far beneath the splendid spans
of the great railway bridge. Another day, and his train seemed to
be rolling through miles of city streets and squares before it was
finally brought to a stand under the grimy roof of the station at
Chicago. Here from the windows of the rattling omnibus that bore him
across the town to the depot of the Michigan Central he gazed in
wonderment at the height of the buildings on every side. Early the
next morning he was up and dressed, and just before sunrise stepped
out on the wooden staging at Falls View, listening to the voice and
seeing for the first time the beauty and grandeur of Niagara. A few
minutes later, looking from the car window, he seemed to be sailing in
mid-air over some tremendous gorge, in whose depths a broad torrent
of deep green water, flecked with foam and tossing huge crunching
masses of ice, went roaring away beneath him. _Such_ a letter as he
wrote to mother that morning, as hour after hour he sped along eastward
over bands of glistening steel, flying like the wind, yet so smoothly
that his pen hardly shook. Think what a revelation it must have been
to that frontier-bred boy, whose whole life had been spent among the
mountains or prairies of the Far West, to ride all the morning long
through one great city after another, through the heart of Buffalo,
Rochester, Syracuse, Utica, and Albany. The Mohawk Valley seemed one
long village to him, so unaccustomed were his eyes to country thickly
settled. The Hudson, still fettered with ice above the railway bridge
and just opening below, set his heart to beating, for now West Point
lay but a hundred miles away. How the train seemed to whiz along
those bold, beautiful shores, undulating at first, but soon becoming
precipitous and rocky! Many people gazed from the westward windows at
the snow-covered Catskills as the afternoon began to wane; but Geordie
had seen mountains beside which these were but hillocks. The clustering
towns, the frequent rush of engines and cars, the ever-increasing
bustle, however, impressed him greatly. Every now and then his train
fairly shot past stations where crowds of people stood waiting.
"Didn't they want to get on?" he asked the Pullman porter.
"Oh yes, sir, wanted to bad 'nough; but, Lord bless you, dis train
don't stop for them: they has to wait for the locals. We runs a hundred
trains a day along here. Dis train don't even stop where you gets off,
sir; that's why you have to change at Poughkeepsie, the only place we
stop between Albany and New York."
Surely enough, they rolled in presently under lofty bluffs under a
bridge so high in the air that its trusses looked like a spider-web,
and then stopped at a station thronged with people; and Pops, feeling
not a little bewildered, found himself standing with his hand luggage,
looking blankly after the car that had borne him so comfortably all
the way from Chicago, and now disappeared in the black depths of the
stone-faced tunnel to the south, seeming to contract like a leaking
balloon as it sped away. Hardly was it out of sight when another train
slid in to replace it, and everybody began tumbling aboard.
"This for Garrisons?" he asked a bearded official in blue and brass
buttons.
A nod was the answer. Railway men are too busy to speak; and Pops
followed the crowd, and took a seat on the river-side. The sun was well
down to the westward now; the Hudson grew broader, blacker, and deeper
at every turn; the opposite shores cast longer shadows; the electric
lights were beginning to twinkle across the wide reach at Newburg;
then a rocky islet stood sentinel half-way across to a huge rounded
rock-ribbed height. The train rushed madly into another black tunnel,
and came tearing forth at the southern end, and Pops's heart fairly
bounded in his breast. Lo! there across the deep narrow channel towered
Crow's Nest and Storm King. This was the heart of the Highlands. Never
before had he seen them, yet knew them at a glance. What hours had he
not spent over the photograph albums of the young graduates? Another
rush through rocky cuts, and then a smooth, swift spin around a long,
gradual curve, lapped by the waters of the Hudson, and there, right
before his eyes, still streaked with snow, was West Point, the flag
just fluttering from its lofty staff at the summons of the sunset gun.
Ten minutes later and the ferry-boat was paddling him across the
river, almost the only passenger. The hush of twilight had fallen. The
Highlands looked bare and brown and cheerless in their wintry guise.
Far away to the south the crags of Dunderberg were reverberating with
the roar of the train as it shot through Anthony's Nose. The stars
were just beginning to peep out here and there in the eastern sky, and
a pallid crescent moon hung over against them in the west. All else
was dark and bleak. The spell of the saddest hour of the day seemed to
chill the boy's brave heart, and for the first time a homesick longing
crept over him. This was the cheery hour at the army fireside, far out
among the Rockies—the hour when they gathered about the open hearth
and heaped on the logs, and mother played soft, sweet melodies at the
piano, often the songs of Scotland, so dear to them all. Pops couldn't
help it; he was beginning to feel a little blue and cold and hungry.
One or two passengers scurried ashore and clambered into the yellow
omnibus, waiting there at the dock as the boat was made fast in her
slip.
"Where do you go?" asked the driver of the boy.
"Send my trunk up to the hotel," said Geordie, briefly. "I'm going to
walk."
They had figured it all out together before he started from home, he
and Mr. McCrea. "The battalion will be coming in from parade as you
reach the Point, Geordie, if your train's on time." And the boy had
determined to test his knowledge of topography as learned from the
maps he had so faithfully studied. Slinging his bag into the 'bus,
he strode briskly away, crossed the tracks of the West Shore Road,
turned abruptly to his right, and breasted the long ascent, the stage
toiling behind him. A few minutes' uphill walk, and the road turned
to the left near the top of the bluff. Before him, on the north, was
the long gray massive façade of the riding-hall; before him, westward,
another climb, where, quitting the road, he followed a foot-path up
the steep and smoothly rounded terrace, and found himself suddenly
within stone's-throw of the very buildings he sought. At the crest of
the gentle slope to the north, the library with its triple towers; to
its left, the solid little chapel; close at hand to his right front,
the fine headquarters' building; beyond that, dim and indistinct, the
huge bulk of the old academic building; and directly ahead of him,
its great windows brilliantly lighted, a handsome gray stone edifice,
with its arched doorway and broad flight of steps in the centre—the
cadet mess-hall, as it used to be termed, the Grant Hall of to-day.
His pulses throbbed as he stepped across the road and stood on the
flag-stones beneath the trees. A sentry sauntering along the walk
glanced at him keenly, but passed him by without a word.
[Illustration: "A SENTRY GLANCED AT HIM KEENLY"]
Suddenly there rose on the still evening air the tramp of coming
soldiery, quick and alert, louder and louder, swifter than the bounding
of his heart and far more regular. Suddenly through the broad space
between the academic and the north end of the mess-hall, straight as a
ruler, came the foremost subdivision, the first platoon of Company
A, and instantly in response to the ringing order, "Column right,"
from some deep manly voice farther towards the rear, the young cadet
officer in front whirled about and ordered "Right wheel." Another
second and around swept the perfect line in the heavy gray overcoats,
the little blue forage-caps pulled well down over the smooth-shaved,
grave, yet youthful faces dimly seen under the gaslight. Then on they
swept, platoon after platoon, in strong double rank, each in succession
wheeling again steadily to the right as it reached the broad flight of
steps, then breaking and bounding lightly to the top, every man for
himself, until, one after the other, each of the eight subdivisions
was swallowed up in the great hall, echoing for a moment with chat
and laughter, the rattle of chairs, the clatter of knife and fork and
spoon, and then the big doors swung to, and Pops, for the first time in
his life, had seen the famous battalion which it was his most ardent
wish to join. For a moment he stood there silent, his heart still
beating high, then with one long sigh of mingled envy and gratification
he turned away.
That same evening, wasting no time after he had eaten a hearty supper
at Craney's, Geordie sought and found Lieutenant B——. Everything had
been arranged by letter; his coming was expected, and in a few moments
the boy and his instructor were seated in a quiet room, and Pops's
preliminary examination was really begun. In less than an hour Mr.
B—— had decided pretty thoroughly where his instruction was already
satisfactory and where it was incomplete.
"There's no question as to your physique, Mr. Graham," said the
Lieutenant, smiling to see the blush of shy delight with which the boy
welcomed the first use of the "handle" to his name. Hitherto he had
been Geordie or Pops to everybody. "I fancy it won't take long to make
you more at home in mathematics. To-morrow we'll move you into your
temporary quarters down at the Falls, and next day begin studies. There
are several candidates on the ground already."
And so within the week our young plainsman was practically in harness,
and with a dozen other aspirants trudging twice a day over the mile
of road connecting the Point and the village below; studying hard,
writing home regularly, hearing a great deal of information as to the
antecedents and expectations of most of his new associates, but partly
from native reticence and partly from due regard of McCrea's cautions,
saying little as to his past experiences, and nothing at all as to his
hopes for the future. "No matter what you do know of actual service,
Pops—and you have had more experience of army life than ninety-nine per
cent. of the corps—it is best not to 'let on' that you know anything
until you are an old cadet, even among your class-mates."
Some of his new associates Pops found congenial, some antagonistic; but
the one thing he kept in mind was that all were merely conditional.
Not until after the June examination would they really know who were
and who were not to be of "the elect." "Those who are most volubly
confident to-day," wrote McCrea, "are the ones who will be most apt
to fail. Keep your own counsel, 'give every man thine ear and few thy
voice'—and that's all."
George had some novel experiences in those days of preparation, and met
some odd characters among the boys, but as few of these had any bearing
on his subsequent history they need not be dwelt upon. With only one
did he strike up anything approximating an intimacy, and that was after
the first of May and was unavoidable, because the young fellow became
his room-mate, for one thing, and was so jolly, cheery, confident, and
enthusiastic, for another, that Graham simply couldn't help it.
Along in May his letters had a good deal to say about Mr. Frazier, and
by June the Falls began to fill up with young fellows from all over the
country. By this time the daily sight of the battalion at its drills
and parades was perfectly familiar to those on the ground, and yet
the gulf between cadets and candidates seemed utterly unbridgable.
Dr. Graham had thought it a good thing for Geordie to go with letters
of introduction from Colonel Fellows, of Fort Union, to his son, a
Second Class man, or from Major Freeland, of Bridger, whose boy was
in the Third, but McCrea said: "No; there is just one way to win the
respect and good-will of the corps of cadets," he declared, "and all
the letters and all the fathers and uncles and even pretty sisters
combined can't win it any other way. The boy must earn it himself, and
it isn't to be earned in a month, either. Every tub stands on its own
bottom there, doctor. The higher a fellow's connections, the more he
has to be taken down. Leastwise, it was so in my time, and West Point
is deteriorating if it is any different now."
Strange, therefore, as it may seem, though he knew many a cadet by
sight and name, not one had George Graham become acquainted with
until the momentous 15th of June, when, with a number of other young
civilians, he reported himself in a room in the eighth division of
barracks to Cadet Lieutenant Merrick; was turned over to Cadet Corporal
Stone to be taken to the hospital for physical examination, and in
one of the surgeons recognized an old friend of his father's whom he
knew in Arizona, but who apparently didn't know Geordie from Adam. One
hundred and forty-seven young fellows entered the hospital hopefully
that day, and among these over twenty-five were rejected. Among those
who passed was Breifogle. The old gentleman himself was on hand in
front of the mess-hall, when next morning those who had passed the
scrutiny of the surgeons were marshalled thither to undergo the written
examination in arithmetic.
Promptly, under the eye of the Professor of Mathematics, a number of
young officers assigned the candidates to seats and set them at their
tasks. Geordie felt that his face was very white, but he strove to
think of nothing but the work in hand. Slowly he read over the twelve
problems on the printed page, then, carefully and methodically, began
their solution. Long, long before he was through he saw Frazier rise
and, with confident, almost careless mien, hand his complete work to
the secretary, and saunter out into the sunshine. Long before he had
finished he saw many another go, less jauntily, perhaps, but with quiet
confidence.
One by one most of Mr. B——'s pupils finished inside the allotted two
hours and a half; but Geordie, with the thoroughness of his race, again
and again went over his work before he was satisfied he, at least,
could not improve it. Then he arose, and trembling a bit despite
himself, handed his paper to the silent officer. A number, fully
twenty, were still seated, some of them helplessly biting their pencils
and looking furtively and hopelessly about them. One of these was
Fritz Breifogle, for whom the old gentleman was still waiting on the
walk outside. Some officers, noticing the father's anxiety, had kindly
invited him into the mess-parlor, and had striven to comfort him with
cooling drink and a cigar. He was grateful, but unhappy. Already it had
begun to dawn upon him that what he had been told of West Point was
actually true: neither money nor influence could avail, and Fritz was
still at his fruitless task when "the hammer fell."
Another day and the suspense was over. A score more of the young
fellows, who were still faintly hopeful at dinner-time, were missing
at the next muster of the candidates at retreat. Breifogle was gone
without a word to his alternate. The way was clear at last, and,
more madly than ever, Pops's heart bounded in his breast as in stern
official tone Cadet Corporal Loring read rapidly the alphabetical list
of the successful candidates—George Montrose Graham among them.