The dusk of evening had fallen on the Point when the battalion broke
ranks, returning from supper. A few minutes later, a hundred strong,
came the column of plebes, marching by fours, looking even more than
usually sombre now in their suits of gray, contrasting with the white
trousers and natty bell-buttoned coatees of the corps, and feeling,
doubtless, more than usually solemn in anticipation of the possible
experiences ahead of them. First night of plebe camp is a thing not
soon to be forgotten, even in these days when pitchy darkness no
longer shrouds the pranks of the yearlings, and official vigilance and
protection have replaced what really seemed tacit encouragement and
consent of over thirty years ago. Then it was no uncommon thing for the
new cadet to be dragged out ("yanked," was the expression in vogue)
and slid around camp on his dust-covered blanket twenty times a night,
dumped into Fort Clinton ditch, tossed in a tent-fly, half smothered in
the folds of his canvas home, tumbled by his tormentors about his ears,
ridden on a tent pole or in a rickety wheelbarrow, smoked out by some
vile, slow-burning pyrotechnic compound, robbed of rest and sleep, at
the very least, after he had been alternately drilled and worked all
the livelong day. Verily, the hardening process of the early sixties
was a thing that might well be frowned down upon and stamped out, but
it took stringent measures to effect it. In great measure the deviling
system was, so far as its most harmful features were concerned, but the
ghost of its old self when Ralph McCrea entered the Academy just after
the Centennial year. Then little by little means were taken to make the
process still more difficult to the perpetrators, until twenty years
after the War of the Rebellion hazing became indeed hazardous. Officers
were kept on duty and on the alert in camp at all hours. Gas-lamps
were placed along the sentry post. In every way the authorities could
foresee the plebe was protected from the more active torment of the old
days. But so long as boys will be boys some modification must exist;
and as for the year of probation which the new-comer must pass—the year
in which he is taught in every conceivable way that he is a creature
far apart from the rest of the corps, a being to be drilled, trained,
disciplined, badgered, even at times bullied—it is really a year of
most valuable experiences, perhaps the most valuable of the four. It is
this that teaches him that no matter what may be the wealth or social
standing of his relatives, he is no better than the humblest clodhopper
of his class. It is this year that teaches him to look to his own
class-mates and no others for comrades and chums. It is this that
teaches him silence, patience, and fortitude. Nine out of ten of the
plebes and their relatives pronounce it inhuman and barbarous so long
as it applies to them or theirs. Ninety-nine out of a hundred, however,
uphold it so soon as their plebehood is done.
All this George Graham fully understood, and was ready to bear his part
in without a murmur. Not so his friend Benny. That young gentleman
had been too long the prize boy at school and the spoiled boy at home
to "come down gracefully." Nothing could convince him that the cadet
officers had not shown outrageous partiality to Graham and abominable
malice towards himself in the matter of advancement in the school
of the soldier. It was worse still when Connell stepped up into the
first squad. But now, argued Frazier, we're all starting fresh again.
We're all on a level to-day as B Company plebes, but the moment we are
completely uniformed and relieved from squad drill under such brutes
as Loring and Flint, and with our own company officers, I'll soon show
them I know a trick or two far beyond them. But the golden gift of
silence was something beyond Benny Frazier, and he couldn't keep his
hopeful predictions or his boyish boasts to himself. He had attracted
at the outset the attention of the whole class of yearlings, and, just
as Graham expected, their house-warming was all too well attended.
Two minutes after their return from supper this particular "plebe
hotel" was surrounded. The yearlings in force had come to call on
Major-General Frazier. No noise was made. Nothing, on their part, at
least, occurred to attract the attention of the army officers in charge
or the cadet officers of the guard. Indeed, the latter are most apt
to be particularly deaf at such times. The darkness gathered no more
quickly, no more noiselessly, than did the crowd. And doffing their
natty forage-caps, bowing with exaggerated politeness, cadets Cramer,
Cresswell, Daggett, Driggs, Elton, etc.—one might go alphabetically
through the list of the Third Class and hardly miss a name—begged the
honor of an interview.
Benny, standing well back within the tent, his hand on his heart,
bowed, smiled, and protested that nothing would give him greater
delight than to meet the entire class; expressed his sense of the high
honor paid him, regretted that his quarters were so contracted that he
could not invite them in, and was thereupon invited out, but begged
to be excused. Connell was lighting the candle, and Graham, seated
on the locker, was whimsically wondering what form the mischief would
take, when the broom came up from behind the locker in most mysterious
fashion. Match and candle both went out, and an instant later so did
Benny, projected by some mysterious force from behind.
Pops and Connell were conscious of the sudden arrival from under the
tent wall of three or four shadowy forms, and of smothered laughter
as Benny shot forward into the company street, to be instantly
ingulfed in a swarm of active young fellows in gray and white, through
whom it was impossible to break away. In an instant he was standing
attention, heels clamped together, knees straight, and with anything
but stiffness, for they were trembling violently, shoulders and elbows
forced back, little fingers on the seam of the trousers, head high, and
eyes straight to the front—the attitude of the soldier in the presence
of his superior officers as interpreted by his natural enemies, the
old cadets. And then began the mad confusion of question, comment, and
criticism; dozens talking eagerly at once, and all demanding reply,
still making very little noise. The suppressed tones could hardly be
heard beyond the company streets.
Benny's personal history from babyhood to date of admission at the
Point was matter of the liveliest interest. No detail escaped inquiry.
His military experiences as captain of the high-school cadets was a
theme on which it was no longer possible for him to remain silent. With
the recollection of his capture and incarceration in the guard-tent,
and Graham's friendly counsel to say nothing more than he had to, and
that in the simplest way, Frazier's propensity for putting his foot in
it followed him even here.
In the innocence of their parental hearts, Benny's father and mother
had brought to the Point certain newspaper clippings that had given
them huge delight at the date of their appearance and of Benny's
appointment. For several weeks he was the envied of all the boys in
Beanton, the proud possessor of a cadetship, the future general,
the present conquering hero; but if Mr. Frazier senior could have
imagined what woe those clippings were destined to bring to Benny's
door, he would gladly have consigned them, their compounders, and
compositors, to the plains. In her maternal pride poor Mrs. Frazier
had given copies to the mothers of other cadets less favored of
Providence, little dreaming to what base uses they would come. One of
these, a florid description of the review and drill of the high-school
cadets on the 10th of May, and the presentation of medals to the most
distinguished of the cadet officers, concluded with a glowing tribute
to the "Wonderful soldierly ability of Captain Benjamin Franklin
Frazier, the only son of the Honorable T. J. Frazier, of this city,
who was pronounced by the judges and many veterans present the most
remarkable drill-master and battalion commander they had ever seen. His
promptness, presence of mind, and fine military bearing, as well as his
accurate knowledge of the tactics, were all astonishing in one so young.
"The writer, who has frequently visited West Point, is free to say
that cadets of that famous school are not to be compared with the
high-school cadets in the precision and beauty of their drill, and _The
Examiner_ confidently predicts a brilliant career for the appointee
from the Sixth Congressional District, who will doubtless step at once
on donning the West Point uniform into the command of one of the cadet
companies of the national school."
The group of yearlings had constituted itself an examining board, and
was propounding most intricate and surprising problems to test Benny's
knowledge of military tactics. Suddenly a tall fellow came elbowing his
way through the throng.
"Mr. Frazier," said he, in tones at which every other voice was
stilled, "you represent the Sixth Congressional District of the
Pilgrim State, I understand."
"I do, sir," answered Benny, eyes still to the front, and wondering
what was coming next.
"Were you a member of the cadet corps of the Beanton High-school?"
"I was, sir."
"Then it can be no one but yourself to whom this article refers.
Gentlemen, fall back! Hold a candle here, somebody. Mr. Frazier, we
will now permit you to give an exhibition of your ability to read aloud
in the open air so as to be distinctly understood by your troops. Your
services as adjutant-general may be needed at any moment. Read this
carefully, now." And on a foot square of card-board poor Benny saw
before his startled eyes the very paragraph of all others Graham had
warned him against letting any old cadet get hold of. It was pasted on
the board. He could not tear it. Oh, what would he not have given to
burn every word and line! "Read, sir," ordered the cadet in authority,
evidently a First Class man.
"Read, sir," in solemn unison chorussed some fifty yearlings. In vain
he protested, in vain he begged off. The audience was inexorable.
In low tone at first, but elevating his voice in response to imperative
"Louder!" from every side, he tried to slur and scurry through, but
"Slower, sir." "Enunciate carefully, sir," were the next orders, and
he had to obey. Now the only interruption was a faint groan of dismay
from some apparently scandalized cadet. At last he finished, and
dropped the board and his eyes both in confusion. Dead silence for a
moment. Then the circle widened. The cadets, as though awe-stricken,
fell slowly back. The solemn voice was heard.
"And to think that this paragon has been mistaken for an ordinary
plebe! It is incomprehensible! Mr. Frazier—Captain Frazier—will you
have the goodness to read that just once more?"
Frazier would have refused, but some lingering grain of sense
told him the better course was now to obey. Once more he began,
his progress this time being punctuated by occasional muttered
exclamations—"Astonishing!" "Prodigious!" "I knew there was
extraordinary power in that face the first time I set eyes on it!"
"Merciful heavens! to think that we were on the point of asking a man
so distinguished to sing for us!" This was too much for Connell. From
the dark interior of the tent came a gurgle of suppressed laughter.
Instantly two or three yearlings heard him, heaved him up on his feet,
and hustled him forth into the company ground. Unparalleled audacity!—a
plebe laughing at the recital of the deeds of Major-General Frazier!
The circle gave way to right and left, and Connell was shouldered
into the midst, and made to stand facing his luckless tent-mate until
the second reading was finished. Then, even as poor Benny was hoping
that Connell's coming was to distract in a measure their attention
from himself, the same deep voice was heard declaring that this was
too important matter to be kept from the rest of the corps. "March
over to A Company!" was the word. Benny never knew how it was done.
In the twinkling of an eye in silence the mass began to move, Benny
and Connell borne helplessly along. Resistance was useless. Not a hand
was laid upon them, but not a gap was seen through which they could
escape. In another moment all B Company, except its plebe contingent,
reinforced by detachments of Third Class men from all over camp, was
crowded into A Company's street, and gravely presenting Major-General
Frazier to the officials of the right flank company, and demanding the
third reading of _The Examiner's_ clipping. Poor Benny! Not until the
tattoo drums began to beat far over across the Plain was he released
from limbo. During that time he had been exhibited in every street in
camp, had favored all four companies with extracts from his biography,
and was bidden to be able to recite it _verbatim et literatim_ on the
morrow on pain of having to read it ten times over for every slip.
Meantime, thanks to the overwhelming interest attaching to the arrival
in camp of their comrade, the general, Geordie and the bulk of the
plebe class were having a comparatively easy time. They sat or stood
guard over their few belongings in the darkness of their tents much
of the evening until turned out for roll-call. Occasionally some old
cadets would suggest that they "turn out the guard," form ranks, and
render the honors of war when Major-General Frazier and his escort
marched through the company street. A young gentleman with corporal's
chevrons on his sleeves called Mr. Graham's attention to the fact that
most of the water-buckets of the old cadets' tents needed replenishing;
and Pops said nothing, but took them two at a time to the tank down by
the sentry post of Number Three, filled and replaced them. This done,
he was invited to Mr. Proctor's tent to see how cadet beds were made
for the night, and, under Mr. Proctor's tutelage, spread the blankets,
etc., on the wooden floor, and was informed that at the sounding of
police-call after reveille in the morning he would receive further
instruction in the correct methods of cleaning up and putting in order
everything in and around the tents, on reporting in person to Mr.
Proctor. In all this Mr. Proctor's manner was grave and dignified. He
gave no orders, made no demands; could not be said to have exacted
of a new cadet the performance of any menial or degrading task,
the penalty for which, as well as for hazing, improperly molesting
or interfering with or annoying new cadets, was court-martial and
dismissal. Pops accepted his lesson without a word, and when tattoo
sounded and the plebes were assembled for the last time that evening,
forming on the general parade, as the open space between the right and
left wings of camp was termed, he felt that he had got off very easily.
"Now go to your tents; make down your bedding just as you were taught
in barracks; do not remove your shirts or drawers or socks; hang up
your uniforms where each man can get his own in an instant; put your
shoes and caps where you can get them in the dark, if need be; turn in
and blow your candle out before the drum strikes 'taps,' at ten. After
that, not a sound! Get to sleep as soon as you can, and be ready to
form here at reveille." So spake Cadet Corporal Loring, adding, "Break
ranks. March!" as required by the drill regulations of the day. And at
last poor Benny, ruffled and exhausted, was allowed to go to his tent.
"Oh, I'll get square with that gang! Just wait until I'm on guard some
night next week," whispered he to Pops. "You caught it nicely for
laughing, Connell. Next time perhaps you won't be so ready to chuckle
when they're making fun of a fellow's relatives."
In his general disgust Frazier was ready to growl at anybody who had
suffered less than he had. "Misery loves company" the world over.
Little time was wasted getting into their blankets for the night,
little more in getting to sleep. The last thing heard before the signal
for "lights out" was Benny's repetition of the vague threat, "Just wait
until I get on guard, then I'll show 'em."
And now followed three or four days of ceaseless drill and duty. The
plebes still "herded together," as the old cadets expressed it—formed
by themselves for roll-call, drill, and marching to meals. They were
granted a half-holiday after the chapel exercises on the glorious
Fourth, and Geordie spent the lovely afternoon with Connell and
others in a climb to the top of Crow's Nest, and in the enjoyment of
one of the most glorious views on the face of the earth. On the 5th
their drills in the school of the soldier were reduced to two, in big
consolidated squads, and the whole class began instruction at the field
battery south of camp at nine each morning, and then were marched to
the academic building at half-past ten, to be put through their paces
at the hands of the dancing-master.
Immediately after the return of the corps from dinner on the 5th,
Cadet Corporal Loring read from the list in his hand some twenty names,
Graham's among them, and followed it with the brief order to those
named to fall in at two o'clock. Comparing notes, it was found that
most of them were members of what had been called the first squad. No
one knew what it meant until just before police-call at four o'clock,
when the party came marching back to camp, each man burdened with
clothing. Frazier's face was a study when Pops and Connell returned to
the tent, hung their glistening new uniform coats on the rack, folded
their ten pairs of white trousers in the lockers, and tried the effect
of the natty dress hats in the little looking-glass. Like many another
boy, Benny was learning that there was a wide difference between
the official and the family estimate of his military aptitude. The
idea that twenty of his class-mates could be put in full uniform and
readiness for guard duty and he not one of them was something that had
not occurred to him as a possibility.
"Mr. Graham, get ready to march on guard to-morrow morning," said
Loring to Pops that evening just before retreat roll-call. "You, too,
Mr. Connell."
And that evening the plebes of B Company congregated for an hour about
the tent to see the preparations of their first representatives. In
some way the word had gone around that Graham was "getting a shine on
his gun" the like of which no one had seen before. Frazier, with others
of his class, luckless fellows who by unguarded use of their tongues
had made themselves conspicuous, were, as usual, entertaining a circle
of old cadets, who demanded songs, recitations, dissertations, anything
to keep them busy and miserable, and so it was tattoo before Frazier
came back to the tent. Almost the last thing given to Geordie by his
old friends of the cavalry before he came away from Fort Reynolds was
a complete kit for cleaning and polishing arms and accoutrements.
Many an hour of his boyhood had been spent watching the men at work
on their arms, pouches, boxes, sling-belts, etc., and learning how to
put the handsomest polish on either brown steel or black walnut. Buff
board, heel ball, beeswax, linseed oil—all their stock in trade he had
long since found the use of, and already his rifle and accoutrements
had been touched up as new cadets never saw them; but not until this
evening had he unboxed his trooper kit; and with a dozen class-mates
eagerly looking on, Geordie squatted on his pile of blankets and
worked away by candle-light. Ten of the plebe class had been warned
for guard, and notified to appear in full uniform so that they might
undergo preliminary inspection. Nearly ninety eager boys, still in
Quaker gray, swarmed about these distinguished and envied pioneers as
they successively arrived. But the greatest interest centred in the B
Company contingent. Graham purposely kept to his tent until the moment
before the assembly sounded, but even among the yearlings there were
nods of approbation and comments of "Well done, plebe," as he came
forth, catching the pompon of his shako in the tent-flap as he did so,
and blushing not a little in consequence. Connell, too, had patterned
by his friend's experience. Their cartridge-boxes had of course been
varnished, just as were those of the rest of the corps, but the bronzed
bayonet scabbards and their leather attachments wore a gloss and polish
new even to the eyes of the old cadets. Luckily for the two the voice
of Mr. Loring was heard ordering them to "Step out lively," and they
escaped for the moment the scrutiny and question of the yearlings.
But the whole plebe class heard a few minutes later Mr. Merrick's
"Very well indeed, Mr. Graham," at sight of the sturdy young fellow's
glistening equipments and snowy belts. Then he took the rifle which
Geordie had tossed up to the "inspection arms" of the old tactics, and
with evident surprise in his tone, as well as satisfaction, exclaimed:
"Where did you learn to clean a rifle like this, sir?"
"Out West among the soldiers," was the brief reply.
The commandant, with Lieutenant Allen, came along at the moment to
take a look at the first representatives of the new class for guard.
As luck would have it, Graham and Connell were about the last of the
ten, and were at the left of the squad. All looked neat and trim, and
Mr. Merrick had made his selection with care; but the expert eye rarely
fails to find something about one's initial appearance in uniform
that betrays the plebe. The Colonel made no comment until he reached
Connell. Then he turned to Mr. Allen.
"Very neat and soldierly, especially here on the left," he said.
Cadet Merrick, without a word, held up Graham's rifle. The Colonel took
it, glanced quickly along the polished weapon, and then at Geordie,
standing steadily at attention, with his blue eyes straight to the
front.
"You must have seen service, sir," he said, with a smile. "That's a
very handsome rifle," and handed it back.
"Who is that young gentleman?" asked he of Lieutenant Allen, as they
turned away.
[Illustration: "THE COLONEL GLANCED QUICKLY ALONG THE POLISHED WEAPON"]
And then—alas for all McCrea's kindly advice! alas for all his own
precautions!—our Geordie heard Mr. Allen's reply. It was meant to be
for the Colonel alone. It reached, however, the strained and attentive
ears of half the plebe contingent. His days of modest retirement were
at an end; his time for plague, pestilence, and torment was come.
"That's Mr. Graham, Ralph McCrea's protégé. You've heard of him before,
Colonel; that's 'Corporal Pops.'"
The instant the order "Break ranks!" was given, Benny Frazier rushed
upon Geordie with delight almost too eager, and loudly hailed him as
Corporal Pops. The pet name of his boy days had followed him to the
Point.