There was excitement in camp next morning. Beyond rapid-running
foot-falls and certain sounds of smothered laughter among the tents,
nothing had been heard by any sentry, plebe or yearling, of the
assailants of Number Three, yet they must have been three or four
in number. Geordie was sure of that; sure also that they must have
concealed themselves in the shoeblack's tent or behind the trees at
the east end of his post. Once clear of his muffling, his loud yell
for the corporal of the guard had brought that young soldier down from
the guard-tents full tilt. (It transpired long afterwards that he was
expecting the summons.) It also brought Lieutenant Webster out of bed
and into his trousers in one jump. "Deviling sentries" was something
that had not been dared the previous summer, and was hardly expected
now. The officer of the guard, too, thought it expedient to hurry to
the scene, and those two cadet officials were upbraiding Mr. Graham for
the loss of his equipment and equilibrium when Mr. Webster interposed.
Cadet Fulton, of the Third Class, was on the neighboring post, Number
Four, and declared that he had seen neither cadets nor anybody else
approaching Mr. Graham's post, nor had a sound of the scuffle reached
him. He must have been at the south end of his post at the time
(as indeed he was, as it also turned out long after), otherwise he
could have seen the marauders had he so desired. Mr. Webster got his
bull's-eye lantern and made an immediate inspection of camp, finding
every old cadet in his appropriate place, and unusually sound asleep.
Meantime it was discovered that Mr. Graham's shoulder-belt had been
sliced in two, and that his cartridge-box and bayonet-scabbard were
also gone. The gun and equipments, therefore, on which he had bestowed
so much care and labor, and the adjutant such commendation, were
partially the objects of assault. The officer of the guard sent for
a lantern, and bade Geordie search along the ditch for them. So down
again, ankle deep in the long dew-sodden grass, did our young plainsman
go, painfully searching, but to no effect. Lieutenant Allen, officer
in charge, who had in the meantime dressed and girt himself with
sword-belt, came presently to the scene and ordered him up again.
"One might as well search for a needle in a hay-stack, as you probably
knew when you sent him there, Mr. Bland," said he, not over-placidly.
He was angry to think of such daring defiance of law and order
occurring almost under his very nose. "Go to the first sergeant of
Company B and tell him to credit Mr. Graham with a full tour of guard
duty, and order the supernumerary to report at once at the guard-house.
Mr. Jay"—this to the corporal of the guard—"you remain here in charge
of this post until relieved. Now go to your tent, Mr. Graham, and get
to bed. You've done very well, sir. This matter will be investigated in
the morning."
But Pops was mad, as he afterwards expressed it, "clean through." "I'll
go if you order me to, sir, but I'd rather borrow a gun and serve my
tour out, and let them try it again." And Mr. Allen, after a moment's
reflection, said: "Very well; do so if you choose."
Whereupon Geordie went to his tent, finding Benny awake and eager for
particulars. Taking Foster's gun and "trimmings," as they used to call
cadet equipments in the old days, he hurried back. Mr. Allen was still
there.
"Did you recognize no one—did you hear no voice—see nothing by which
you could identify any one?" he asked.
"No, sir; it was all done quick as a flash. I didn't hear a thing."
"Have you had any difficulty with anybody? Had you any inkling that
this was to happen?"
Graham hesitated. He knew the cadet rule: "The truth and nothing but
the truth." Indeed, he had never known any other. He knew also that
were he to mention Mr. Woods's name in this connection, it meant
court-martial, in all probability, for Woods. What he did not know was
that that young gentleman was perfectly well aware of the fact, and for
two reasons had had nothing whatsoever to do with the attack: one was
that in the event of investigation he would be the first suspected;
the other that, having taken exceptions to Mr. Graham's retort to
the extent of demanding "satisfaction," he was now debarred by cadet
etiquette from molesting him—except in one way.
"I'm waiting for your answer, Mr. Graham," said the lieutenant.
"Well, sir, I suppose every new cadet has difficulty with the old ones.
This was nothing that I care to speak about."
"With whom had you any trouble, sir? Who threatened you in any way?"
Geordie hesitated, then respectfully but firmly said:
"I decline to say."
"You may have to say, Mr. Graham, should a court of inquiry be
ordered."
But Pops knew enough of army life to understand that courts of
inquiry were rare and extraordinary means of investigation. He stood
respectfully before his inquisitor, but stood in silence, as, indeed,
Mr. Allen rather expected he would do.
"Very well. You can post Mr. Graham again," said he, finally; "and you
will be held responsible, Mr. Officer of the Guard, in the event of
further annoyance to him to-night."
But there was none. At half-past three the relief came around, and
Geordie turned over his post to Connell. There was some chuckling and
laughter and covert glances on the part of old cadets when they went
to breakfast, and Benny Frazier was full of eager inquiry as to what
had become of his rifle and equipments. But Geordie was still very sore
over his discomfiture, and would say nothing at all. No sooner had the
detail broken ranks, after being marched into Company B's street on the
dismissal of the old guard, than the drum-boy orderly appeared and told
Geordie the commandant wished to see him.
The Colonel was seated in his big tent, and the new officer of the day,
Cadet Captain Vincent, of C Company, was standing attention before him.
"There must be no repetition of last night's performance on your
guard, sir," Pops heard him say, as he stood on the gravel path outside
awaiting his turn, and wondering why Mr. Bend, the acting first
sergeant of his company, should be there too. Any one who happened to
be on the lookout at this moment could not fail to see that a number of
cadets had gathered at the east end of each company street, and, though
busied apparently in animated chat with one another, they were keeping
at the same time a close watch on the commandant's tent. Mr. Vincent
saluted, faced about, and gravely marched away, holding his plumed head
very high, and looking straight before him. It wouldn't do to grin
until he had passed the line of tactical tents (as the four domiciles
of the company commandants were sometimes called). Yet he felt like
grinning. No one man could suppress the impulse of mischief rampant in
the yearling class, and Vincent knew it. And then Pops was summoned.
The colonel looked him keenly over.
"You are sure you recognized none of your assailants last night?"
"Perfectly sure, sir. I had no opportunity."
"Have you heard anything as yet of your rifle and equipments?"
"No, sir; nothing at all."
"Mr. Bend," said the colonel, "issue Mr. Graham a brand-new rifle—one
that has never been used; also new equipments. His were taken because
they were the best cleaned in the class. We'll save him as much trouble
as possible in the future—until those are found."
And so, instead of the "veteran outfit" that would doubtless have been
issued to replace those lost, Geordie found himself in possession of a
handsome new cadet rifle, bayonet, cartridge-box, and bayonet-scabbard.
Mr. Bend, as instructed, carefully registered the arsenal number on his
note-book. The first and second classes, breaking ranks after their
morning duties, came thronging back to their company street to get
ready for dinner. The yearlings promptly clustered around Bend.
"The colonel tried to get him to tell," said he, in answer to eager
questions, "but he wouldn't. You're safe enough, Woods, if you don't
push matters any further."
"But I've got to," said Woods, in a low tone. "Jennings has seen him
already, and Ross says it's got to be one thing or the other."
Mr. Ross, the authority thus quoted, was the cadet first lieutenant of
Company B. There are generally certain magnates of the senior class to
whom mooted questions are referred, just as in foreign services the
differences among officers are examined by the regimental court of
honor, and it may be said of Mr. Ross right here that he never refused
his services as referee, and rarely prescribed any course but battle.
There were still some fifteen minutes before the dinner drums would
beat; and when Mr. Jennings came over from Company A and took Woods
aside, the eyes of the entire street were on them. A prospective fight
is a matter of absorbing interest from highest to lowest.
"One moment, Jennings," said Bend, joining the two; "before you go
any further in this matter, I want you to know that when many a plebe
might have been excused for giving the whole thing dead away to the
commandant this morning, Mr. Graham stood up like a man and wouldn't
tell."
"Of course he wouldn't!" answered Jennings, shortly. "Mr. Graham's a
gentleman. All the more reason why Woods can't swallow his language."
"Well, see here; I think Woods brought the whole thing on himself,"
said Bend, sturdily. "This is no personal row, and that young fellow
has been taught all his life that a sentinel is entitled to respect, in
the first place, and is expected to do his whole duty, in the second.
I'm not 'going back on a class-mate,' as you seem to think, but I want
you, and I want Woods here, to put yourselves in that plebe's place a
moment, and say whether you'd have answered differently."
"We can't back out now," answered Woods, gruffly. "The whole corps
knows just what he said, and it will be totally misjudged if we don't
demand apology. He's got to apologize," he went on, hotly, "or else
fight; and it's not your place to be interfering, Bend, and you know
it."
"I wouldn't interfere if it were a simple matter of a personal row
between the two; but this is a matter in which—and I say it plainly,
Jennings—this young fellow is being set upon simply because he's been
raised as a soldier, and knows more what's expected of a soldier than
any man in his class, and—by Jupiter! since you will have it—than a
good many of ours, you and Woods in particular." And now the cadet
corporal's eyes were flashing. "What's more, Jennings, I believe
Woods's better judgment would prompt him to see this thing as I do, but
that you're forcing a fight."
By this time ears as well as eyes of half of B Company—First Class,
yearlings, and plebes—were intent. Bend, indignant and full of vim, had
raised his voice so that his words were plainly heard by a dozen at
least. Fearful of a fracas on the spot, Cadet Lieutenant Ross sprang
forward.
"Not another word, Bend! Be quiet, Jennings! You two can settle this
later. I'm witness to what has been said; so are a dozen more. Go about
your other affair, Jennings."
Jennings was boiling over with wrath. In cadet circles almost as much
opprobrium is attached to the bully who is over-anxious to fight as
to the shirk who won't fight at all—not quite so much, perhaps—but
Jennings turned away.
"You'll hear from me later on this score, Bend," he growled. "I'm at
Woods's service for the moment, and I decline any officious meddling on
your part." With that he strode up the company street, his face hot and
frowning.
Geordie was pinning a collar on his plebe jacket at the moment, and had
resumed the gray dress of his class-mates in order to march with them
to dinner. So had Connell. Foster and Frazier, all excitement, had been
watching the scene down in front of the first sergeant's tent.
"Here comes Mr. Jennings, Graham," said Benny, excitedly, and the
next instant the burly figure of the A Company corporal—Woods's
friend—appeared at the tent door. It wasn't the first time he had been
accused of a bullying tone in conveying such a message. A First Class
man, splashing his close-cropped head and sun-browned face in front of
the next tent, emerged from behind his towel, and, still dripping, came
forward as Jennings began to speak.
[Illustration: "WOODS'S FRIEND APPEARED AT THE TENT DOOR"]
"Mr. Graham, my friend Mr. Woods considers himself insulted by your
language at the dinner-table yesterday, and he demands an apology."
Geordie's face was a little white, but the blue eyes didn't flinch a
particle.
"I've none to make," was the brief answer.
"Then I suppose you will refer me to some friend at once. You know the
consequences, I presume," said Jennings, magnificently.
"Just as soon as I can find some one," answered Geordie. "I'll look
around after dinner."
"Well, you want to step out about it," was the curt reply. "There's
been too much shilly-shally about this matter already."
"That's no fault of mine!" answered Pops, firing up at the instant.
"Connell, you'll stand by me, won't you? Mr. Jennings, you can have all
the satisfaction you want; and, what's more, just you say that if I can
find out who stole my gun last night there'll be no time fooled away
asking for any apologies."
"Bully!" gasped Benny, with eager delight; and Foster smote his thigh
with ecstasy.
"All right, my young fighting-cock!" sneered Jennings. "We'll
accommodate you—and begin to-night during supper. See that you and Mr.
Connell here are ready."
"Oh, one moment, Mr. Jennings," interposed the First Class neighbor.
"Mr. Graham is possibly ignorant of the fact that as a challenged
party it's his right and not yours to name the time. Fair play, if you
please, now; fair play."
"Oh, he'll get fair play enough," said Jennings, impatiently.
But here the clamor of fife and drum, thundering away at "The Roast
Beef of Old England," put an end to the preliminaries. All through
dinner nothing was talked of at the table of Company B but the coming
mill between Woods and Graham, the first of the inevitable series of
fisticuffs between yearling and plebe. Of course, too, by this time
Graham's virtual challenge to his assailants to come out and own
up was being passed from lip to lip. Of course, it was always the
understood thing that if a plebe objected to his treatment and demanded
satisfaction, the offender must fight. Only, by the unwritten code of
the corps, there were certain things which it was held a plebe should
take as a matter of course, and not look upon in the light of personal
affront; and being hazed on post was one of them. Mr. Otis, their
next-door neighbor, took the trouble to explain this to Pops later in
the afternoon, and Geordie listened respectfully, but without being
moved. He had been taught all his life just the reverse, he said. A
sentry was a sentry all the world over, and whether Life-guardsman in
London, soldier in the Sioux country, or plebe at the Point, it didn't
make a particle of difference to him. "I may be wrong, Mr. Otis, but
it's all the fault of my bringing up."
"Confound the pig-headed young sawney!" said Otis, afterwards. "He's as
obstinate as a mule, and, what makes it worse, he's perfectly right;
only the yearlings can't see it, and he'll have no end of fight and
trouble, especially if he licks Woods to-night."
Now here was a question. Woods had all the advantage of the year's
splendid gymnastic training, under as fine a master as the nation could
provide. Every muscle and sinew was evenly and carefully developed. He
was lithe, quick, active, skilled with foil, bayonet, and broadsword,
and fairly well taught with the gloves. He had borne himself well
in the two or three "scrimmages" of his plebe year, and the Third
Class were wellnigh unanimous in their prediction that he'd "make a
chopping-block of that plebe." Geordie was bulkier than his foeman,
a splendid specimen of lusty health, strength, and endurance; but he
lacked as yet the special training and systematic development of the
yearling.
"Take 'em a year from now," said Mr. Ross, "and there's no question
but that Woods'll be outclassed; but to-day it makes one think of
Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu."
And so the afternoon wore away, and the excitement increased. Jennings
was in his glory.
"It'll be a beauty," was the way he expressed himself. "That plebe's a
plucky one. I may have to give him a lesson myself yet." And he bared
his magnificent arm, and complacently regarded the bulging biceps.
"If it's two years from now when he tries it on," remarked Mr. Otis,
when Jennings's remarks were repeated to him, "may I be there to see!
It's my belief Mr. Jennings will get a lesson he richly deserves."
Despite every effort to keep the details secret, nine-tenths of the
corps knew that the fight was to come off in Fort Clinton during
supper-time, and such was the eagerness to see the affair that, despite
the urgings of Mr. Ross, the referee, and Mr. Jennings, no less than
thirty or forty old cadets fell out after parade, as they were then
allowed to do in case they did not care to go to the mess-hall. It
was a hot night, too, and so short was the time between evening-gun
fire and the opening waltz that many of the corps were in the habit
of "cutting supper." The thinned ranks of the battalion, therefore,
conveyed no meaning to the officer in charge. Jauntily the gray and
white column went striding away across the Plain, drums and fifes
playing merrily. Pops never hears the jolly notes of "Kingdom Coming"
now without feeling again the throbbing of his heart as he quickly
doffed his gray trousers and donned a pair of white, so as to be in
uniform with the older cadets, Connell doing the same. Benny and
Foster, though mad with excitement, had been ordered to go to supper.
The absence of so many from one table would have aroused suspicion.
One or two plebes in C and D Companies determined to be on hand to see
Graham through, though rare indeed are there cases of unfair play. They
had borrowed old dress-coats and white trousers. Mr. Ross had duly seen
to it that at a certain moment the sentries on Three and Four should be
at the distant end of their respective posts and facing away from Fort
Clinton, and as the battalion disappeared down the leafy avenue by the
"Old Academic," Mr. Otis came to Graham's tent.
"Now's your time, lad, and I've only one piece of advice—clinch and
throw him as quick as you can."
Two minutes later, all on a sudden, some thirty or forty nimble young
fellows appeared at the northeast corner of the camp, darted across
the north end of Number Four's post while that sentry was absorbed
fifty yards away in a 'bus-load of ladies going back to Cranston's
after parade, and in less time than it takes to write it they were
over the grass-grown ramparts of the old fort, and grouped about
the shaded nook near the Kosciusko monument, the scene of hundreds
of storied battles. Only two styles of combat were recognized at the
Point in Geordie's day—only honest fighting could be tolerated at any
time, but it was the right of the challenged cadet to say whether it
should be fought to a finish from the word, without time or rounds
of any kind, taking no account of falls or throws—the old-fashioned
"rough-and-tumble," in fact—or else by the later method of the Marquis
of Queensbury rules. The slow and cumbrous system of the old London
prize-ring had long since been abandoned.
Acting on Mr. Otis's advice, Connell had decided on the first-named, as
giving less chance for Woods's science and more for Geordie's strength.
And now, while in silence the eager spectators ranged themselves about
the spot, the two young fellows threw aside coats and caps, and with
bared chests and arms stepped forward into the open space among the
trees, where stood Mr. Ross awaiting them. Each was attended by his
second. Jennings eyed Geordie, and in a gruff, semi-professional style,
ordered: "Show your foot there! No spikes allowed." Graham flushed, but
held up, one after the other, the soles of his shoes to show that they
were smooth.
"It seems to me that your man has no business wearing tennis-shoes,"
said Connell. "Rubber soles give him an advantage on this turf. I
protest!"
Ross shook his head, but suddenly another voice was heard, and a
new figure joined the group. A light shot into Graham's face. He
recognized Mr. Glenn, the cadet adjutant who had so commended him at
guard-mounting.
"Of course it's unfair, Ross. What's more, the plebe's shoes are new
and stiff, and the soles are slippery. This thing can't go on until
that's settled."
Mr. Ross frowned. Time was precious, but down in his heart he knew the
adjutant was right. More than that, he felt somehow that Mr. Glenn
was there in the interests of fairer play than he himself considered
necessary, but there was no running counter to Glenn's dictum. A
yearling was despatched for Woods's uniform shoes, and it was some
minutes before he got back. Then the exchange was quickly made, and a
second time the foemen faced each other, the yearling's skin as white
and firm as satin-wood, Geordie's face and neck brown as autumn acorns,
his broad chest and shoulders pink and hard.
"Are you ready?" asked Ross. "Fall back, Mr. Jennings."
Woods instantly dropped into an easy, natural pose, his guard well
advanced, his right hand low and close to the body.
"Watch that right, Graham," muttered Connell, as he backed away; and
Geordie took a similar stand—clumsier, perhaps, but well meant.
And then the simple word, "Go!"
It would have baffled an expert reporter to describe what followed.
Something like a white flash shot from Woods's shoulder to start with,
and then for just twenty seconds there was a confused intermingling of
white and brown. All over that springy sward, up and down, over and
across, bounding, dancing, darting, dodging, Woods active and wary,
Graham charging and forcing the fight, despite heavy blows planted
thick and fast.
"Isn't he a young mountain-lion?" muttered Glenn, below his breath.
"He'll be worse than a grizzly if he gets Woods in a hug," was the
reply. "Look! he's grappled!"
Reckless of punishment as was ever stalwart Roderick, Geordie had
backed his lighter foe up the slope, then
"Locked his arms the foeman round."
A moment of straining and heaving, then down, down they came upon the
turf, the plainsman atop. And then went up a sudden shout of warning.
The next thing Graham knew he was jerked to his feet.
"Run for your life, plebe!" was the cry, as he dimly saw the crowd
scattering in every direction, and, led by Connell, rushed he knew not
whither.