Yearling faces in camp were looking very solemn one hot August
morning. Cadet Jennings, in arrest, had sought permission to speak
to the commandant; had been granted an interview, and had come back
with very little of his old confident, even swaggering, manner. He
had been in close arrest six days, the object of much sympathy among
certain of his class-mates, because it was given out that he was to
be made an example of, all on account of suspected participation in
the trick that had deprived a plebe, temporarily at least, of his
new rifle; which, according to yearling views, he had no business
with, anyhow. Several things happened, however, which wiser heads in
the corps could not account for at all. First, Jennings had sent for
and held some confidential talk with Frazier. Frazier was seen that
night in conversation with a drummer-boy in rear of the orderly's
tent—"Asking him to get me some cigarettes," explained Benny. Two days
later the Honorable Mr. Frazier arrived at the Point, and spent a long
afternoon with his son; and saw him again in the visitors' tent that
evening. This time Mr. Frazier senior did not favor the officers with
accounts of Benny's prowess at the high-school; he even avoided them,
especially the superintendent and commandant, both of whom he referred
to subsequently as men with very narrow views of life. He spent a day
at the Falls below, and took a West Shore train and hurried away.
The last week of August came. The days were hot; the nights so chilly
that the guard wore overcoats from the posting of the first relief
after tattoo. In the distinguished quartet of occupants of plebe hotel
No. 2 of Company B three at least had been marvellously benefited
by their experience in camp—"Corporal" Graham, Connell, and Foster.
Their clear eyes and brown skin told of the perfection of health and
condition; but "Major-General" Frazier looked far from well. He was
evidently troubled in mind and body, and utterly out of sorts.
Camp was to be broken on the 29th, and the tents struck, in accordance
with the old fashion, at the tap of the drum. The furlough men would
return at noon on the 28th. Once more the ranks would be full, and
the halls and barracks echoing to the shouts of glad young voices;
but meantime a solemn function was going on—a court-martial for the
trial of certain members of the corps. Messrs. Ferguson and Folliott
of the Third Class had been "hived" absent at inspection after taps.
Lieutenant Cross, commander of Company D, who was making a bull's-eye
count about 11.30 one moonlit August evening, found these two lambs
of his flock astray, and directed Cadet Lieutenant Fish, officer of
the day, to inspect for them every half-hour. It was 2 A.M. before
they turned up—young idiots—in civil garb and false mustaches. Each
had already an overwhelming array of demerit. Each had barely escaped
deficiency at the June examination. Each felt confident his cadet
days were numbered, and so, courting a little cheap notoriety, they
determined to make a name for what used to be termed "recklessness,"
and "ran it" down to Cranston's Hotel in disguise. Their fate was
assured—dismissal—and their trial occupied no time at all. No one
recognized them while away from the Point. It was sufficient that they
were absent from their tents more than half an hour.
And then Cadet Jennings was called, and, as was the custom in those
days, Cadet Jennings had asked a First Class man to act as his counsel,
and Cadet Ross was introduced as _amicus curiæ_. The court sat in a
big vacant room in the old Academic that summer, an object of much
interest to swarms of visitors impressed by the sight of a dozen
officers solemnly assembled at a long table, clad in the full uniform
of their rank. It was also a matter of no little wonderment to certain
civil lawyers enjoying a vacation, who looked upon the slow, cumbrous
proceedings with sentiments of mingled mirth and derision.
Our good Uncle Sam, when first starting his army a century ago, copied
the pompous methods of the soldiers of King George as set forth in the
Mutiny Act, and there had been hardly any change in all these years.
Lieutenant Breeze, a lively young officer, was judge-advocate of the
court, and appeared to be the only man who had a word to say in the
premises. Counsel, unlike those in civil courts, rarely opened their
mouths. Questions they desired to ask were reduced to writing and
propounded by the judge-advocate. Answers were similarly taken down.
The court had been in session only an hour over the yearlings' cases
when they sent for Mr. Jennings. Presently Graham and others, returning
to camp from dancing-lesson, were hailed by the officer of the guard.
"You are wanted at once at the court-room; so is that Major-General
tent-mate of yours. Get ready as quick as you can, Mr. Graham. Full
dress, with side arms."
[Illustration: "'YOU ARE WANTED AT ONCE AT THE COURT-ROOM'"]
Hastening to his tent, Graham found Benny already there, and in
ten minutes they were on their way. Benny was very white and
scared, Geordie silent. Lieutenant Breeze must have been waiting
for them. Graham was summoned in at once. Many a time he had seen
courts-martial out on the frontier, and so went promptly to the witness
seat and pulled off his right-hand glove. Breeze wasted no time in
preliminaries. He knew his man.
"You swear the evidence you shall give in the case now in hearing shall
be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you
God," he said; and Geordie, standing erect and looking him in the eye,
his own hand uplifted, answered,
"I do."
"He'd tell it anyhow," whispered a New York lawyer to a friend. "That
boy couldn't lie if he tried."
While the judge-advocate was pencilling a few loose slips of paper,
Geordie glanced around him. The sides of the room were well filled
with spectators, ladies and gentlemen visiting the neighborhood, and
curious to see a military court in session. Major Rawlins, of the
Engineers, was president, while two captains and eight lieutenants made
up the court. To the left of the judge-advocate, at a little table,
sat Mr. Jennings with his counsel. Geordie took the chair to Breeze's
right, pulled on his glove again, adjusted his bayonet-scabbard, and
sat erect. The first two questions were as to his name, and whether he
knew the accused. Then he was told to give, in his own words, the facts
connected with the disappearance of his rifle. Few boys could have told
the story more tersely.
"What was the number of the new rifle?" asked the judge-advocate, and
Geordie gave it. Had he recognized, by voice or in any way, any of his
assailants? Not one. Had he been able to ascertain how the rifle was
taken, or by whom? He had not. Was there no one of his tent-mates left
at the tent the evening the exchange was made? None that he knew of.
Where was Cadet Frazier that evening? Geordie didn't know; he did not
see him until bedtime. Mr. Jennings was asked if he desired to question
the witness, and wisely refrained.
Certain members of the court looked as though they might elicit
something; but when the judge-advocate said, in response to a whispered
query, "I have all that from another witness; this one knows nothing
about it," the court subsided and concluded to wait.
Even as Geordie was wondering if Mr. Breeze meant Frazier, and
what Frazier could possibly know, the brief evidence he had given
was read over to him, and he was told he could return to camp. The
judge-advocate accompanied him to the door, and Geordie heard him say
to the orderly:
"I want that drummer Doyle at once. Why is he not here?"
"We can't find him, sir, anywhere," was the answer.
"Well, go again, and tell the drum-major to have him hunted up. He had
no business to let him away from barracks."
As Geordie started out into the open air, he caught sight of Benny's
woe-begone face. What could have happened to him?
"Detained as a witness before the court-martial," said the officer of
the day to whom Frazier was reported absent at dinner roll-call; but
Pops found him lying on his bedding when they got back to camp. He
didn't want to talk, he said; his head was aching. He was all upset
about something, that was evident. No, he didn't want any dinner.
Jennings and his counsel had joined the battalion at the mess-hall
with unimpaired appetites and confident mien. The plebe it was who
seemed all gone to pieces. By parade-time a strange story had come
into the camp by way of the visitors' tent. Court had adjourned until
the witness Doyle could be found, and Mr. Frazier, whose testimony it
was supposed would materially harm the accused, had not harmed his
case at all. In brief, Frazier, acting under instructions evidently,
tremblingly admitted that he was aware of some joke being played on his
tent-mate that night, but refused to answer questions on the ground
that answers might incriminate himself. The sensation among the plebes
was tremendous. Everybody jumped to one conclusion—Frazier must have
taken part in "the robbery," as they now began to call it.
But Mr. Ross came to the rescue. "Wait until you hear the whole story,"
he said. "It can't be told now, but will be when the excitement has
died away and it is safe to tell it."
And so the youngsters had to wait. Connell and Foster seemed to shrink
from their class-mate instinctively. It was Graham who simply would not
believe that ill of him.
"I can't tell as yet. I've given my word to Ross and Jennings," said
Benny, with a wail in his voice. "Don't go back on me, Graham, and
you'll never regret it." And, taking the side of "the under dog in the
fight," Geordie held out his hand.
The 28th came, and still no tidings of the missing witness. Doyle,
the drummer, had vanished, and no one knew whither. The furlough-men
came back at mid-day, looking probably for the same tumultuous
greeting that had been accorded their predecessors for years back—a
charge of the First and Third Classes from camp, and a smashing of
Derby hats—but they were marshalled direct to barracks instead, and,
completely uniformed and equipped, marched over to join the battalion
in style most matter of fact. The plebes spent the last evening in
camp listening to the distant music of the hop, and singing, reciting,
and dancing for the benefit of the returned Second Class men. Certain
celebrities of their number were, with appropriate ceremonies,
presented to such Second Class men as preferred "devilment" to dancing,
among them "Corporal Pops, the coyote-killer of the Colorado, famous
as bear-hunter, scalp-taker, and sign-talker," and for the last time
Geordie was on duty entertaining old cadets until the tattoo drums,
but no one turned out Benny Frazier. A yearling will not even have fun
at the expense of a plebe whose conduct is considered shady, and the
belief in the Third Class was general that Frazier, through motives of
jealousy, had connived at the "hiving" of his tent-mate's rifle.
And yet when Connell said to Graham, "I was going to room with Foster,
but I'd far rather live with you. Do you think we can fix it now?
Foster is willing to live with Clawson," he could hardly believe it
when Geordie answered:
"I've promised to live with Frazier, and though I'd rather live with
you than any man I know, I won't go back on my promise."
Geordie did not tell what he might have told, that on the evening of
the 27th, after a long talk with his father, who came at noon and left
before parade, Frazier had almost pleadingly said to him: "They're all
down on me now, Graham, and if you turn from me I won't have a friend
left in the class. If you and I room together, they'll know you don't
believe me mean enough to take your gun. Appearances are all against me
simply because I can't tell without involving some poor fellows whom
dismissal would ruin for life just because they'd taken part in what
they meant to be only a joke." And Graham answered that he meant to
stand by Frazier until the thing was all cleared up.
There were plebes who came to Geordie and told him he was making
a mistake. So did Mr. Otis, but the latter went away all the more
convinced that "Corporal Pops" was too pig-headed even for a Scot.
It was almost pitiful to see the way Frazier clung to his companion
now. It looked to everybody as though the boy were jealously afraid of
seeing his friend and protector, so called, talking with anybody else.
Time and time again he reminded Pops of the agreement, until at last,
annoyed, Geordie turned suddenly upon him and said:
"Look here, Frazier, does nobody keep promises where you come from?"
Then Benny concluded it was time to hold his peace.
In the presence of a thousand spectators on a glorious August day,
every tent in camp went down at the tap of the drum, and what an
instant before had been a white-roofed city turned into a bustling
hive of gray coats, folding, rolling, and cording up the snowy canvas.
All baggage had been moved to barracks earlier in the day, and now in
full ranks, all four classes present, the companies fell in, and the
corporals, who had served all summer long as sergeants, stepped back
into the ranks, and the plebes gazed in silent awe upon the grave,
dignified young soldier in the white cross-belts and crimson sash who
so keenly looked them over before reporting "All present, sir," to Mr.
Leonard. The returned furlough-men took their places, as became members
of the Second Class, in the front rank. Certain yearlings, much to
their disgust, had to fall back to the rear, and as far as faces could
be seen at all any one could distinguish which was which. The boys who
had spent the summer in camp were brown as autumn berries; they who had
spent their summer at home were pallid by contrast.
For the last time in camp adjutant's call sounded on the color-line,
and the band had to take station beyond the sentry on Number Two, in
order to leave room for the re-enforced battalion.
"Guides posts!" rang out the adjutant's command.
"Keep your eyes to the front, plebe," ordered the red-sashed first
sergeant, returning to his station through the gap on the right, when
he found two Fourth Class men gazing obliquely at him in mingled awe
and admiration.
Clash! went the rifles into the gloved left hands as the battalion
presented arms to Colonel Hazzard.
"Take your post, sir," was that eminent soldier's response to Glenn's
superb salute. Back to his station on the right fluttered the
adjutant's plumes as the companies wheeled into column, tossed the
light rifles to the shoulder, and then, to the merriest, blithest of
music, strode buoyantly away in the wake of the band, the drum-major
boring with his tasselled baton a hole through the heart of the crowd.
Geordie's pulses beat high with every stride. Welcome hard work, hard
study, even the long gloomy wintry weeks and months, for plebe camp and
palms-of-the-hands-to-the-front were now things of the past.
That night Glenn read the list of sections to which the classes
were assigned. Great was the importance of certain Fourth Class
men designated in orders as section marchers, and by no means
inconsiderable was the jealousy among their class-mates inspired by
this purely accidental and temporary gift of authority. The Fourth
Class for instruction in mathematics was divided in alphabetical order
into eight sections, Cadet Abbott being detailed as marcher of the
first, Dillon of the second, Griggs of the third, Kenney of the fourth,
and so on down the list. Frazier, who had been very meek for several
days, asked Graham if he didn't think it extraordinary that they should
be ordered around by a fellow like Dillon?
"Why, I don't believe I've ever heard him speak ten words. What makes
them put such galoots in command of sections when there's others, like
you, for instance, that know how to handle 'em?"
Pops grinned. He understood what Benny was thinking of.
"It's all part and parcel of the system of teaching fellows like me, as
you put it, that obedience is the first thing we have to learn," said
he, good-naturedly, and then went busily on with the work of getting
the room in the prescribed order.
As plebes they had enjoyed only what is termed "Hobson's choice."
They could have either the top or bottom floor on the north front of
barracks—the cold, sunless front—and so they found themselves in the
third division, or, as it was technically termed, the "Third Div.
Cock-loft"; that meant on the top floor of the third division from the
east. It took little time to arrange their household affairs. Each
cadet had his own alcove or bedroom, separated one from the other by
a wooden partition. On the side nearest the wall was a light iron
bedstead; on this a single mattress, folded back during the day, and
made down only after tattoo. Piled in order on the mattress, folded
edges to the front, and vertical, were first the sheets, then pillows,
then blankets and "comfortable." On iron hooks in the partition, each
in his own alcove, and in the following order from front to rear, the
boys hung their overcoats, rubber coats (once called the "plebeskins"),
the uniform coats, gray jackets, gray trousers, "such underclothing as
may be allowed," and at the rearmost end the clothes-bag for soiled
clothing. Against the front post of the partition was the little
wooden wash-stand, a bucket of water, with cocoa-nut dipper, on the
bottom shelf the white washbowl, inverted, with soap-dish, etc., on
top; a slop-bucket on the side opposite the hall; a little mirror
in the middle of the mantel-shelf; rifles in the rack near window;
dress hats on the shelf thereof; accoutrements and forage-caps hung
on the pegs to the right and left of the rack; candle-box in the
fireplace (which was neatly whitewashed); nothing on the steam coil
or heater; all other clothing in the open-faced set of shelves termed
the clothes-press; brushes, combs, shaving materials, collars, cuffs,
handkerchiefs, belts, and gloves, each folded or stacked in separate
piles on the upper shelf; shirts, etc., on the next below; white
trousers, underclothing, etc., on the lowermost, and nothing under it;
text-books on the top of the press against the wall, upright, and backs
to the front; broom behind the door; chairs, when not in use, against
the table; table against the wall opposite the fireplace; shoes aligned
at the foot of the bed, toes to the front, and always to be kept neatly
dusted; "clocks, pictures, statuettes, etc., not allowed."
Everything was kept in spick-span order, and the orderly board, giving
the name of the cadet responsible for the general appearance of things
during the week, hung on the pillar of the alcove partition. Each cadet
posted his own name in plain block letters over the alcove, over his
half of the clothes-press, over his equipments, etc., and on the back
of the door his "hours of recitations," to account for his absence from
the room at any inspection. For half an hour after breakfast, dinner,
or supper, and on Saturday afternoons, cadets could visit in barracks,
or go from room to room. At any other time and during call to quarters,
day or night, visiting, even to the extent of opening and looking
in one's next door neighbor's door, was punishable by demerit and
confinement.
When little Dillon came around to give out the first lesson in algebra,
as received from their section instructor, Lieutenant Barnes, Pops was
all attention, and carefully noted it in his new algebra. Benny wanted
to chaff Mr. Dillon by asking him if he supposed he could march a squad
as far as the Academic, and was suddenly reminded of his uncertain
status by being curtly told to mind his own business. In ten minutes
Pops was deep in his work, but Frazier, giving a sniff of contempt on
glancing over the pages, tossed his text-book on the table, went to
the window and, strumming on the glass, gazed long and wearily out
upon the starlit sky. This being a West Point cadet wasn't what it was
represented to be by a good deal.