Mid-September came, and with it certain changes. The court-martial
which had been in session during the latter part of camp stood
adjourned, awaiting the call of its president. It was understood that,
owing to the unaccountable disappearance of a material witness, the
case of Cadet Jennings could not be pressed. Musician Doyle had totally
vanished, no man could tell whither. He had left his "kit" and his few
belongings at the barracks down in Camptown, and had taken with him
only the clothes he had on, said the drum-major. Some people thought
he was drowned, but most believed that he had deserted. He was last
seen at the Falls the night before the convening of the court. In the
meantime, Mr. Jennings remained in arrest with extended limits, which
meant that he had the privilege of exercising in the gymnasium and
walking the area, but could enter no division in barracks other than
his own. The two yearlings tried at the same time with him were quietly
summoned to the office of the commandant one day and told to pack
their trunks. They were out of uniform and off the Point before the
order of the War Department was read that evening at parade dismissing
them from the service. Benny Frazier was recovering his self-confident
manner, and rapidly losing the meekness of spirit displayed during his
troublous days the last week in camp, and Pops was losing something of
his splendid brown color, and not a few hours of sleep.
In very truth Geordie's hard times were at hand. He was not a natural
mathematician, and the lessons in algebra, so carelessly conned and
tossed aside by his gifted room-mate, were proving long and hard to
our young trooper. Barrack life differed very materially from that of
camp. Reveille came at the same hour, the gun and the drums letting
drive together at the first stroke of 5; the drummers came marching in
across the Plain and through the resounding sally-port, then rattled
and banged a moment, one in each hallway, then reunited in the area,
and by 5.10 the whole corps would be jumped into ranks at the brisk
assembly, about one-fourth of their number rushing out only at the last
instant. Then came the rapid roll-call, the few moments of sweeping and
dusting before police inspection, the brief soldier toilet, the march
to breakfast, etc. There was time for study before the first recitation
for all those studiously disposed—which most of the corps had to be—and
then at 7.55 the bugle summoned one-half the entire battalion to
recitation—the First Class to engineering, the Second to mechanics, the
Third to analytical geometry, and the Fourth to algebra; the highest
sections in each reciting, as a rule, first hour, and the first hour at
West Point meant just half an hour longer than it does anywhere else.
The sections began recitation by 8.5, and were recalled by the bugle
at 9.30, at which time the other half of the battalion was formed and
marched, each section by its own marcher, to the rooms vacated by the
upper half of the class.
One word now about West Point recitations. The section-rooms were
severity itself in their furniture, which consisted only of blackboards
or slates on three sides of each room, two long benches, one on each
side, a wooden desk and chair on a little wooden dais between the
windows for the instructor. There used to be a stove in the centre, in
case of mishap to the steam supply, and that was all, unless chalk,
pointers, and erasers were counted. In soldierly silence the section
marched to the door, hung their caps on pegs outside, went to their
places, stood attention, facing inwards, while the marcher reported,
"All are present, sir," then took their seats. On the slate back of the
instructor were written the page and paragraph to which next day's
lesson extended, and it was each cadet's business to note it. No time
was lost. The instructor, a lieutenant especially distinguished for
scholarship while a cadet, called up his pupils one after another,
giving to the first four demonstrations to work out on the front
boards from the lesson of the day. The next four were sent to the side
boards with problems on leading points in the lesson of the previous
day, and the ninth man "jumped" to the floor and was put through a
cross-examination in some subject under discussion that was intended
to thoroughly sound the depth of his knowledge. Each cadet on being
called stepped to the centre of the floor, "stood attention," facing
the instructor, received his enunciation, faced about, went to the
board, wrote his name and the order in which he was called up (that
is, first, second, or third) in the upper right-hand corner, then went
to work. No communication of any kind was allowed. As soon as his work
was finished the cadet faced about, stood at ease until called upon to
recite, then, pointer in hand, he began: "I am required to discuss the
Problem of the Lights," or "I am required to deduce a rule for such and
such a purpose," or, generally, whatsoever his task might be. Then he
proceeded in his own words to do it.
All this time the instructor sat quietly listening and mentally
criticising. The whole idea of the West Point system is that the
reciting cadet becomes for the time being the instructor, endeavoring
to explain the subject to somebody who knows nothing at all of the
matter. Then comes the instructor's turn. If the recitation has been
full, every point fairly, squarely met and covered, not a jot or tittle
requiring further elucidation, the instructor generally says, "Very
well, sir, that'll do," and the young gentleman goes to his seat sure
of a "max.," or "3," on the weekly list. If the instructor has to ask a
question or two in order to establish the pupil's thorough knowledge,
2.9 or 2.8 may result; 2.5 is really a good mark; 2 is fair; 1.5 what
would be called "fair to middling" on 'Change; 1 is only tolerable, and
zero a flat and utter failure, or its equivalent, a statement that the
cadet doesn't "know enough about it to attempt a recitation." Many a
cadet has taken zero and a report for neglect of studies rather than
make a bungling performance, but the instructors are ordinarily men
of such mould that they soon get to gauge their pupils thoroughly,
and instead of letting a young fellow doom himself to failure, they
patiently question, "draw him out," and there demonstrate that he knows
not a little of the subject, and mark him accordingly. Recitations go
on every morning in the week, Sundays alone excepted.
The West-Pointer has only one half-holiday, and that Saturday
afternoon, and then only those whose conduct has been up to the mark
can enjoy it—confinement to quarters, or "walking punishment tour,"
being the fate of many a boy regularly as the day comes round. And so
by Saturday the cadet has recited five, or possibly six, times in the
morning recitations, and on Monday the class reports are published,
showing the exact standing in every study of every man in the corps.
It is comical sometimes at the start to see how the plebes attempt to
work off the time-honored excuses of the school-boy. They are worthless
at the Point. Even if he were really so ill he could not study, the
cadet cannot be excused by the instructor. The young gentleman has
to go to his first sergeant at reveille, ask to have his name put on
the sick-book; then when sick-call sounds he is marched down to the
hospital and states his case to the doctor, who can order him into
hospital if the matter be at all serious, or prescribe some remedy, and
mark him excused from first recitation, from drill, or whatever may be
necessary. Now anywhere else that would mean "excused from _attending_
recitation," but not at West Point. Unless actually in hospital and
under medical care the cadet must go to the recitation-room with his
class, there report to the instructor, "I am excused from reciting,
sir." The fact is noted on the record for the day, and, taking his
seat, the cadet follows his comrades' work as best he may.
While one-half the corps is at recitation, the other half, each cadet
in his own room, is required to be at study; no visiting is allowed.
At 11 the heavier recitations are over for the day. From this hour
on the time given to each is only about fifty-five minutes in the
section-room. At 12.55 the first drum beats for dinner. All sections
are then dismissed; books are hurriedly returned to rooms, and by 1.5,
in solid ranks, the battalion is marching down to Grant Hall. From the
time they get back to barracks—about 1.35—until the bugle again sounds
at 2, is release from quarters. At 2, recitations begin again. Law,
languages, drawing, drill regulations, or something of that character,
take up the afternoon until 4, then all are marched (and it is march,
march all the time) to barracks, where they have five minutes in which
to get ready for afternoon drill. In September the school of the
battalion is the prescribed exercise, followed by parade at sunset,
these giving way in October, as the days become shorter, to artillery
drills at the various batteries. Supper comes after parade, and evening
"call to quarters;" study hour, thirty minutes after the return of the
battalion from supper. Study goes on until tattoo, which, when Pops was
at the Point, was sounded at 9.30, followed by taps at 10. Each cadet
was expected to make down his bedding for the night at tattoo, and to
be in bed, undressed, and with his light extinguished when the drum
sounded at 10 o'clock. Officers of the First Class and cadet staff and
first sergeants of the Second Class were the exceptions. These were
permitted lights until 11, the cadet officers being assigned to duty
all over barracks as inspectors of sub-divisions, each one having two
floors, or eight rooms, under his control, and these he was to inspect
at morning police call and at taps.
What with turning out at 5 A.M. and studying, reciting, exercising in
the gymnasium or on drill, the plebes, at least, were ready to go to
bed at 9.30; some found it impossible to keep awake until then.
Such being the general programme, let us see how it applied to Geordie
and Frazier. The former was fidelity itself in his desire to observe
regulations and perform his duty. Benny, eager and enthusiastic at
first, was rapidly developing traits that proved him to be just
the reverse. Week and week about each became responsible for the
condition of the room, his name being posted as orderly. They were
in the subdivision of Cadet Lieutenant Webb, the first officer to
inspect their room each day. Later came the inspections made by
the cadet officer of the day, and, almost invariably, morning and
evening, a visit from Lieutenant Allen, the commandant of Company
B (or "the B Company tack," as termed in the corps). If at any one
of these inspections anything was found amiss—chairs or broom, caps
or accoutrements, washbowl or buckets or books out of place, dust
on mantel or dirt on floor—the inspector never stopped to ask who
was at fault; he simply glanced at the orderly-board to see who was
responsible, and down went that gentleman on the delinquency book, and
that meant—unless the report were removed—so many demerit and so much
light punishment.
Pops found no trouble in keeping himself and his room in order, but he
couldn't keep Benny. Before the 25th of September, "Graham, orderly,"
had been reported four times for things he really could not help, and
all due to Benny's careless habits. Once it was washbowl not inverted,
another time broom out of place, and twice chairs out of place. Benny,
the last one to use these items during his room-mate's absence, had
left them as found by the inspector. Pops remonstrated, gently at
first, but afterwards sternly, and Frazier either sulked or else swore
he left everything all right; "somebody must have come in and upset
them."
This was bad enough, but worse was to follow. Before the end of the
month, every Saturday evening at parade, the adjutant was busily
reading "transfer orders," principally in the Fourth Class. Fluent in
recitation. Benny Frazier had made a brilliant start. This part of
mathematics he had been over time and again, and he was transferred to
the first section at the first order. At the second order, along about
the 20th, poor Geordie heard with heavy heart his own name read out
for transfer, not up, but down. "Cadet Graham to the fourth section."
He had worked hard, very hard. He studied faithfully every possible
moment, while Benny was listlessly yawning, dozing, or scribbling. A
few minutes conning over the familiar pages put him at his ease as
to the lesson of the morrow, while Graham worked on with reddening
eyelids. Sometimes the latter would appeal to Frazier to explain points
that were perplexing to him, and Benny at first seemed rather pleased
to do so, but he was no patient instructor, and not especially gifted
in the method of proving why this or that was thus and so. He thought
Geordie ought to see it all at a glance.
What with going up to the first section at a bound and believing
himself on the high-road to the head of the class, coupled with
the fact that now there was so very little time given to anything
but recitation and study, Benny began to look upon himself as out
of the shadow and into the sunshine of prosperity once more. Then
came an order releasing Mr. Jennings from arrest. No case had been
established. The court simply had to acquit him. The rifle affair
was being forgotten in the press of other matters. "Nothing succeeds
like success." Class-mates could not but admire Frazier's fluency in
recitation, and Graham, silent, reserved, studying day and night, was
not the prominent figure in his class-mates' eyes he had been in camp.
Presently Benny's manner, from having been meek and appealing, began to
be patronizing and superior. Then as pride and confidence reasserted
themselves he began to chafe at any authority over him. The third week
in barracks Frazier got four reports as room orderly; the fourth week
Pops's name was hoisted to the top of the orderly-board, and he gravely
told Benny he hoped he'd be careful.
[Illustration: "'I WANT YOU TO COME AND WALK WITH ME,' CONNELL SAID"]
That very evening after supper Connell took Geordie's arm and led him
out on the Plain.
"I want you to come and walk with me, old man," he said. "You were
going to your room to 'bone,' and I know it. Pops, don't do that. What
time we have to spend in the open air you need to take for no other
purpose. You'll go to your work with a clearer head."
Geordie protested, but he knew Connell was right. Moreover, letters had
come that very day from McCrea and the doctor, both bidding him feel no
discouragement because he was making only an average of less than 2.5,
"even if you do go down two or three sections," wrote the lieutenant;
"and I was scared badly because they sent me from the fifth down to
the sixth, but I came out all right." The doctor, too, urged that his
boy take heart, and bade him neglect no regular out-door exercise. A
great believer in fresh air and sunshine was the doctor. Still, Pops
was blue. Connell, a Western lad, with only the drilling of the public
schools, had managed to cling to his place in the first section, and
with every day was becoming more and more at home in the methods of the
section-room.
"Doesn't Frazier help you?" he asked.
"Not much. He's generally busy reading, writing, or dozing, and he's
impatient of my stupidity, I suppose. Everything seems so easy to him,"
answered Pops.
"Yes, I never heard such finished recitations. 'Old Scad' just sits
there and nods approval, and seldom asks a question." ("Old Scad" was
the irreverent title given to a gray-headed lieutenant of artillery by
a previous class, and plebes rarely fail to adopt such nicknames.)
"Benny's 'maxing' right along just now," continued Connell.
"Do you think he'll be head of the class?" asked Pops.
Connell pondered a moment before replying. "He might, because he's just
as fluent in French; but I'll bet my hopes of graduation against the
corporal chevrons you're bound to wear next June that if he's head in
January he'll never get there again."
"Why, Con? What do you mean?"
"Simply this: Frazier is a sort of fireworks fellow. He's going up
with a flash and a roar, but he'll burn out by the time we get into
analytical. He isn't a stayer. Mr. Otis was telling me last night that
there were cases where fellows who stood head in the plebe January
dropped out of sight by the end of the third year. As for Frazier,
he'll get found on demerit if he isn't careful. He's smoking cigarettes
again. Don't let him light one in the room."
"Oh, he doesn't so long as I am there. Of course if I get reported as
orderly for tobacco smoke in quarters he'll be man enough to take it
off my shoulders."
Connell was silent a moment, then he spoke: "I don't want to wrong
Frazier, but I'm inclined to think that the less you build on his
doing the manly thing at his own expense the safer you'll be."
And that evening, as Geordie returned to his room, all in a glow
from the brisk walk, he found a party of plebes just breaking up and
scattering to their quarters. Benny had been "entertaining," and the
air was full of cigarette smoke. Vigorous fanning with the door and
with towels swept much of the smoke out through the open window, but
the aroma of the heavy, drug-scented cloud hovered over the occupants'
heads.
"You knew what would happen. How could you be so reckless of other
fellows' rights?" said Graham, angrily.
Benny flared up at once. He wasn't going to forbid gentlemen smoking
when they came to see him! There was no danger, anyhow! They'd fan out
the room before Allen could come, and by hard work they did. Mr. Allen
looked queer, but said nothing. "Didn't I tell you!" cried Benny.
"All the same," answered Pops, "there must be no more of it when I'm
orderly."
"I'd like to know how you'll stop it," said Frazier, defiantly. "You
won't be so mean as to 'skin' a room-mate, and get 'cut' by the whole
class for doing it, will you?"
[Illustration: "ENFORCED TRAMP IN THE AREA ON SATURDAY AFTERNOONS"]
Alas for Geordie! Frazier's penitence had been too short-lived, his
escape from the toils in the rifle case too easy, his triumph in
French and mathematics too much for his selfish and shallow nature.
On his own account, Graham had not received a report for three weeks;
on Frazier's he had received five, and these necessitated his writing
explanations and wasting time, even though the reports were removed.
But one evening, coming in just before call to quarters, he found
half a dozen of his class-mates sitting with Frazier and sharing his
cigarettes and applauding his stories. Even after the bugle blew, they
loitered about going. Under the strict construction of the regulations
of the academy it was his duty to order the smoking stopped at once,
and to report every cadet engaged in it, but only the cadet officer
of the day is "on honor" to report every breach of regulations coming
under his notice. That night, in the midst of his frantic efforts to
fan out the smoke, in came Lieutenant Allen. The next evening the
report was read out, "Graham, orderly, tobacco smoke in quarters 7,
7.30 P.M." "I've simply got to take the punishment," said Geordie,
"because I did not stop it the instant I got in." And when Connell and
others took it upon themselves to tell Frazier he ought to go to the
commandant and assume the responsibility, that young gentleman replied,
"You must be sick! I was only one of the lot; 'tisn't as though I did
it all alone."
But Foster was one of the party, and Duncan another. These two boys
marched up to Colonel Hazzard two days later and declared themselves
the smokers, and begged that Graham be relieved; but Graham, as
ill-luck would have it, had already been sent for and asked what he had
to say.
"Nothing, sir," was his answer.
"If it occurred in your absence, Mr. Graham," said the colonel, kindly,
"and you did not see the smokers, or if you put a stop to it the moment
you did—"
But Geordie shook his head. And so for six consecutive Saturday
afternoons, armed and equipped as a sentry, and thinking unutterable
things as he did so, Geordie Graham tramped up and down the area of
cadet barracks as punishment for having permitted smoking in quarters.
It carried him, in punishment, almost up to Christmas; but there was no
lack of company. Some afternoons the area was crowded.