What a wonderful summer was that of Geordie's First Class camp! To
begin with, even the graduates had helped shoulder him through the
sally-port after the announcement of the new appointments, and then
turned out in their civilian dress, with canes and silk umbrellas and
all manner of unaccustomed, unmilitary "truck," and cheered him, as
for the first time he swung the battalion into column and marched it
away to the mess-hall; and the new yearlings sliced up the white belts
he wore that day and divided them among their number "for luck," and
many an appeal came for the old first-sergeant chevrons; but Pops shook
his head at that. They went off by mail far out across the rolling
prairies to Fort Reynolds, where, in his letter to mother, a few
modest words told of the high honor conferred upon him, and that he
"thought it should go to Con." Buddie never waited to hear the end of
that letter. He bolted, hatless, out of the house and down the line of
officers' quarters to tell McCrea, shouting the tidings to everybody
he saw as he ran. And McCrea came over to the doctor's forthwith, and
Captain Lane and his charming wife dropped in before the family were
half through tea; and the colonel came in later to congratulate Mrs.
Graham, and so did many another wife and mother during the evening,
and it was a season of joy and gladness not soon to be forgotten, and
who shall say what volume of praise and thanksgiving and gratitude
went up with the loving woman's prayer when at last she could kneel
and pour out her heart all alone. Indeed, it seemed, especially to
Buddie, an event of much greater moment to the friends on the frontier
than it did to Geordie. His first concern was for Connell. Wright,
of course—big, ponderous fellow, moving slowly, as big bodies always
do—could not be expected to come at once to congratulate the comrades
who had stepped over his head. He was "let down easily," however,
and made first lieutenant of the company instead of captain; but he
came over to shake hands with Graham and tell him it was "all right,"
and found that Connell had never left his chum from the moment the
battalion was dismissed. Brushing his way through the crowd, the loyal
fellow had almost fought a passage to Geordie's side. He could not bear
the idea that Graham's triumph should be clouded by fear of Connell's
disappointment.
"Why, Pops, honest Injun, I'd hate to leave old D, now that I've got
to know them all so well; and I tell you candidly if I expect to land
in the Engineers next June I want nothing to interfere with my studies
meantime, and first captaincy is a powerful tax on a man's time and
thought. But even outside of that, old man, I believe you deserve it
more and will honor it more than any fellow in the class."
And with such friends at his back, what young soldier would not feel
pride and hope and confidence? Then came the close of the examination,
the announcement of class standing; and Geordie had clambered out of
the twenties and well up into the teens, standing second in drill
regulations (as they are called to-day), third in discipline, well up
in drawing, though still in middle sections in the philosophical and
chemical courses. Ames was easily head, Benton third, Ross fourth,
and Connell fifth. And then came the order to move into camp, and our
Geordie found himself, with his second lieutenant for mate, occupying
the north end tent of the company officers' row—the tent which, three
years before, bucket laden, and with shoulders braced and head erect,
he had passed and repassed so many times, never dreaming he should
become so thoroughly and easily at home within the white walls, into
whose depth it was then profanation to gaze.
Meantime, what of our old acquaintance Benny? All through the months
of his sojourn in lovely Nassau the boy had written regularly to
the friend of his plebe days, and some of those letters were very
characteristic—so much so that Geordie sought to read them to certain
of his chums by way of preparing them for Benny's return; but he
found all but a very few members of the class utterly intolerant of
Frazier. He had "behaved like a cad and a coward," said many of their
number, taking their cue from Connell. It was all very well to write
and prate about its being the turning-point of his life—starting all
wrong—needing all this discipline and distress to set him in the right
road. When he had returned and shown by his conduct that there was grit
and manliness in him, all right; but the corps never did and never
will accept a fellow at his own valuation. He must prove his worth.
Benny Frazier might come it over tender-hearted women like Mrs. Doctor
Brett and Mrs. Hazzard and Mrs. Other Officials and such dear old dames
as Pops himself, but he must "hoe his own row in the corps" was the
general saying.
And so even Benny's rush to congratulate Geordie and the impulsive
sacrifice of that immaculate tile had softened few hearts. Donning the
cadet uniform and silently resuming his place in the ranks of Company
B, Frazier strove to ask no favors and resent no coldness. He was not
tall enough to join the grenadiers of Company A. There was something
pathetic in the big dark eyes as he, a First Class man in years, but
a no class man in law, stood irresolute in the company street the day
they marched into camp. Yearlings and all had their tents chosen.
There was no welcome for him. It was just as well that Mrs. Frazier
obeyed her boy's injunctions and kept away until late that summer.
For a fortnight or so, until the plebes came into camp, Benny lived
all alone. Then, assigned to a tent with Murray and Reed, two cadet
privates of the class with whom he had never had dealings and by whom
he was treated with cold civility, he made no complaint, nor did he
seem to seek their better graces. But Pops never failed to hunt him up
if a day went by without Benny's coming to the first captain's tent
for a chat. He got Ross to give Frazier a seat at his table in Grant
Hall, and would have interceded in other ways, but Frazier himself said
no. "I have head enough left to see that I have got to work out my own
salvation, Geordie, and you can't make them like me."
And so the humbled fellow kept his own counsel, hearing some pretty
hard things occasionally, but saying nothing. The former terror of
the plebes in nowise meddled with them now. Mourning for his father
was sufficient reason for not attending the hops which, despite his
managership, Pops himself very frequently failed to visit. It was
lonely work going on guard as the sole representative of an absent
class, but Frazier made no remonstrance. There were little points in
which he could not overcome the slothful tendencies of his earlier
days. He was sometimes late or unprepared, but he took his reports
without a murmur and walked post like a man.
The summer wore on. Up with the dawn, out in the sun and the breeze
from morn till night, hastening from one brisk martial exercise to
another, sometimes in saddle commanding a platoon in the roar and dash
of battery drill, sometimes a division in the school of the battalion,
sometimes at the great guns of the sea-coast battery, waking the echoes
of the Highlands with the thunder of their report and the shriek of
the shells towards Target Point, sometimes on the firing-line of the
skirmishers, Geordie seemed to broaden with every day, and as first
captain he was vigilance itself. "Even in Rand's day you never saw
better order or discipline in the hall or in the ranks," said Connell,
"and the best of it is, the battalion wants to do as he wishes."
"Coyote & Badger's a close corporation" was yet the saying in the
corps, and it was fun to the First Class to hail their senior captains
by these Far Western titles. One thing that neither of them would
stand, however, was, that any under classman should refer to Geordie
as "Pops." That pet name was reserved for the family and very intimate
friends.
Connell, to be sure, was one of the gallants of the corps all the
summer through, and to Geordie's keen delight his Badger chum seemed
to be universally popular in society, and though their tents were at
opposite flanks, as were their posts in line of battle, they were
seldom far apart when off duty. The two, with Benton, formed what Ames
sometimes referred to as the Cadet Triumvirate. Benton made a capital
adjutant, and the parades attracted crowds of visitors that, as August
evenings grew longer, could hardly be accommodated.
Benny stopped one evening in front of the tent to say that his mother
would be up on the morrow. "I have been calling at Dr. Brett's this
afternoon, and they expect their relief next week. They've been here
four years, you know."
It set Geordie to thinking. Medical officers of the army are seldom if
ever kept more than four years at any one station, and his father had
now been at Fort Reynolds fully five. Nearly all his professional life
had been spent in the Far West. Three or four years he had been shifted
about so rapidly and continuously that it was in partial recompense he
had been retained so long at this big and pleasant post. "It must be
about time for him to be shifted again," thought Geordie, "and now it's
bound to be somewhere in the Division of the Atlantic." Odd! not for a
whole month had the subject been mentioned in any of his home letters.
His father rarely wrote more than a brief note; his mother never less
than eight pages; and Bud's productions, curious compositions, were
ever a delight to his big brother. But none of these had of late made
any reference to change of station. How Geordie wished they might come
East and visit the Academy now!
One week later, and the 28th of August was at hand. Camp was crowded,
for the noisy furlough-men returned at noon, and were bustling about,
making absurd pretence at having forgotten how to get into their
"trimmings," and calling for some generous Fourth-hearted Class man to
come and aid them. Visitors were swarming all over the post. Hosts of
pretty girls had come for the closing hop, and the hotels were crowded
to suffocation.
"Your mother promised to 'sit out' three dances with me, Benny," said
Pops, as he wound himself into his sash, cadet fashion, as the first
drum beat for parade. "Tell her I shall come early to claim them." How
he envied the boy his mother's presence! Frazier nodded as he sped away
to get into his belts, but with a light in his eyes and a laugh in his
heart—very little like the Benny of the year gone by.
"Does Graham make as fine a first captain as we thought he would?"
asked a returned furlough sergeant of one of the seniors, as they stood
watching him quietly chatting with Benton before the beat of the second
drum.
"Tip-top! I don't think there ever was a better one. But from the
instant he draws sword in command of that battalion he doesn't know
anybody."
Again the long line stretched beyond the flank sentry posts, and last
parade in camp went off with the usual snap and spirit in face of
hundreds of interested lookers-on. For the last time on that familiar
sward the plumed cadet officers of Geordie's class marched to the
front and saluted the commander, then scattered to their companies,
while the visitors hastened to the waiting vehicles on the surrounding
roads. No time could be lost this evening. It was that of the final
hop. Ten minutes later, rifles, shakoes, and equipments laid aside,
the battalion reformed on the color-line, the officers sprang to their
posts, the field-music, still in full parade-dress and white trousers,
took station at the left of the long gray line. Geordie whipped the
light cadet sword from its scabbard, and his voice, deep and powerful,
rang out the commands.
"Continue the march. Companies left wheel, _march_!"
Drums and fifes burst instantly into the liveliest quickstep. Eight
beautiful fronts, each pivoting on its left, accurate and steady as
sections of some perfect machine, came swinging around into column.
"Forward, _march_! Guide right!" and then, "Column half right!" as
the leading subdivision completed the wheel. And now away they go
over the level Plain, heading for the leaf-embowered gap between the
chapel and the old Academic, each subdivision led by its lieutenant
commanding, Connell, Ross, and Winn marching as field officers on
the guiding flank, Geordie commanding all. Group after group of the
gayly-dressed visitors opened out to let them through. The sword
arms of the young captains brush close to dainty girlish forms those
very arms have encircled in the dance, and pretty faces are smiling
into the eyes of those swarthy, sunburned young warriors in whom it
would be "unmilitary" to show sign of recognition now. The head of
the column reaches the cross-road at the foot of the Plain, and,
"Column half left!" Geordie's voice rings out across the level and
comes echoing back from the gray walls beyond, and the groups of
spectators fall farther back—all but one which, escorted by Colonel
Hazzard and Dr. Brett, stands at the edge of the road at the pathway
just under the beautiful elms. A lady with soft blue eyes is clinging
to the colonel's arm and trembling, despite her every effort. Close
beside her stands a grizzled, weather-beaten, soldierly-looking man
in tweeds, one hand on the shoulder of a ruddy-faced young fellow who
is evidently in high excitement. Just back of them Mrs. Frazier, her
dark eyes brimming, is resting on the arm of Dr. Brett. Company after
company comes up to the wheeling-point and changes direction almost in
front of them, and then, his eyes fixed on his leading guide to see
that each sergeant in succession gets his trace the instant the wheel
is completed, here comes the brawny, blue-eyed first captain. These
returning furlough-men are apt to be a trifle careless in marching,
and he means to bring them into shape without an instant's delay. He
seems to see nothing outside his command, but when within a dozen
yards suddenly he catches sight of the uniforms and of his colonel.
Instantly, as soldierly etiquette demands, the blue eyes are fixed on
the commanding officer; up comes the gleaming blade in the first motion
of the salute, and then—-then—what wondrous light is that that all on a
sudden flames—transfigures the brave, sun-tanned face? What wild amaze,
doubt, certainty, delight, all in a single second, flash into his eyes!
What pride and joy! what love and longing! For there, so close that
he can almost hear the whisper of his name and feel the spray of the
joy-tears that brim in her eyes, stands mother; there stands Buddie,
fairly quivering with eagerness; and there stands his father, sturdily
striving not to look proud. With every mad longing tugging at his heart
and tearing him from his duty to her arms, he as suddenly regains his
self-control, lowers his sword in salute, as soldier should, and only
quits his grasp upon the hilt and leaps to her side at the colonel's
smiling order:
"Fall out, sir; Mr. Connell takes command."
"If that wasn't a low-down trick to play on Coyote, I never heard of
one," said Harry Winn that night at supper. "Old Scad never evolved a
harder test. Think of parading a fellow's mother at the saluting point
when he hadn't seen her for a whole year, just to prove that he's such
a soldier he couldn't forget himself even then."
There were lots of boys in gray who believed the whole thing was a
"put-up job" to settle a bet among the officers, but they couldn't
prove it.
Over the details of that meeting we need not linger. Ordered to assume
the duties of surgeon at West Point, Dr. Graham was urged by McCrea
and others to give Geordie no warning, but keep it all as a delightful
surprise. Neither he nor his gentle wife, however, ever dreamed of its
being carried to the point it was. That night when Grant Hall was
crowded, and pretty girls in the daintiest of gowns were dancing with
cavaliers in gray and white, in blue and gold, or conventional black,
when music and merry laughter and glad voices all conspired to banish
care, there was one couple in whose faces—one so sweet, so tender, so
full of pride in the stalwart son on whose arm she leaned—there shone a
radiance that challenged and then was reflected in every eye.
"She makes me think of Ailie in 'Rab and his Friends,'" said Lieutenant
Allen, as he and a group of his fellows stood watching them slowly
circling the room.
Man after man of Geordie's class came up to be presented by her
big boy, whose cup seemed fairly overflowing. While Bud, painfully
conscious of the rapidly liquefying state of his first pair of kids,
followed his brother with adoration in his eyes, and Mrs. Frazier,
still in deep mourning, could not deny herself the delight of peeping
in from the arched entrance, where she and Benny stood for half an
hour, "just to see how happy Mrs. Graham looked."
Bless the mother heart! How much joy there was for her after the
long exile of the frontier and the three years' separation from her
first-born. Speedily they were settled in their new home overlooking
the bright blue ribbon of the Hudson, winding down between its bold
and beautiful shores. From her windows she could see the front of the
gray mess-hall, and day after day hear the tramp of the battalion as it
came marching down and Geordie's deep voice ringing out the words of
command. She used to drop her needle-work and bustle Buddie, all too
willing, from his lessons, and trip away to the Cavalry Plain to watch
the evolutions at squadron drill and see her boy—no finer horseman
among them all—swinging his sabre at the head of the first platoon, or
in the wintry days that speedily set in, slashing at the heads in the
riding-hall, and with his nimble fellows wrestling, vaulting, leaping
high hurdles, and easily accomplishing feats, bare-back or in saddle,
that made her often shudder and turn her eyes away. She loved to stroll
out under the arching elms to meet him for a few brief minutes between
evening drill and parade, and then watch him and Connell putting their
splendidly-drilled companies through all manner of evolutions, as they
marched them out to the spirited music of the band. She soon learned
the ways of the corps, and loved to have a whole squad of the seniors
down to tea each Saturday evening, and was sure to secure the presence
of such young damsels as lingered about the Point, so as to make it
interesting and joyous for his comrades. Perhaps she would have been
less venturesome had she been less sure of Pops, but the class
declared, "Coyote is spooney over his mother and nobody else." She had
dreaded the day that was to take him from her arms to the Point. Now
it seemed as though all too soon the day was coming that would take
him from the Point, and from her, back to the far frontier he loved so
well. The winter fairly flew away. The spring-tide came, and she almost
wept the day the ice-gorge went whirling down the Hudson and the whole
corps cheered it from the banks above. And the thunder of the guns at
the April drills, the volleying of the skirmish-lines in May, were
sounds that brought distress to her fond heart, for they told of still
another week or month passed by, and only a little space reserved in
which, every blessed sun, she could have her big boy at her side.
[Illustration: "AND SEE HER BOY AT THE HEAD OF THE FIRST PLATOON"]
She went with many another to hear the June examinations. She would
not confess it for the world, but if there were only a subject in
which Geordie could be declared deficient and turned back to go over
the whole year, she would have heard the order without a tear. He had
done so well, however, that her friends assured her Geordie would be
recommended for the artillery, into which he had no desire, however,
to go. She had Mrs. Frazier with her now, and at last Benny seemed to
be coming into favor again. He had asked no clemency. He had gone on
just as Geordie suggested, and, winning his rank in the 5's of the
Second Class, he won what was worth far more—a gradual restoration to
confidence in the corps of cadets.
And then McCrea came East on his first long leave, and, mind you,
he, an old cadet captain, never lost one point of Geordie's work as
commander of Company A. One exquisite evening the long line formed for
last parade. Many and many a tear-dimmed eye could be seen among the
ladies looking on. The strains of "Auld Lang Syne" were too much for
Mrs. Graham; but she hung a little back, and by the time the brave,
bright rank of sixty young soldiers came striding to the front to
salute the commandant and receive his brief word of congratulation to
them as the Graduating Class, she was ready to smile up into Geordie's
face as he hastened to seek her first of all, and then, with his
comrades, stand uncovered to receive the salute to them as graduates,
tendered by the marching companies on their way to barracks. She
sat well back among the throng of visitors and dignitaries on the
flag-draped platform when, one after another, the class came forward
from the throng of gray-coats to receive the long-coveted, hard-earned
diploma. She saw Ames, "as head of the school," greeted with ringing
applause by the whole battalion as he faced about to rejoin them. She
saw gallant Connell, third in rank, and sure, as he hoped, of the
Engineers, turn again to his fellows, for the last time, to be followed
to his seat by a storm of hand-clapping that told of the faith and
honor in which they held him. And then man after man received his
diploma, none lacking kind and cordial greeting from the corps, but
arousing no such clamor as that evoked by Connell. Numbers twelve and
thirteen and fourteen went back, each with his ribboned prize, and then
her heart beat hard in the pause that preceded the next name. She knew
just where it would come; but how could she dream what would follow?
"Graham!" called the secretary, and, plumed hat in hand, her Geordie
rose, and with him, as one man, up rose the corps—class-mates and
comrades, furlough-men, yearlings, and all. She never heard—I doubt if
Geordie could hear—the brief soldierly words of the superintendent in
all the tumult that followed. Pops bit his lip and strove to control
himself, as he turned at the top step to "face the music" and to meet
the eye of every member of his year's command and such a whirlwind
of cheers as he had never heard before. Springing down, he strove to
regain his old place in their midst; but there was Connell, shouting
with the rest, and Benny, stamping and clapping and pounding, and
somebody grabbed him on one side and somebody else on the other, and
away went his plume, and he threw up his hand waving silence, only to
be cheered the louder, for up on the platform were bald-headed members
of the Board of Visitors, magnates of the staff, and McCrea and his
friends, all applauding, too. For once and at last the corps defied
their old first captain, and would not down. Buddie fairly cried with
excitement, and the tears, unfettered now, rained down the mother's
cheeks. The doctor slipped away from the rear of the platform, and he
was found pacing up and down behind the library just as they found him
on the river-bank long years before, the evening of the last whipping
he had ever given Pops. Geordie looked for him in vain when, a little
later, the ceremonies over, he placed his diploma in his mother's hand,
and bent and kissed her cheek. "Keep it for me while I go to change my
dress," he whispered. "You are the last to say good-bye to the gray.
Come close to the first division, so that you may be the first to
greet me in cits. And, mother, don't you dare—don't you dare call me
lieutenant."
And so, leaving her with McCrea, laughing with a world of gladness, he
broke away, his heart too full for further words, his eyes brimming at
the thought of all the love and pride and blessing in her face, and up
the steps he sprang, halting one instant to wave his hand to her; then
into the cool depths of the hall he darted, and we have had our last
peep at the gray-clad form of Corporal Pops.
THE END
By ELIZABETH B. CUSTER.
FOLLOWING THE GUIDON. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50.
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The book is crowded with the amusing and exciting details of a life
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_