GETTING READY
Our hero was excited, and no wonder. He had gone through many unusual
experiences since he had begun to think of going to West Point, and
now he was on the verge of new ones. He was in a sort of daze. Matters
followed each other so closely that there was little time between to
think properly of them.
“But there’s one thing sure,” he thought to himself, as he sat looking
from the car window as he was being whirled along his way, “there is
one thing sure, and that is that I have the chance I’ve been wanting so
long. If I don’t make the most of it, it will be my own fault.”
He ventured to look about him more calmly now, thinking perhaps he
might see some one in the car whom he knew. But a quick glance through
the coach did not disclose any one, though he noticed two or three lads
about his own age, talking and laughing together.
Tom thought he would like to know them, and he wondered if, by any
chance, they could be in his position--a “plebe” going up to West Point
for the all-important examination. Then another thought came to our
hero.
Where was Clarence Hawkesbury? He, too, was supposed to go to take the
examination on the day Tom reported, which would be the morrow. Where
was Clarence?
“He may have gone on ahead, or he may motor to New York,” Tom thought,
for Captain Hawkesbury had a powerful car, and with his nephew
frequently took long trips.
“I’m just as glad he isn’t going with me,” Tom thought. Then he settled
down to enjoy the journey which would last all day. At noon Tom went
to the dining car for lunch, and there he saw, at the table across the
aisle from him, some of the lads he had noticed in his own coach. He
could overhear some of their talk.
“Well, there’s one thing sure,” remarked a sturdy-looking youth, “if
I don’t get through it isn’t going to kill me, and I won’t have to go
around four years with my back as straight as a ramrod.”
Tom guessed instantly where his fellow-travelers were going, but he did
not like to say anything just yet.
“I don’t mind the examinations so much,” a studious-looking lad
remarked, “but I sure do hate to think of getting hazed. They say it’s
fierce!”
“So I’ve heard,” agreed another. “Pass the celery; will you?”
“If they try to haze me!” exclaimed a heavy-browed youth, “I’ll show
’em they’ll have their hands full.”
“Well, the more trouble you make the more they’ll make,” said the first
speaker with a sigh. “We plebes aren’t supposed to have any rights.”
Tom was sure, now, that the lads across the aisle were “in the same
boat” with himself. He could not refrain from speaking to them.
“I beg your pardon,” he remarked, “but are you going to take the West
Point examinations?”
The others looked at him, rather curiously for a moment, and one of
them said:
“Yes, we are.”
“I’m in the same fix,” went on Tom, quickly. “Do any of you know
anything about what we ought to do when we get there; where to report
and so on?”
In an instant the reserve of the others seemed to melt, and they
welcomed him, figuratively, with open arms. They were companions in a
certain prospective misfortune. It developed that one of the lads had a
relative who had attended West Point, and this relative had given some
valuable advice which the lad, Samuel Leland by name, was glad to share
with Tom and the others.
From then on the talk was of nothing but West Point, and the fear of
hazing formed a large proportion of the conversation. Tom found that
his new friends were going to stop at a different hotel in New York
from that which he had picked out, and he decided to change and go with
them. He was glad he did, for when he arrived in the big city he was
fairly astonished by the bustle and roar. One of the other boys had
been there on several occasions, however, and he acted as guide to the
others.
That night and the next day were a sort of dream to Tom Taylor, for
they decided to postpone their trip to Highland Falls for a day and see
the sights of New York. Tom knew his mother would not object, and if he
succeeded in passing into West Point it would be two years before he
could get away again. He sent his mother a letter from the metropolis.
“Well, we might as well start and get it over with,” remarked Sam
Leland the next day to Tom and the other candidates. They were at the
hotel in New York, and had planned to cross the Hudson to Weehawken, to
take the West Shore railroad, which would bring them to the village a
mile below West Point. There they would stay until next day when they
were due to report for examinations.
“Yes, no use lingering longer here,” agreed Tom. “I can’t enjoy
anything when I think of what’s before me.”
The others confessed the same thing, and, accordingly, soon after lunch
they took the ferry to Weehawken, and in due time were on their way to
Highland Falls, a ride of about two hours.
Tom and the other lads walked up the winding road leading from the
Highland Falls station to the hotel where they were to stop. The
day was warm and the road dusty and they were not feeling any too
comfortable. The little party Tom had fallen in with saw several other
youths toiling up the hill, evidently with the same objective point as
themselves. They, too, were “candidates.”
A bath, a change of linen, and supper made Tom feel much better, and
then came a long evening spent on the hotel porch where were many other
lads, all eager for what lay before them--eager and anxious, most of
them; some so much so that they went about with books in their hands,
gluing their eyes to the pages every now and then. They were “cramming
for exams,” and no greater torture can be devised for a young fellow.
Some of the boys told of having gone up to have a look at West Point
that day, they having been at Highland Falls for some time, preparing
for the ordeal. Some were even being tutored at a special preparatory
school in the neighborhood.
“The farther you fellows keep away from West Point until it’s time for
you to report, the better,” said one lad who seemed to know whereof he
spoke. “Don’t give those cadets a chance to get one in on you, which
they’re sure to do if they see you nosing around up at the barracks
before it’s time. Stay away until it’s time to report.”
This Tom and some of his friends resolved to do. However, they could
not refrain the next morning from going a short distance toward the
group of gray stone buildings that make up the United States Military
Academy. In the distance they could see the cadets passing to and fro,
some of them drilling; and Tom, at least, felt a thrill of anticipation.
“Oh, if I can only get in!” he sighed.
“That’s right!” remarked Leland. “It sure is a great place.”
The next day Tom, and the other candidates, left the Highland Falls
hotel to report to the superintendent of the Academy, which was the
real beginning of the examination that meant so much to them. At last
they were to have a taste of life at West Point, though for some of
them it might last only the few days intervening between their official
entrance and the rigid tests.
On the way to West Point Tom caught a glimpse of Clarence Hawkesbury in
company with some flashily dressed youths. They were riding in a sort
of public coach, and Clarence waved his hand to Tom, as though the best
of feeling existed between them.
“I wonder where the superintendent’s office is?” remarked one of the
youths with Tom. “I don’t suppose we dare speak to any of those high
and mighty cadets to ask.”
“Not if we see any one else,” Tom said. And on their way they met a
soldier--not a cadet--who directed them to the headquarters building,
in which was located the office of the adjutant to whom they were to
report in person.
A number of rather anxious-looking lads were there, and Tom and the
others formed in line to march up stairs. One by one they entered a
room, and presented their credentials to the stiff and severe-looking
officer who sat behind a table. He glanced at their letters of
appointment, checked their names off on a list, and told them to go
down stairs and wait for further instructions.
“Well, I wonder what comes next?” said Tom to his new friends. He soon
learned. A cadet, who, from the stripes on his arm they knew to be a
corporal, came walking stiffly up.
“Here, you candidates!” he cried, in a voice that contained perhaps a
little too much authority. “Turn out! Lively now! Turn out! Form in a
column--by twos! Forward--march!”
There was an uneasy scramble, and a more or less uneven column was
formed to march along with the corporal at the head. He was a martinet,
was that corporal--and he found fault with every one and everything
from the beginning.
“Why, you fellows don’t even know enough to keep step!” he bawled at
them. “Do you know which your left foot is?”
“Yes,” replied Tom, who felt a little nettled at the tone.
“Yes--what?” sharply demanded the corporal, swinging around to face him.
“I thought you said--” stammered Tom.
“Yes--what?” fairly thundered the cadet.
“Say sir,” some one behind Tom whispered.
“Yes--sir!” he answered loudly.
“That’s better!” was the mollified retort. “Don’t forget that sir! I’m
glad some of you know which is your left foot. Now then, step out!”
They managed it a little better now, though doubtless they were awkward
enough.
“Eyes--front!” snapped out the corporal, as some one ventured to look
about. “Eyes--front!”
In due time the awkward squad was marched to one of the barrack
divisions, where the cadet officers, in charge of the candidates,
had their headquarters. There the corporal reported Tom and the
others to a cadet lieutenant who recorded them and assigned them to
quarters--three to a room.
Tom had thought that he and the others would be examined before getting
this far at West Point, but it seemed he did not know all the routine
yet. At least, he was to have a real taste of life before knowing
whether or not he would be allowed to remain.
The ordeal of being recorded by the lieutenant was much more trying
than in the case of the adjutant. Some of the boys forgot the
all-important “sir,” and were sharply rebuked. But in the end they
learned how to answer properly, and to give when they were asked where
they were from, the name of their state, and not the name of their town
or city.
“Don’t forget your ‘misters’ and ‘sirs,’” advised the lieutenant as a
parting shot, when Tom and the other luckless candidates marched off
to the Cadet Store to draw their first supplies--their housekeeping
utensils as it were--for they were to do their own work for a time.
Each candidate received from the Cadet Store a quantity of bedding,
a pillow, a mattress, a broom, a pail and a chair, in addition to a
dipper. These were to be used while they were candidates, and could be
kept if they passed the examinations. If they failed they would have
to turn them in again, and from the hundred dollars deposited would be
deducted the board for the time they had been at West Point.
Tom’s mother had sent this sum on in advance, a fact of which our hero
was aware, though he did not know the source whence the money came.
“Whew! This is some early rising!” exclaimed Sam Leland as he examined
the printed list of “calls” that had been given to them after they had
secured their equipment.
Reveille came at six o’clock, followed half an hour later by breakfast.
At one o’clock dinner was served, and supper came after retreat parade.
Of course the candidates had no part in the parade.
“Oh, six o’clock isn’t so bad--not in summer,” Tom said. He had often
risen earlier than that in winter to do a job of snow-shoveling to earn
money at home.
“Well, it’s early for me,” remarked Clarence Hawkesbury, with a
supercilious grin. “And this dipper is--beastly!” he exclaimed, as he
looked at the one made from half a cocoanut shell that had been issued
to him. “I’m going to buy a collapsible cup,” he declared.
“Better not,” advised some one who knew. “Everything we’re allowed
to have is strictly arranged for, and if you’re caught with anything
contraband--good-night!”
“They won’t catch me!” Clarence said.
Tom hoped Clarence wouldn’t have a chance to be caught, since if
Clarence remained it meant that our hero would have failed. And that he
fiercely made up his mind not to do.
The candidates, with their new belongings, now passed on to their
rooms. Tom was quartered with Sam Leland and a lad named Harry Houston.
He liked them both from the first.
“And now to get ready for the exams,” commented Tom, when they found
themselves in their room.