A LARK
Captain Hawkesbury received Tom with a grim smile. In his heart Tom
felt a deep dislike for this man who, in some manner or other, had so
profited by Mr. Taylor’s tangled property affairs.
It was an open secret in and around Chester that Captain Hawkesbury and
Aaron Doolittle had made a small fortune simply out of the sale of the
land to the railroad company, for instead of taking all cash they had
been given certain shares in the company, which shares had doubled in
value very shortly.
“And my mother might have had those shares if things--well, if things
had gone differently,” mused Tom. “I wonder if there’s any chance of
ever getting back part of that money--or having a claim on the land
which the railroad company would have to settle for with us?”
Tom had often had these thoughts, but he was no day-dreamer, and
the hard realities of life left him little time to indulge in such
speculations.
“I guess I’ll just have to grind along until I graduate,” he mused.
“Then I may make enough so that mother won’t have to work any more.”
He, as well as the other cadets at West Point, was paid a small salary
while studying, the money being held for them until the completion of
their four years’ service.
“I’ll have that to start with, anyhow,” Tom reasoned, as he faced the
grim old army officer.
“Mr. Taylor,” began Captain Hawkesbury, in rasping tones, “you don’t
seem to show the right spirit at drill.”
“I’m sure I didn’t mean to do anything out of the way, sir,” Tom
replied, after his salute.
“Don’t answer me back!” was the snapping retort. “You haven’t a good
carriage. I think I can improve it. Stand up straight now and I’ll give
you some exercises. Straighter!” was the sharp order, and Tom threw
back his shoulders until he had a pain in the middle of his back.
And then for over an hour Captain Hawkesbury made him stand in a
strained position, at times ordering him to go through certain
exercises, more tiring than the standing. And all the while there was a
mean grin on the face of the crabbed old man. He seemed to take delight
in Tom’s discomfiture, and no doubt he did. He was strictly within his
rights--Tom knew that--but, none the less, our hero was sure the ordeal
he had to go through was devised solely as a personal punishment to
gratify the spleen of Captain Hawkesbury because Tom had defeated the
captain’s nephew.
Tom was as limp as a rag when he was allowed to go back to his room,
and his chums commiserated with him as he told them of what he had gone
through.
“The old scab!” ejaculated Sam.
“We ought to haze him!” declared Harry.
“I’m afraid you won’t get a chance to do that,” Tom said. “The only
thing for me to do is to keep as much out of his way as possible. And
that isn’t going to be easy. This is certainly fierce!” and he drooped
his aching shoulders to ease them from the long strain.
“Cheer up! There’s a little relief in sight,” Harry said.
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“Orders have been published saying we’re to go to camp. It will be
different there, at least.”
“Good!” Tom cried, animation showing on his face. “It’s getting too hot
in barracks.”
The new cadets had had three weeks of almost constant drilling, in
setting-up exercises, marching, and the manual of arms; and now came
a change. Each lad received four pairs of white duck trousers, in
anticipation of camp life, at least that number being necessary to
enable them to look neat, for the white material soiled quickly, and
neatness is one of the fundamental requirements at West Point.
Up to now the new cadets had not mingled in the least with the upper
classmen. There would be no association for the following year, it
being the policy at the Military Academy to keep the first-year men
separated from the second, third and fourth year classes. But though
there would be no mingling there would be more or less association
in camp with the third and fourth year men. The second class was on
furlough, there being but one during the four years’ course, coming at
the conclusion of the second year.
Divided into companies, according to the height of the men, Tom and his
friends were marched over to camp, where the white tents, in precise
rows, nestled under the shade of the maple trees near the banks of the
historic Hudson. The “plebes” had been looking toward it for some time
with longing eyes, but it was a place they were forbidden to approach
until sent there to spend part of the summer receiving instruction.
With brooms, buckets, bedding and personal property, the new
cadets tramped over the cavalry plain toward the rows of cool and
inviting-looking tents. Naturally the arrival of the “plebes” attracted
the attention of the upper classmen, who indulged in all manner of
good-natured gibes against the unfortunates. This went on until the
new lads were divided off into different companies.
As but two cadets would occupy the same tent Tom, Harry and Sam were to
be separated. But only one tent apart, they were glad to note. Tom and
Sam bunked together, while Harry went in with a lad named Chad Wilson,
from New Jersey, a lad to whom Tom and his chums had taken a great
liking.
“Well, now let’s get straightened out,” Tom suggested to Sam as they
piled their belongings on the floor of the tent. Some of the older
cadets kindly showed our friends how to sling their “stretchers,”
a canvas holder that hung from the ridge-pole of the tent. In this
stretcher is put clothing and everything that cannot be gotten in the
lockers that stand on the floor. The tent of Tom and Sam was soon in
proper and perfect shape for inspection.
“Say, they’re all right--those fellows!” exclaimed Sam, as the two
upper classmen left, having spent some time showing him and Tom how to
arrange their tent. “I like them.”
“Don’t let ’em know it,” advised Tom.
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll freeze to us and make us their ‘special duty’ men.
They probably will anyhow.”
“What’s ‘special duty’ men?” Sam wanted to know.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
And Sam did. A little later he and Tom were detailed to keep in order
the tent of the two third-year cadets who had showed them how to
arrange their bedding that first day. And for the remainder of that
camp the two “plebes” were obliged to do all sorts of services for the
upper classmen, from making contraband lemonade to going on errands and
writing their less important letters.
In exchange the protection of the upper-class cadets was thrown around
their special duty men. No other cadet was allowed to utilize their
services, nor even to haze them mildly. And Tom and Sam also were
given much friendly advice, help in their studies, and acquired some
cast-off, but very good, clothing that came in very handy for lads
whose spending money was limited.
So life at camp began, and it was a welcome change, in a way, from the
former system of drilling. Not that it was any easier, for the plebes
had much to learn. More than once did Tom fall under the stern eye
of Captain Hawkesbury who seemed to single our hero out for special
reproof.
One day when Tom was sent to the old army officer’s tent, he saw, on
a table amid a pile of other letters, one that bore the scrawling
signature of Aaron Doolittle. A puff of wind blew the epistle to the
floor, and Tom, who picked it up, could not help seeing part of one
sentence.
These words seemed fairly to stare out at him: “The Railroad Company
is not altogether satisfied about bridge land title. We’ll have to get
together on it soon.”
“Now what in the world can that mean?” thought Tom, as he placed the
letter back with the others. “If I could only get a good lawyer to take
up our case I might find there was something coming to my mother from
that land. But I guess it isn’t of much use. Poor mother! If Captain
Hawkesbury knows anything about any money due us he’s keeping it mighty
secret.”
But Tom’s speculations concerning the strange meaning of the sentence
in the letter were brought to an abrupt end, at least for the time
being, that same night.
There had been hard and gruelling drill, and a mild spirit of revolt
was abroad among some of the “plebes.” Word was passed around that
a lark was in prospect. Some of the boys were going to play a trick
on one or two of the sentries. Tom had a chance to go in on it but
refused, and he was glad, later, that he had stayed out.
For the lark was a fizzle. The sentries had been informed beforehand
about the trick, and nearly captured those who intended to take their
guns away from them. The officer of the day, the officer of the guard
and the sergeant came out on the alarm and a chase of the luckless
cadets resulted.
Tom was in his tent when Sam entered hurriedly, barely managing to slip
in past the sentinel in the Company street.
“Narrow squeak!” Sam murmured. “Mum’s the word, Tom, old man.”
“Sure!” Tom answered. In the next tent he could hear Harry and Chad
going in hurriedly, to undress and get into bed before a general
inspection was made.
And hardly had Sam pulled the clothes over him before one of the
sentries with a dark-lantern came in.
Sam gave an audible snore, and Tom followed his example.