IN THE HANDS OF THE YEARLING HAZERS
Under the hard grilling of cadet corporal Spurlock, Bert Dodge
actually made a lot of progress within the next few days.
Dodge learned that, whenever addressing an officer, whether that
officer were a cadet officer, or one of the Regular Army officers
stationed at the Academy as instructors, he must add "sir" to every
communication. He also learned that he must not address any
superior officer unless first addressed by him.
Bert also picked up rapidly the knowledge that he was no better
than anyone else, and of not a thousandth part of the importance of
any upper class man.
Much of this the young man picked up from his new roommate,
Tom Anstey, a soft-eyed, soft-voiced, helpful and sunny young
man from Virginia. Anstey was one of the best-liked men in his
class, but the new plebes at first held almost aloof from Dodge.
"Whatever you do," urged Anstey, "don't make the mistake of
trying to cultivate the acquaintance of any of the upper class men."
"I've encountered two already," muttered Bert.
"Oh!" and Anstey smiled wonderingly.
"Pratt and Judson, of the yearlings," Dodge continued, then related
what had happened in the room of Cadets Prescott and Holmes.
"I guess you're going to be in for it, presently, Dodge," nodded
Cadet Anstey. "Mr. Pratt and Mr. Judson are known as two
terrors."
"They don't want to try to pass any of their terror on to me,"
growled Bert.
Whereupon Mr. Anstey took his roommate in hand, gently and
genially, and tried to make that new cadet--for Bert had passed his
academic exams. without even a hint of trouble--understand how
worse than foolish it would be to attempt to antagonize the upper
class men.
"You come from the same place that Prescott and Holmes do, don't
you?" asked Anstey, one afternoon, as the roommates rested from
study.
"I'm glad to say I don't," replied Bert, almost brusquely.
"Oh!" nodded Anstey.
"I suppose we've got to be comrades, now, but I don't like that pair
an over-lot," Bert explained.
"Odd! Most of the new plebes like Prescott and Holmes all the way
up, and then all the way down again," murmured Anstey seriously.
"For myself, I don't know any two fellows in the new lot
that I like better."
"Oh, I guess they're all right in a good many ways," admitted Bert
slowly. "Only we never managed to hitch--that's all. You asked me
if I came from the same place. I used to live in Gridley, but
I--er--well, I went away to Fordham to another school. My father had
a summer place in Fordham, and he took up his voting residence in
Fordham, though spending a good part of his winters in Gridley.
That's how I'm credited to Fordham, not Gridley."
"Thank you for telling me," nodded Anstey. "I had just been
wondering if it were not crowding things a bit to send three young
men all from Gridley."
"I'm not only not from Gridley, but I came in as an alternate,
anyway."
"How are you getting on with Corporal Spurlock?" asked Anstey.
"That fellow? Oh, hang him! Spurlock drives me wild. I came
within a hair's breadth of applying to the commandant of cadets for
a new instructor in drill. Only you told me that no heed would be
paid to such a request from a new plebe."
"I should rather say not," grinned Anstey. "However, you'll be
through the prelim. grind soon, and then you'll be admitted to a
company in the battalion."
"I'm fitted for it now," growled Bert.
"You won't get into a company, though, until Corporal Spurlock
reports you as fitted."
"That fellow is the most rascally tyrant I ever saw anywhere,"
growled Bert, picking up a text-book on mathematics.
By this time the season of outdoor drills and daily dress parade had
arrived. This particular afternoon, however, in the latter part of
March, a heavy, blinding snowstorm had come along. Cadets were
nearly all in barracks, therefore, and those who had the most need
were studying hard.
"I've boned math., boned French, boned English," muttered Anstey,
at last. "Now, I think I'll go over and bone Prescott and Holmes.
Feel like going along with me!"
Bert frowned somewhat. He didn't care to "approve" of the two
Gridley boys too much. But it was so deadly dull in this room that
Dodge didn't care to be left alone, either.
"Oh, I'll go," nodded Dodge, closing a book with a snap and rising.
"But I'd like it even better if you had some one else in mind to
visit."
"You see," almost apologized Anstey, "I want to see Prescott and
Holmes particularly because I've been talking over football with
them, and they've been telling me a lot about their high school
eleven that was right smart and interesting."
Bert said no more. If his ancient foes were going to tell Anstey
about the old football days back in Gridley, then Bert feared they
might be tempted to tell a lot that would bring up his unpopular
share in those spirited old days.
"But Prescott and his shadow won't dare to say anything against me
if I'm sitting right there in the room," muttered Bert to himself.
So he and Anstey presented themselves at Dick and Greg's door.
Bert was almost amazed to find himself pleasantly greeted, but
Dick and Greg were true to their decision to bury the hatchet of the
past if possible.
It was nearly time to light the gas. In the fading light Anstey
walked over to a window, watching the snow swirl down into the
area outside. At West Point the snowstorms are famous for their
severity.
"Hang it!" growled Anstey. "I don't suppose you can ever make a
Virginian like myself grow to like this beastly winter weather. And
I miss the drills and dress parade. Don't you?"
"Yes," nodded Dick. "I miss everything of an outdoor nature, when
it is withheld from me."
"Oh, if you're missing outdoors just now, you might go out and
keep on, within cadet limits, until you've tramped five miles,"
grinned the cadet from Virginia.
"If some of the upper class men found that we liked to be out in a
snowstorm, I'm afraid they'd make us stand on our heads in a
drift," laughed Cadet Holmes.
"Speaking of that," continued Anstey, wheeling about, "have any
of you fellows run into real hazing as yet?"
"Not I," replied Prescott, with a shake of his head.
"Nor I," added Greg.
"It's a shame that we should be expected to put up with any such
nonsense," growled Cadet Dodge belligerently. "Who are the
yearlings that they should feel at liberty to rub our noses in the
mud! We plebes ought to combine to put a stop to this outrage.
Now, I'd like to see any smart year--"
"Eh!" called a voice, cheerily, as the door was thrust open.
Yearling cadets Pratt and Judson stepped into the room.
Instantly three of the plebes present rose and stood at attention.
Bert Dodge didn't.
"What has got into your sense of military manners, mister!"
demanded Cadet Pratt, transfixing Bert with a haughty stare.
"What's wrong with my manners!" demanded Cadet Dodge.
"What's that!" cried Pratt.
"What's wrong with my manners!" repeated Dodge, though a bit
more tractably.
"What?"
"What is wrong with my manners, sir!" Bert amended.
"That's just a shade better, mister," admitted Yearling Pratt. "But
you are too sparing of your 'sirs,' mister. Now, answer me again,
and use 'sir' after each word."
Plebe Dodge gulped hard, but Pratt and Judson were glaring at
him. So he began:
"What, sir, is, sir, wrong, sir, with, sir, my, sir, manners, sir!"
"Mister, why didn't you stand at attention when we entered the
room!"
"Because you're not--"
"What!" exploded Yearling Judson.
"Because, sir, you're, sir, not, sir, my, sir, superior, sir,
officers, sir."
"Are we yearlings!"
"Yes, sir."
"And what are you!" demanded Cadet Judson, with infinite
contempt.
"Only, sir, a, sir, plebe, sir."
"Mangy, unkempt, uncouth and offensive, are you not!"
Bert flared and swallowed hard, but he responded, very meekly:
"Yes, Sir."
"You're--what?"
"A, sir, mangy, sir, unkempt, sir, uncouth, sir, and, sir, offensive,
sir, plebe, sir."
"Very true," nodded Mr. Pratt. "But, at least, mister, you have
learned how to answer a yearling or any other superior, haven't
you!"
"Yes, sir," Bert meekly assented.
"But there's one thing the poor beast doesn't know how to do yet,"
observed Mr. Judson, turning to his classmate. "He doesn't
understand how to stand at attention when he is honored by a
yearling's visit."
"Teach him--if you find that he's intelligent enough," advised
Yearling Pratt.
"Turn down that mattress, mister," commanded Mr. Judson,
pointing to Dick Prescott's iron cot.
Bert made the mistake of looking first at Cadet Prescott for
permission.
"Now, mister, what makes you hesitate!" fumed Mr. Judson.
"It isn't my cot, sir," replied Dodge.
"What?"
"It, sir, is, sir, not, sir, my, sir, cot, sir."
"That has nothing to do with your orders. Turn down that
mattress!"
Bert obeyed with great alacrity.
"Now, then, mister," ordered Yearling Judson, "get up on that
mattress, and stand at attention upside down!"
It took Bert Dodge a few precious seconds to understand the full
nature of the ignominious thing he had to do.
This was neither more nor less than to stand on his head on the
mattress. He could rest his hands beside his head, at the outset,
bracing his feet against the wall. So far it was not difficult. But--
"Don't you know the position of attention, mister!" demanded
Cadet Pratt, with feigned anger. "Your hands should hang naturally
at your sides, the little finger touching the seam of the trousers."
Now, in this inverted position the hands "hung" anything but
"naturally" at the sides. In fact, Bert had to hold his hands up in the
air in order to have the little fingers touch the seams of the
trousers.
Standing on his head, in this fashion, without support, was
something that taxed all of Mr. Dodge's athletic powers. He had to
try over again, more than a half a dozen times, ere he achieved a
decent performance of this gymnastic feat.
"Now, let us see how good a soldier you are, mister," commanded
Yearling Pratt, turning around upon Plebe Anstey.
Anstey's cheeks were just a bit pale, from suppressed anger, but he
speedily mastered this novel way of standing at attention, and did
it to the satisfaction of the hazers.
Then Dick and Greg did it, and rather better than either of their
predecessors. The old gym. and field work of training for the
Gridley High School teams had hardened their muscles in a way
that stood them in good stead now.
"Brace, mister!" commanded Yearling Judson, focusing his gaze
on smarting Bert Dodge.
Bert knew what that meant, from hearsay, and didn't pretend that
he didn't. This time he took the position of attention on his feet,
and then exaggerated the position by throwing his head and
shoulders as far back as he could, standing rigidly in this latter
position.
It isn't much of a thing to do, as far as taking the attitude goes. It
is the length of time a plebe is kept at a "brace" that makes it count
as an effective form of hazing. "Bracing" is generations old at
West Point. The theory of upper class men has always been that
bracing, long continued, fastens the principles of erect carriage
upon a plebe, and teaches him, more quickly than anything else
could, how to hold himself and to walk.
Dick, Greg and Anstey were likewise soon straining themselves in
the "brace" attitude. And mighty funny these four hapless plebes
looked as they stood thus, wondering when the hazers would let up
on them. But Yearlings Pratt and Judson looked on grimly,
warning any plebe as often as the offender showed a disposition to
lessen the severity of his "brace."
How everyone of the four ached can be determined by the reader if
he will take the full position of the brace, and hold it steadily for
ten or fifteen minutes by a friend's watch.
Dodge began to wobble at last. Anstey was sticking it out pluckily,
but knew his endurance must soon give out. Dick and Greg felt
their back muscles and nerves throbbing. Yet neither Judson nor
Pratt showed any intention of giving the command to stop.
Suddenly a quick step was heard in the hallway outside.
Anyone who has been at the Military Academy as long as had Pratt
and Judson knew the meaning of that particular, swift step.
One of the "tacs.," as the tactical officers are called, was making
an unscheduled tour of inspection. For an upper class man to be
caught hazing, or for a plebe to be caught submitting, was equally
dangerous to either yearling or plebe! It might mean dismissal.