TEXAS RAIDS WEST POINT.
The summer season is a gay one at West Point. During the winter cadet
life is a serious round of drill and duty, but after that comes a three
months' holiday, when cadets put on their best uniforms and welcome
mothers and sisters and other fellows' sisters to the post. There are
hops then, and full dress parades, and exhibition drills galore.
It was one of these drills that was going on that morning, perhaps of
all of them the most showy and interesting to the stranger. And the
mothers and sisters and other fellows' sisters were out in full force to
see it.
"Light artillery drill" is practice in the handling and firing of field
cannon. The cadets learn to handle heavy guns also, practicing with the
"siege and seacoast batteries" that front on the southern shore of the
Hudson. But the drill with the field pieces is held on the cavalry
plain, a broad, turfless field just south of the camp.
The field presented a pretty sight on that morning. It was surrounded
with a wall of trees, behind which, to the south, the somber gray stone
of barracks stood out, with the academy building, the chapel and the
library. To the north the white tents of the camp shone through the
trees and a little further to the left, the Battle Monument rose above
them and caught on its marble sides the glistening rays of the sun.
Beneath the trees all around the plain and crowding the steps of the
buildings, were scattered groups of spectators, the gay dresses of the
women helping to make a setting of color.
There was a jingling of harness, a rumbling of wheels, and a murmur of
excitement among the spectators as the cadet corps put in an appearance,
natty and handsome in their uniforms, the officers riding on horseback,
and the privates mounted on the cannon or the caissons. Platoon after
platoon they swept out upon the field; then formed in accordance with
the sharp commands of the officers; and in a few minutes more "artillery
drill" was under way.
It is rather an inspiring sight at times. There are over a dozen of the
cannon, with four horses each to draw them, and when the whole squadron
gets into motion at once, there is a thundering of hoofs and a cloud of
dust behind to mark the path. And then when they wheel, and aim and
fire, the roar of the discharge echoes among the hills and makes the
post seem very military and warlike indeed.
So thought the spectators as they sat and watched, too much interested
to have any eyes for what might happen elsewhere. But those who sat on
the southern edge of the plain, where the road from Highland Falls
emerged, were destined to witness a far more exciting incident than
that, an incident which was not down on the programme, and which the
tactical officers and the commandant of cadets, who stood by their
horses at one side, had not planned or prepared for.
The last discharge of the morning's drill was yet ringing in the
spectators' ears, and the sound barely had time to make its way down the
road, before it was answered and flung back by another volley that was
all the louder for its unexpectedness.
Bang! Bang!
The people turned and gazed in alarm. The cadet captain out upon the
field stopped in the very midst of a command and leaned forward in his
saddle to see; a sentry marching up the street forgot his orders and
wheeled about in surprise. There was the wildest kind of excitement in a
moment.
A horseman was racing up the road, galloping blindly ahead at full tilt.
He wore the uniform of a cadet, and his face was red with excitement. He
leaned forward over his horse, firing right and left into the air, while
from his throat proceeded a series of yells such as no one in that vast
crowd had ever heard before.
"Wow! Wow! Whoop!"
There was no time for exclamations from the spectators, no time for
questions or anything else. It was scarcely a second more before the
wild rider was upon them and he drove straight through the crowd with
the speed of an express train, neither he or his horse heeding any one.
The panic-stricken people fled in all directions, some of them barely
escaping the flying animal's hoofs. And in a moment more he was out on
the open plain, heading straight for the squadron.
"Wow! Wow!" yelled the rider. "Expel me, will ye? What ye got them guns
for, hey? Hold up yer hands! Whoop!"
Shouting thus at the top of his lungs, he was almost upon the cadets
when the frightened spectators heard another rattle of hoofs and another
rider burst through the open space in full pursuit. It was Mark, and he
was desperate then, galloping even more furiously than the cowboy in
front, for he knew that no one but he could ever stop Texas now.
The amazement and fright of the spectators cannot be pictured; nor the
anger of the officers who saw it all. These latter put spurs to their
horses and galloped out to the two; but Texas and Mark behind him had
already reached the dumfounded cadets.
Texas had emptied the two revolvers in his hands, and he raced yelling
across the plain. With a whoop he flung them at the nearest cadet, and
whipping two more from his belt, opened fire point-blank.
"Wow! Whoop!" he howled. "Expel me, will ye? Take that!"
Bang! Bang!
Half the horrified cadets turned to run; some dropped down behind the
cannon and the horses, when Texas fired there was not a man in sight.
Mark was almost upon him when the first bullet struck. It hit one of the
horses upon the flank, and tore a deep gash. The animal reared and
snorted with terror. His companions in harness took the alarm, and
almost at that same instant started on a wild dash across the field, the
four of them whirling the heavy cannon along as if it had been a toy.
A few yards ahead was the end of the field, and there, crowded in a
dense mass, people who had rushed to that side to avoid the Texan's
flying speed. And toward that surging, frightened mass the four horses
plunged with might and main.
It was a terrible moment. Those who saw the danger gasped, cried out in
horror, but those who stood in the path of the flying steeds were too
frightened to move. The move had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly. The
crowd stood huddled together; the crash came before they had time to
realize what was happening.
In the moment's excitement, the two horsemen had remained unnoticed.
Texas had seen the runaway, seen the crowd an instant later. Through his
confused and excited brain the consequences of his acts seemed to flash
with the sharpness of a thunderbolt. He had acted with the quickness of
a man who lives, knowing that at any moment he may be called upon to
"pull his gun," and defend his life. He had wheeled his horse about,
plunged his heels into the horse's sides, and at that moment was
sweeping around in a wild race for the leaders of the runaway four.
Quick as Texas was, Mark was a moment ahead of him. As he raced across
the plain toward his friend he had seen the horses start and swerve and
made for them, approaching from the opposite side to the Texan.
All this had happened in the snapping of a finger--the dash of the four,
and two racing from each side to head them off. And it was all over
before the imperiled crowd could turn to flee.
Texas was seen to leap out over his horse's head and seize the bridle of
one of the leaders as he fell. The crowd saw Mark's horse, dashing in
from the other side, barely a foot from the mass of the spectators,
crash into the Texan's flying steed. They saw the horse go down; they
saw Mark disappear. And then in the crush that followed he was lost to
sight beneath the plunging hoofs of the four.
There was a moment of blind confusion after that in which each one in
the crowd had time to think and see for himself alone. The spectators
were pushing wildly back before the onslaught of the approaching horses.
Several of the cadets and officers had sprung forward to seize the
horses' heads; Texas was clinging to the bridle with all his strength.
And Mark--Mark's was the greatest peril of all. He had fallen over his
horse's neck; he had seen the two leaders plunging toward him, stumbling
over the body of his own prostrate horse, crushing down upon him--and
then before his dazed eyes had swept a flying rein. He saw it, and
clutched at it, as a drowning man might do; raised himself upon it with
a mighty tug, and then a moment later was hurled far out over the plain,
as the horse he clung to, stopped in its rush, went down in a heap with
the cannon on top.
It was all over then. The spectators had been saved as by a miracle, the
barrier interposed by Mark's horse. And there was left a pale,
half-fainting lot of people crowded around a tangled mass of horses and
harness, with Texas clinging to one of the bridles, unconscious from a
wound in his head.
They loosened his deathlike grip, and laid him on the ground, while
Mark, having picked himself up in a more or less dazed condition,
burrowed frantically through the crowd to reach his side.
"Is he hurt? Is he hurt?" he cried.
The surgeon was at that moment bending over the Texan's body, where he
had hurried as soon as he saw the accident.
"It is only a scratch," he said, hastily. "He will get well."
And Mark breathed freely again; he turned pale, however, a moment later,
as he saw the doctor, catching the odor of the lad's breath, shake his
head and look serious.
"He knows! He knows!" Mark muttered to himself, "and it is all up with
poor Texas."
They carried the lad over to the hospital; and then West Point set to
work to get over its amazement and alarm as best it could.
They cleared up the wreck for one thing. Two of the horses had broken
their legs and had to be led off and shot. The rest trotted behind the
corps as it marched away--marched, for no amount of excitement could
interfere with West Point discipline. And then there was left down at
that end of the cavalry plain only a crowd of curious people, with a
scattering of army officers and plebes, all discussing excitedly the
amazing happenings of scarcely five minutes ago, and wondering what on
earth had taken possession of the two reckless cadets that had started
all the trouble.
They looked for Mark, but Mark had disappeared while the excitement was
at its height. He did not welcome the questions or the stares of the
curious. Moreover, he saw the superintendent, Colonel Harvey, excitedly
questioning several of the staff about the matter. Mark feared that the
superintendent might turn upon him any moment, and he wanted time to
think before that happened.
He dodged behind the library building, the Parson with him, and made his
way around to the now deserted camp. Once beneath its protection, the
two sat down and stared at each other in dismay. There was no need to
say anything, for each knew how the other felt. Texas was up the spout;
Mark was but little better off; and the universe was coming to an end.
That was all.
"Well," said Mark at last, "we're busted!"
And the Parson assented with a solemn "Yea, by Zeus!" and relapsed into
a glum silence again.
Neither of them felt called upon to say anything after that; neither
could think of the least thing to say. There wasn't a glimmering of
hope--they were simply "busted," and that was all there was to it.
There is a saying that in multitude of council there is safety. The tent
door was pushed aside a few minutes later and Indian's lugubrious,
tear-stained, horrified face peered in. Indian followed, and seated
himself in one corner, and then the tent relapsed into silence and
solemnity once more.
Three more disgruntled persons it would be hard to find, excepting
possibly the other three of the Banded Seven, who at the moment were
wandering disconsolately about the camp. The whole situation was so
unutterably amazing, dumfounding. Texas had often talked in his wild
Texas way about getting on a "rousing ole spree jest once," and of his
intention to "hold up" the cadet battalion some fine day just for a
joke; but nobody had ever taken him seriously. And now he had gone to
work and done it, and killed two horses, and Heaven only knew how many
people besides--for who could say what the crazy cowboy might not have
done down at Highland Falls? Why, it made his friends shiver to think of
the whole thing! But the situation only grew worse with the thinking;
and the three in the tent stared at one another in undiminished
consternation and despair.
"Well," muttered Mark a second time. "We're busted!"
And he had two to agree with him.
They would probably have sat there all morning if it had not been for a
small drum orderly outside--the drum orderly sounded the "call to
quarters," and a few minutes later the plebes were lined up in the
company street, muskets in hand, for drill. And it did not take a very
sharp eye to notice that every man in the class was staring curiously at
Mark Mallory, the plebe who but a few minutes before had been riding
across the parade ground in an attempt to put a whole artillery squadron
to flight, and that, too, under the superintendent's very nose.
"I wonder if he's crazy?" muttered one.
"Or drunk?" suggested another, laughing. "Oh, say, but I'd hate to be in
his place!"
Which last sentiment was held unanimously by the class, and by the rest
of the corps, too, as they scattered to their tents. A storm was going
to break over Mallory's head in a very, very short while, the cadets
predicted.
The prediction proved to be true. One of the cadet officers had barely
managed to run over the list of names at roll call before an orderly
raced into camp and handed him a message. He read it, and then he read
it again, aloud:
"Cadet Mallory will report to the superintendent at once."
And a moment later, while a murmur of excitement ran down the line, Mark
stepped out and hurried away down the street.
"The storm breaks now in just about five minutes," thought the corps.