CHAPTER VIBENDING THE TWIG

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.

“Youman, there, slouching across the Area! What’s your name?”

The person addressed, a short fat chap, looks up over his big round tortoise-shell glasses, with unfeigned interest, but stands mute, apparently fascinated by the immaculate white trousers and the military bearing of the speaker.

“Do you hear me talking to you? What’s your name? Take your slimy eyes off me and look to the front!” sternly commands young Mars, coming a few steps nearer. The new arrival looks blank and tries to digest all of the orders at once.

“You other man in the green necktie, come here!” shouts this cadet officer as he catches sight of a tall lanky civilian in a Hart, Schaffner, Marx suit, long flat tan shoes, and a flaming green necktie, who has just sauntered through the sally-port.

“You man, there, do you hear me talking to you? Step out!”

The Green Necktie smilingly approaches thecadet officer, deposits his dress suitcase on the ground, and mops his brow.

“How do you do?” he cordially remarks, “my name is Jinks. ”

The cadet officer glares.

“Your name isMr.Jinks,SIR,” he shouts. “Mr.Jinks, you get that!”

“And you too, Mr. Dumbguard,” turning to the chap with the Harvard spectacles, “don’t you forget to put aSiron the end of your name. Who do you think you are around here? Stand up, both of you. Turn down the cuffs on your trousers, button up your coats, take off all of those badges and scarfpins and stick them in your pocket. What do you think this place is? a school for dudes? Put your hats on straight!”

Command follows command with machine-gun rapidity. The green necktie is almost smothered from view as the candidate buttons his coat, and reluctantly the cuffs on the trousers are turned down.

“Pick up those suitcases and follow me.”

“And so this is an introduction to West Point,” ruminates the Harvard spectacles, “strikes me this chap is somewhat brusque. I wonder where all the other fellows are!”

Meanwhile over in front of the Administration Building is a large group of candidates just reporting. Some are laughing and joking, others remain silent, plunged in thought, wondering why they feel so strangely. About the same impression fillseach one’s mind. Underneath those parti-colored striped shirts each heart is thumping just a little faster than usual. The delay in reporting seems interminable. With thoughts of all sorts racing through their heads, they await their reception, or their “breaking in” with fearful interest.

Photo White Studio“Beast Barracks”—Drawing Mattresses

Photo White Studio

“Beast Barracks”—Drawing Mattresses

Some few have been to West Point before, but the large majority have never been so fortunate. They know it only byCadet Days, General King’s entertaining book of cadet life, or byThe Spirit of Old West Point, General Morris Schaff’s charming reminiscent book of life in the Corps, about the time of the Civil War, or by romantic stories gathered here and there.

No words that I know of seem as magical as “West Point.” To the candidate it conjures a vision of all that he hopes to be. The honor of being a cadet, the privilege of wearing the uniform, the immense possibilities of physical and mental achievement, the soul-satisfying fear of an ambition about to be realized, the glamour of military life, and, it must be admitted, a secret feeling of righteous superiority over his boy friends at home,—all these thoughts crowd his imagination so that for once he sees frozen the vague ideal that he always has had of himself.

I am sure that Gawain’s first impressions of King Arthur’s court were dim in comparison with the dazzling visions of West Point that fill the candidate’s mind. For months, in some cases for years, he has striven for an appointment. Allof his interests and hopes have been centered upon becoming a cadet. He has read all the literature about the place, he has gone to sleep many a night living over in imagination his career. At last the day comes when he sets forth on the road of his great ambition. He can hardly believe that he is actually on the way to West Point! What enchanting pictures crowd his imagination and beguile the journey! In his mind’s eye he is arriving; he sees himself in uniform, he wonders how he will like the life: one moment he is troubled by the probability of failure, the next, he spans the years in thought and is back home again on furlough, and he thrills with pride and pleasure at the prospect of greeting his old comrades after an absence of two years. How delightful it is to build castles in Spain! His imagination runs on and on; he promises himself to study hard, he wants his family to be proud of his record; he hopes to be a cadet officer. In his reverie he graduates and joins the Army, his ambition realized. All a-tingle with excitement he eagerly awaits the arrival at West Point.

When, however, the great gray buildings loom up as the day-line boat approaches the wharf, his buoyancy begins to ebb, his exhilaration cools under a mental Texas Norther, and the joy of anticipation so recently experienced receives a chill that causes him to gaze around uneasily and forlornly. He feels a little sad and melancholy. Thoughts of home sweep over him.

Photo White StudioReporting for Duty

Photo White Studio

Reporting for Duty

There is, however, about certain fellow passengers, lean lank youths like himself, something responsive, something about their hats, something about the unnatural droop of the shoulders, the new suitcases, the same fearful look that draws him to their side. “Are you a candidate, too?” he asks hopefully. An answer is unnecessary. Instinct again has won, and the flood-gates of friendship are unreservedly opened to the newly made companion about to enter the Land of Egypt and the House of Bondage. We are timid creatures all of us, and even the strongest suffer a twinge of timidity, a queer feeling in the seat of compassion, when about to penetrate the mystery surrounding an unknown life. At such a moment we all want to be little children, to have someone take us under shelter. We would like to run away from ugly, grim Reality that relentlessly blocks our way and with whom we must battle before we can go forward.

A sort of vague terror pervades the candidate as he climbs the hill from the station to the Adjutant’s office where he must report, but he grasps his suitcase and sets forth for the Headquarters Building where his directions tell him to report upon his arrival. If he is ahead of time he goes to the hotel where he finds a great many candidates, some of whom have been at the Point several days trying to absorb some impressions before reporting. Here friends are quickly made. On the day that they are all ordered to report, when they feelthat they are about to bid farewell to their civilian freedom, they reluctantly set out for Headquarters. Unwilling though they may be to report, few ever in after life regret having entered the Academy.

The Rubicon once passed, however, no time is lost in the administrative routine of receiving the raw material. After reporting to the Adjutant, the new cadet is turned over to an orderly who directs him to the office of the Treasurer. No general officer in full uniform, one month later, could create in the candidate’s mind the same impression of the finished military product as does this first sight of asimple soldatat the Treasurer’s. The new cadet is directed to deposit all the money that he has in his possession. Each new cadet is supposed to deposit one hundred and sixty dollars upon entrance to cover an initial cost of equipment, which amount is credited to the cadet’s account, together with any surplus change that he has at the time of admission. Although the Regulations require this initial deposit of one hundred and sixty dollars, the requirement is not absolutely obligatory, so that if any boy receives an appointment he should not be deterred from accepting on account of the financial stipulation. He should come at all events. The first equipment will be issued, and with economy he can later on wipe out the debt. If a boy’s parents are poor, it would be foolish for them to make a great effort to raise this money. Let theboy come and assume the responsibility of the debt, and let the onus of it rest upon his more youthful shoulders which will very soon broaden to bear it. One by one the men pass the little wicket window of the Treasurer and deposit all their money. Pockets are emptied of all cash and checks, which are credited to the cadet’s account. When eight, ten, or twelve candidates have been admitted, the young officer present forms them into a pseudo squad, or rather group, then calls an orderly of the Regular Army.

“Show these young gentlemen over to the Area of Barracks to the office of the Officer in Charge of New Cadets.”

The orderly comes briskly to attention, his smart salute captivating the assorted collection of “Prides of Congressional Districts.” They promptly follow his leadership, out of the postern gate of Headquarters, across the road to the Area of Barracks, reveling in the clouds of glory that, in their eyes, he trails behind him. They are now quite happy, fully launched upon their military careers.

The feeling of elation at being at last within the sacred halls of the Academy begins to intoxicate the new cadet, when, upon the way over to the barracks, he notices a few stray passersby stop, look at the queer squad, and then smile slowly, almost insinuatingly, as if amused. It is an irritating smile. He sees the orderly smile too. Something has surely gone wrong. His heartgoes down, down, down, and he soon feels as if someone had thrown about him a cloak of lead. But on the squad goes. He tries to shake off his heavy feeling, but it is no use. Many days elapse before the heavy mantle is cast aside. He is sure that something dreadful is about to happen. But stay, what is all this disturbance in the Area? Running back and forth between a sally-port and a barracks are a lot of bareheaded individuals, some in military shirt and cit trousers, others in lovely pink striped shirts and gray cadet trousers. They appear very uncomfortable. Several well set-up young cadets are at their heels giving them instructions in stern tones.

“Say, soldier, who are those men?” inquires one bold candidate.

“Those men are your new classmates,” explains the orderly.

Just then a lieutenant comes forward; the orderly turns over his charges and the men of the squad take their places in line with many other candidates who are awaiting their turn to report to the Officer in Charge. No sooner have they placed their grips on the ground, and begun to take life easy while waiting, than a flock of yearling corporals emerge from the Guardhouse.

“Stand up all along this line!” commands one.

“Hold up your heads, and drag in your chins,” shouts another, as he goes down the line giving each new cadet a little personal attention.

“Mr. Dumbguard, put that hat on straight.”

Photo White StudioTwo Hours after Reporting

Photo White Studio

Two Hours after Reporting

All hats are at once adjusted. The whole line assumes an extraordinary appearance of rigidity. The heat becomes more intense. Large drops, globules of perspiration, roll off the crimson faces whose features have assumed a permanent set, depicting grief. Slowly the line advances. More cadet officers appear, giving each candidate the number of his room in barracks.

“Mr. Ducrot, your room is 1223, step out and find it, put your baggage there and report back here immediately.”

Mr. Ducrot, whose intellect has become somewhat clouded by all of the events and instructions that he has received in the last ten minutes, hurries off in the direction of the twelfth division.

The instruction of new cadets is under an officer of the Tactical Department. In his work he has both officer and cadet assistants.

In order that the cadets themselves might have experience in breaking in new men, cadets of the First (or senior) class are detailed as assistant instructors. They drill the new cadets in the school of the soldier and of the squad. They give him individual instruction in the care of his room, his correspondence, and in the use and care of his equipment and his personal hygiene. It is highly desirable that the new cadet should feel the influence of the older cadet. I shall never forget my first impressions of my cadet instructors. I thought that I had never seen such immaculatehuman beings in my life. With their straight backs, their lean faces, piercing eyes that stared coldly almost contemptuously at me, I was sure that they were all English generals imported direct from the Boer War. I didn’t know that white duck trousers could be so white, nor brass buckles so shiny. I was then sure that I had an incapacity for military life, that I would never attain such a degree of excellence, and I inwardly withered before their glory.

Meanwhile, Mr. Ducrot and his fellow candidates, having found their rooms in barracks, are approaching the Guardhouse at a dead run upon the insistence of a cadet corporal. Once again they stand in front of their instructors who glare at them like Men of Wrath.

“Fall in,” commands the fiercest looking one.

A shuffling of feet, indefinite movements as if to do something, a few emphatic remarks by a corporal, and a semblance of a line is formed. Two Messrs. Ducrot ignore the suggestion of the Wrathful One, until a fresh-faced lieutenant almost pulls them into line.

The squad is now herded over to the Cadet Store to have issued the initial uniform, consisting of a gray shirt, campaign hat, cap, and gray flannel trousers.

In less than half an hour a complete metamorphosis takes place. The heterogeneous crowd of candidates that entered the store has lost theappearance of a bargain counter on sale day. By no means, however, have they gained a military aspect: all that can be said is that they are harmoniously clothed. It takes time to learn to wear a uniform properly, and nothing is funnier than a new cadet in his first outfit. These garments have been made up in stock sizes so that an issue can be made at once. The fit is fairly good, except the blouses. A plebe, however, soon appreciates a loose blouse. When the cadet instructors command:

“Mr. Dumbguard, get those shoulders back. More yet! More yet!” a number of wrinkles appear in the back of the blouse. The looser therefore it is, the less effort is necessary to produce many wrinkles, and therefore, the task of appeasing the Man of Wrath easier.

The first day’s work goes on rapidly. As soon as the new uniforms are donned, once again to the Cadet Store go the new cadets to draw their room equipment.

“New cadets, turn out promptly!” command the cadet instructors in the lower hall of each division. Down the iron steps hurriedly come running the novitiates, and line up in the Area. At the Cadet Store, each man is issued his mattress, pillows, and bedding. A long procession of young Atlases, sweating like horses, stagger through the sally-port, bearing aloft everything necessary for sleeping, except the bed. A few zealous ones addto the burden a bucket, perhaps a dipper rattling inside, and a broom that sways recklessly on the top of the mattress. Concealed somewhere in the mass is a bottle of indelible ink that is sure to drop before the room is reached. Standing in the Area are a few of the Wrathful tribe ever on the alert to see that no loitering occurs.

“Take up a double time, Mr. Ducrot, step out!”

Poor Mr. Ducrot, this time about five feet four inches tall, whose view has been obscured by the side of a mattress, attempts to be more of a hustler, stubs his toe, and down come pillows, mattress, bucket, and all.

“Well, Mr. Ducrot, you’re a pretty mess, you’re about the grossest plebe I ever saw!” consoles one sarcastic Arch-Fiend.

“What do you think you’re trying to celebrate out here, Mr. Dumbguard,” cuts in another, “do you think you’re going to take a nap?”

The senior cadet officer comes forward:

“What’s the trouble?” he inquires.

Mr. Ducrot (after remembering to raise his hand in imitation of a salute) speaks up from the midst of his debâcle:

“I was ...”

“Sir! Sir!” commands the officer.

“Sir,” recommences Mr. Ducrot, “I was coming through the sally-port when——”

Further details of this domestic tragedy are cut short by the roll of a drum.

“Pick up that stuff and get ready for dinner.”

“Step out! Step out!” orders the cadet officer.

Dinner! Dinner! Beloved dinner! the thought fills Mr. Ducrot with ecstasy. Here it is twelve-thirty and he has been at it since 5:30. It seems three years.

At dinner formation, “Mr. Ducrot, Mr. Dumbguard and Co.” learn how to “brace,” a term used to denote the position of the shoulders well down and back, with the head erect and chin in, hands close to the side. The companies are marched, after a fashion, to the Mess Hall. The cadet instructors accompany the new cadets continually commanding:

“Mr. Duflickit, drag in that chin!” “Hold your head up, No. 2, 1st squad!”

Once in the Mess Hall, the new cadet is allowed to eat all he wishes without interference. At the meal, however, he must comply with the instructions for the position of a cadet at table in the Mess Hall.

This position shall be wholly without constraint. While eating the body shall be erect on the hips, inclining slightly forward, elbows off the table. When not eating he will sit at ease in his chair, erect or leaning back as he desires. His forearms may be kept in his lap, or his hand or hands may rest easily upon the table. At no time in the Mess Hall shall he tilt his chair back or elevate his feet, or turn his chair away from the table. Whenever a cadet is spoken to in the Mess Hall, he will look at the person speaking to him.

But who cares, this first meal, about the position at table? Nothing matters except to satisfy that ravenous appetite!

Dinner over, the tragedy of the afternoon is enacted. West Point pays no attention to the style of hair cutting preferred by the aspirant for military honors. All cadets must be shorn alike. The new cadets are consequently marched to the barber shop wherefrom a long line of shaggy headed plebes protrudes like some serpent caught in a noose. What a sight is that barber shop! Hair everywhere: black hair, red hair, yellow hair, and some that resembles sun-burnt vanilla. Thick wavy locks, the despair of some distant damsel, drop dejectedly one by one. The hair must be kept short at all times so that it is impossible to distinguish at West Point cadets with histrionic leanings, or those poetically and musically inclined.

No rest yet in sight, this busiest of days. First the rooms must be arranged strictly according to the Regulations—a place for everything and everything in its place. Dozens of times are the belts piled, only to be pulled down and thrown on the floor by the Wrathful Tribe detailed to see that the task is correctly done. The bedding suffers the same ignominious treatment, for the slightest irregularity in arrangement is met with severe punishment. It seems hard and discouraging, but, later on, the reason for such strict compliance with orders appears. Only by constantrepetition do new cadets learn to do a thing thoroughly.

The Interior of a Cadet’s Room in Barracks

Tired out in body and brain, Mr. Ducrot sits on the edge of his bed for a moment’s rest, when:

“New cadets turn out promptly!” echoes through the hall of the Division. Not a moment is lost in complying with this command.

He rushes down the stairs in a bewildered sort of way wondering what calamity is about to befall.

“Hurry up, Mr. Dumbguard, what do you mean by coming out here late?” greets his appearance upon the stoop of the barracks. From all the divisions new cadets are scampering to their places in ranks along the cement walk.

But who are the grave-looking officials in blue uniforms? The question is not long unanswered. The new cadets are lined up along three sides of a square. The National colors and the Corps colors are brought to the center. The Notary Public, in the presence of the Superintendent and his staff, reads the oath of allegiance to the assembled new body, who with right hands raised toward Heaven, swear their fealty to the United States. The ceremony is simple, but to the plebe tremendously impressive. When he agrees to give four years’ service to the Government after graduation, he feels as if he is signing away his life.

There is no cloud without its silver lining. To Mr. Ducrot’s great joy, the chief Man of Wrath commands:

“New cadets will immediately take a bath.”

For the first time since reporting he enjoys a little relaxation, splashing around under the showers, where occur stolen confidences when the instructors are busy elsewhere. A refreshed feeling creeps over Mr. Ducrot and he double times back to his room to await the inspection of his shoes and feet. Pretty soon, in pops the officer in charge with tapes and foot sticks for taking the measure of shoes. Alas, no pointed toes or English lasts are allowed:—all cadets must wear a sensible military shoe. Regularly, are Mr. Ducrot’s feet inspected during his first few weeks to remedy ill-fitting shoes and prevent cases of soreness.

Years ago in the days of hazing, a vastly different sort of inspection of feet occurred. This was an unofficial inspection of the plebe’s feet by upper-classmen. In the middle of the night when the tired plebe was snoring away, dreaming of being late to a formation and pursued by raging demons, he was suddenly awakened by a hollow voice in his tent, commanding:

“Inspec-shun! Feet,” the “feet” said crisply and emphatically.

Without delay Mr. Ducrot sticks his bare feet out for the inspection of the midnight prowler. He then, by order, opens his toes into the intervals of which the gloating upper-classman poured melted candle grease, thereby ending the inspection.

At eight-thirty in the evening, Mr. Ducrot, wearily but joyfully, makes down his bed that has remained folded all day long. At last, he is to have a rest, blessed sleep is in sight.

At nine o’clock the orderly in front of the Guardhouse beats three taps on his drum and simultaneously the cry:

“Lights out!” echoes through the halls of the divisions. Immediately the barracks are plunged into darkness and silence. Only the tread of the cadet officer doing his half-hour patrol in the Area, disturbs the stillness of the night.

Mr. Ducrot sinks back upon his pillow, dead tired, almost too tired to sleep, and strives to bring a little order out of the chaos of his mind. The oft-repeated names Ducrot, Dumbjohn, Duflicket, Dumbguard float through his head, indescribably confused with mattresses, pillows, stern-looking cadet officers, vicious yearling corporals, rows of red-faced plebes, chins drawn way in, and the perspiration streaming down their faces. The events of the day are hopelessly jumbled in his mind. A feeling almost of failure creeps over him, and in the solitude of the night a yearning for his home seizes him. All through his breast spasmodic sharp pains play hide and seek. The great loneliness to which men are prey, fills him with sadness and melancholy until a pleasing drowsiness drifts along and smothers Mr. Ducrot into unconsciousness.

This period of training of the new cadet is familiarly called “Beast Barracks.” It lasts for about three weeks, at the end of which these new men are sent to camp to join the Battalions. It is necessary to segregate them for at least this length of time: otherwise they would be so wooden that they would be sticking their front rank files in the head with a bayonet.

It is not difficult to discern the origin of the name “Beast Barracks.” In the cadets’ mind, their breaking in is only comparable to the taming of some wild animals. The training is undeniably severe for a tenderfoot, but its “beastly” character is an imaginary creation. To the new man, however, it seems awfully real. I well remember my own feelings. When I was standing in the fierce sun, “bracing” in ranks along the cement walk of the Area, occasionally a white dog upon the hill opposite would come lazily snooping around the ash cans: I envied him his freedom. It seemed to me that I envied everyone except my classmates in misery. In my imagination I saw in flaming letters above every door I entered: “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”

As I was re-christened Mr. Ducrot, I began to think I was someone else, I felt as if I must have died and that this was my second tour on earth, a punishment for a wicked first life.

“There must be some way of getting out of this,” I reflected, but then, I thought that if the officers and cadets in charge of me had gonethrough with this training I could also. And I did,—Alleluiah!

Moving from Barracks to Camp

It was a long time, too, before I found out how all of us came to be addressed as Mr. Ducrot. During the academic year when I began to study French I made his acquaintance. He appeared in Keetel’s French Grammar, in the exercises of which the older cadets had uncovered a mysterious scandal concerning his private life. All plebes were at once required to relate to the upper-classmen the following bit of gossip, known as the famous Ducrot scandal. 1. Monsieur Ducrot a un fils etune fille. 2. Madame Ducrot a un fils etdeux filles.Scandal.The name became traditional in the Corps and was, with many others, applied indiscriminately to all plebes.

Early the next morning, Mr. Ducrot, whom we left sleeping, attends his first reveille. Although the drums do not begin to play until five-twenty, he steals out of bed long before and conscientiously sweeps, dusts, shaves, and dresses, for fear of not being on time for the formation. Boom! sounds the morning gun! Down the iron steps all the Mr. Ducrots noisily clatter, bolt out to the cement walk where they remain rigidly at attention for ten minutes until the cadet officers emerge half awake and disagreeable. Woe unto the sleepy-headed plebe who is late! As he peeks his head out of the Division door a couple of the Wrathful meet him and convoy him at top speed to his place in ranks. I was once late: I shall neverforget the experience. When my “Boer War Generals” were chasing me I was seized with the same terror that a child has in dreaming of being pursued by a burly policeman and unable to run.

At 5:50 the cadet instructors make a cursory inspection of the rooms to see that they are in order before breakfast. Before entering they knock sharply on the door, an authoritative knock, but one flavored with a little bravado. Two immovable, gray-clad figures, with eyes glassily fixed on the wall in front of them, chins caressing their Adam’s apple, shoulders way back, stand near the fireplace, looking for all the world like a couple of spoiled children about to cry, while the inspector rubs his white gloves over the tables and chairs.

Upon the second day commences the instruction of the new cadet in the elementary drills.

During the first few weeks the following schedule is carried out:

Each day the course of instruction is definitely prescribed by the officer in charge. At the first drill the new cadets are taught the school of the soldier, the marchings, haltings, facings, andsaluting. These exercises are given without rifles. Usually the second drill is given under arms. As the service rifle weighs nine pounds, it is desirable to accustom gradually these young lads to its weight. To one unaccustomed to carrying a rifle, it seems, after a short while, to bore into your shoulder. Any officer who has ever been a cadet will never require an enlisted man to carry his rifle too long, until fatigued. His own experience in “Beast Barracks” remains too vivid.

The instruction is progressive, so that the cadets are gradually assembled into squads, the squads into platoons, the platoons into companies. Naturally, some men improve faster than others. Those whose intellects seem befogged by the complexities of the drills are formed into what is known as the “Awkward Squad” whence, as they progress, they are transferred. Last year one bright cadet instructor thought of a practical joke to inspire the new cadets to do their very best. It seems that the schedule of drills included a “sightseeing tour” around the Post, in order to familiarize the new cadets with their surroundings. The plebes were told that only the most efficient would go on this tour. Consequently great efforts were made by members of the awkward squad to increase their military efficiency. As the instructors knew and the plebes later discovered the “sightseeing trip” was anything but a treat. It was made on a broiling hot summer’s afternoon at a rapid walk, and not after the fashion of theMetropolitan rubberneck wagons. Objects of interest were pointed out in the most military manner: 1. Eyes Right; 2. Hudson River; 3. Front, or, 1. Eyes Left; 2. Battle Monument; 3. Front!

Sandwiched between the infantry morning drill are the physical exercises. This name will make the plebes laugh, for all drills are physical exercises, but I intend it as a distinguishing name for a drill where the essence of exercise is dispensed. This drill is now given in the Gymnasium and consists of every known form of setting-up exercises that can be devised. For forty-five minutes the cadet executes them, both at halt and while marching. He is given frequent short rests of half a minute or a minute, after every different exercise, but nevertheless it seems to the naturally fatigued new cadet, as if every muscle, every sinew, and every bone was being relentlessly punished.

These setting-up exercises are a potent influence in the new cadets’ physical development, and when the fresh young body has become accustomed to them, they act as a tonic, an elixir. To a visitor the drill is always interesting as it is rather spectacular, due to the numbers acting in unison and with perfect cadence.

The early afternoon is devoted to the nomenclature and cleaning of the rifle. Scattered in groups in the shade of the old gymnasium or the Cadet Store, perspiring plebes take their rifles apart and, after cleaning them, try their utmost to put them together again.

Photo White StudioA First Lesson in Saluting

Photo White Studio

A First Lesson in Saluting

Infantry drills fill the remainder of the afternoon until 5:00P.M., when there comes a chance to wash away the grime before retreat. Immediately after the lowering of the flag each afternoon is an inspection in ranks, for which all plebes must be carefully groomed. Each man must appear with immaculate linen and with his blouse and cap, and shoes carefully brushed. Mr. Ducrot dreads the inspection more than any other duty. Despite his care in dressing, the inspectors are sure to espy a tiny wisp from the clothes brush clinging to his cap or blouse, whereupon His Highness says:

“What do you mean by falling into ranks covered with straw?” Perhaps Mr. Ducrot is just seventeen years old with only a soupçon of hair on his face.

“Why, what’s this,” inquires a sharp-eyed inspector. “Mr. Ducrot, why didn’t you shave today? I see three hairs sticking out of your chin. Drag in your chin.”

Mr. Ducrot’s sense of humor overcomes him even in his miserable state of mind and the corners of his mouth begin to twitch.

“Wipe that smile off your face!” commands the cadet officer.

Up goes the hand: the offending emotion is erased.

“Now, Mr. Ducrot, throw it upon the ground and stamp upon it. Don’t you ever again smile in ranks.” Mr. Ducrot begins to feel that the Wrathful Ones are quite human after all andhe feels cheered up for the remainder of the day. Up and down the line walk the cadet officers inspecting and “bracing” the plebes, commanding:

“Get your shoulders back! More yet! More yet!”

“Hold your head up; drag in your chin!”

“Suck up your stomach! Lean forward on your hips!” and so on.

For three weeks the new cadets are put through this severe course of instruction before they are deemed fit to be put in the ranks of the older cadets without ruining the appearance of the Battalions.

It is astonishing to behold the progress made in elementary training in this short period. It is true that the days are crammed full, and the instruction is of the most intensive kind, but even so the results far exceed what might be expected under the most rigorous of systems.

In the first place, the men lose all appearance of slovenliness and begin to acquire a distinct military bearing. The unevenness of gait is replaced by a measured tread, the hanging of heads and drooping of shoulders gives way to an erect smart carriage, and the excessive swinging of arms disappears. The group of very crude-looking individuals of the first few days has been changed into a harmonious appearing military body. Little by little the new men have begun to adjust themselves to their uniforms.

No less marked is the change of the mental attitude of the new cadet at the end of “BeastBarracks.” All sense of his own importance, if he ever had any, has oozed away rapidly. Like Bob Acres, it sneaked out of the ends of his fingers the first few days, and he realizes what a very small fish he is in this new pond. He rapidly acquires a most receptive mood in which he absorbs the most important lesson that a soldier must learn,—OBEDIENCE. The officers and cadets in charge of him demand unhesitating and instant compliance with their orders. To this end the new cadets are made to execute every order at a run, not to harass them as they sometimes think, but to form the habit of immediate obedience. This trait is the foundation of discipline, toward the inculcation of which in the new cadet, an excellent beginning is made in “Beast Barracks.”

At the end of three weeks the “Beasts” are moved from Barracks to join the rest of the Corps in camp. You ought to see them move. Carrying their Lares and Penates in striped laundry bags, or on canvas stretchers, they come and go all morning across the Plain in parallel rows, resembling for all the world a colony of ants building its new home. Upon arrival in camp, they join the companies to which they have been assigned, and from the state of “Beast” they are raised to the dignity of a plebe, the next lowest grade in the cadet hierarchy.

“Beast Barracks” is over, but its memory remains fresher than any other at West Point.In spite of the new and more interesting training of camp life, Mr. Ducrot is forever haunted by recollections of perspiration and indelible ink.

Onlywhen the three hundred odd new cadets have been transferred to camp and joined the Battalion, do they begin to feel that they are members of the Corps. They are, however, ill-formed, crude, ungainly members, and from the moment they pass the hedge that screens the camp from the visitors’ seats, the Tactical gardeners begin the work of bending these natural twigs, so recently transplanted from the individualistic soil of civilian life to the orthodox ground of military training.

Realizing how difficult it is for a young man to adapt himself to the changed conditions that he meets at West Point, the authorities require the new cadet to report in June, just as the academic year has closed, in order that he may receive the benefit of the summer-camp training before taking up his studies. The physical fatigue that the new plebe experiences is really so great, that he would not be able to plunge into the academic course before his body has become accustomed to the demands made upon it. The aching muscles, thedrooping eyes, that awful heaviness of fatigue must all be given time to pass away so that the mind may be free to pursue its development. To this end, he goes into camp after his first few weeks in “Beast Barracks.”

The camp is prettily situated in the northeast corner of the Plain along the bluff overlooking the Hudson. In form it is rectangular, laid out for six companies whose streets are centrally cut by an avenue known as the general parade. The streets are parallel to the parade ground proper, from which they are separated and screened by a hedge.

Nor is the cadet camp lacking in the features that make every permanent camp comfortable and convenient for the soldier. For these creature comforts, the cadets have been at times criticised on the ground that soldiers in the field should be content with the bare necessities of life. The cadet camp, however, is intended as a camp of instruction only. In military life there are two kinds of camps, the permanent camp and the temporary camp. In the latter, soldiers live close to nature dispensing with the hundred and one little conveniences that all of us today consider necessary to our physical well-being, but in the former, such as the cadet encampment, the soldier is provided with a maximum of comfort—and why not? The illustrated magazines that help to bring us closer to the Great War in Europe give visual proof that when men remain for any length of time in one place, even in the zone of danger,they build and adorn abodes. It may be that an enemy shell will destroy these shelters the next moment, but the domestic instinct remains unimpaired. Some of the bomb-proof dugouts on the western front are miniature triumphs of architecture and comfort. The occupation year after year of the cadet camp has had the same effect. We therefore see today a camp with graveled company streets that are illuminated at night by electricity. The tents, instead of being pegged, are supported by galvanized iron rails. The dim candle of olden times is replaced by the brilliant electric bulb, and the cadet, instead of reposing his weary bones on the hard wooden floor, slumbers luxuriously on a Gold Medal cot.

A large central tent, like a mother hen watching over her brood, is reserved for the Commandant of Cadets. The tents of the cadet officers are on the opposite edge of the space in front of the Tactical officers’ tents, the next indication of hierarchical authority. Then come the tents of the non-commissioned officers and the privates.

To have a neat-looking camp, strict regulations govern the arrangement of the tents. Twice a day they are aligned. Due to changes in the temperature, the supporting cords lengthen or shorten, so that the front tent-pole gets out of alignment. Then an authoritative voice rings out:

“Turn out, ‘B’ company, and straighten your tent-poles!” Whereupon cadets in all conditions of dress and undress tumble out of the little browncanvas homes. When it rains the cords must be loosened at the first pitter-patter of the raindrops on the tent-fly. The new plebe sitting in his underwear in his tent, probably polishing his breastplate for the twenty-fifth time that day, does not realize that this duty must be performed until a dozen or more yearlings command from the recesses of the canvas bungalows:

“Turn out, you plebes, and loosen those tent-cords!” Out they jump into the “catacombs” (the space between the tents), bumping their heads against the rails, and at once commence tugging at the obstinate, water-soaked tent-cords, while the summer downpour soaks them to the skin.

To each tent two cadets are assigned, one of whom performs for a week at a time the duty of tent orderly. Whenever the cadet detailed for orderly is absent on account of duty or sickness, his tent-mate becomes responsible. In order that the Tactical officer in charge of any company may know which cadet is responsible, there is fastened on the front tent-pole, a revolving octagonal disk of wood, about three inches in diameter. Both cadets’ names, as well as the words “Guard” “Sick,” are printed on the face of the disk, along one of the sides, and the disk revolved to indicate the name of the orderly, or the cause of the occupant’s absence. The orderly is also supposed to keep the water bucket filled, but the occupants of each tent usually have some private treatywhose provisions prescribe which one shall “drag” the water from the hydrant.

Generally speaking the orderly is responsible for the cleanliness and police of the tent, and of the ground adjacent and in front, as far as the middle of the company street where the rubbish is swept into a pile to be removed by the policemen. These men are civilian employees, many of whom have been at the Academy so long that they are intimately identified with the Corps. In time, some of them will fade into legendary characters much the same as Benny Havens. Promptly at police call at five o’clock, the wheelbarrow squad commanded by “Mike,” “Frank,” or “Tony,” moves ceremoniously down the street collecting the sweepings. At this hour the camp presents an animated scene. Cadets are busily dragging the ground around their tents with a broom to give it a “spoony” appearance for inspection, and every few minutes some one man will dart out to the center of the street with a stray match or piece of paper and throw it in the passing wheelbarrow.

The interior of the tent contains a wooden clothes-press and usually a canvas stretcher suspended from the ridge pole. Each cadet has a certain section for his clothes. All articles, belts, gloves, socks must be folded and arranged in a prescribed manner. The cots are folded and kept out of sight during the day. Gray, painted wooden lockers for storing cleaning material and clothing border one side of the tent floor. Many cadets, however,secrete food, known as “Boodle” in these convenient places, and I am sure that an unexpected inspection would reveal many tins of saltines, bottles of olives, and jars of peanut butter. During my cadet days, the officer in charge of my company never, for some reason, looked into the lockers. My tent-mate and I therefore grew more and more bold about filling them with vast supplies of “Boodle,” and we began to think that the “Tac” was inspired by a sort ofnoblesse obligewhere the lockers were concerned, a sort of sympathetic remembrance of his own cadet-gnawing appetite. One Saturday, however, just as he was leaving and I was offering a silent prayer of thanksgiving, he ordered the lockers opened. A gallon jar in which some fifty olives lay submerged and a slovenly looking pineapple cheese met my humiliated gaze. A reprimand that as a cadet officer I should set an example to the rest of the company, and five demerits, were awarded to me forthwith.

When the tents are not prepared for inspection, however, cadets may make down the cots and rest. How wonderfully refreshing it is to rest! to throw oneself down on the blankets and forget the heat, the weary march, the grime, the dust, and abandon oneself to the delights of the imagination, dreaming of the sweetness of the past or building vast plans for the future! How precious to the cadet is each moment of repose snatched from the busy day! But it is in the morning that the real longing for sleep becomes most acute.

Every morning at 5:20, the solitary boom of the reveille gun is echoed throughout the hills, rudely dissipating the fog of unconsciousness that envelops the sleeping cadets. Little by little the deathlike slumber of the camp is broken. Indistinct sounds, a sigh, a yawn, float gently out upon the air; drugged forms twist and roll uncertainly beneath the mosquito bars, as if struggling in a bewildered sort of way to preserve the pleasing heaviness that charms their bodies.

Suddenly the air is torn by the shrill garrulous fifes and the lusty rub-a-dub-dub of the drums. The reveille march has begun. Around the camp the “Hell Cats” march, up one street, down another like demons possessed. The shrieking sounds of the fifes and the deep rolling noise of the drums brusquely rout the stillness of the dawn, while the semi-conscious forms toy with danger, beguiling themselves that there is plenty of time until the assembly. Presently from near the general parade the familiar warning notes ofYankee Doodlechange the camp to a place of intense animation. Up go mosquito bars and in a twinkling, almost as if by magic, tents disgorge their sleepy occupants, hastily and feverishly buttoning their uniforms as they run to their places in ranks to the fading rolls of the drum corps.

After reveille it takes but a few minutes to police the tents and perform the necessary ablutions before breakfast. The drills commence within a half-hour after the morning meal andcontinue until noon. They are of various kinds, the majority of which will be described in the chapter entitled “Lessons from Mars,” but I will speak of the plebe’s work in his first camp, since it is somewhat different.

The physical exercises given to the new cadet in “Beast Barracks” are continued in camp. In addition, he is sent to the Gymnasium for swimming, where a professional instructor is present to see that no one drowns, and to teach the various strokes. As many of the cadets are adept swimmers upon entrance, they are tested, and those found qualified are excused from further attendance. The men who cannot swim, the real “land lubbers,” attend daily until they are proficient.

The most diverting instruction, however, in plebe camp is the dancing lesson. A civilian professor spends the summer at West Point to instruct the fourth classmen in the Terpsichorean art. Every morning at hour intervals, squads of cadets carrying their pumps march across the parade to Cullum Hall. Here they remove their coats, put on their pumps, and line themselves along the wall. The waltz step is first taught as the basis of all dancing, then later the two-step, and, since the new dances have come upon us, the fox-trot and one-step are rehearsed toward the end of the course. The dancing lesson is not open to visitors. Once upon a time it was, but long cadets, short cadets, fat cadets, lean cadets, awkward and graceful ones, all tiptoeing, “one- and two- and threeing”around the room like a lot of coy young hippopotami with compass bearings lost, became a famous sight for tourists, who wanted to enjoy a good laugh. How could anyone learn to dance in the presence of a giggling crowd! But the crowd wasn’t to blame! Here in one corner was a little slender chap delicate as a reed, perspiring in his efforts to steer his six-foot partner, a regular steam roller, through the mazes of Professor Vesay’s old-fashioned waltz. Again, all over the room, self-conscious boys in white shirt-sleeves were in a bewildered state trying to execute the Professor’s directions:

“Right foot in second position—glide and cut!” Nowadays an officer excludes all sightseers during the lesson.

The instruction of the plebe in infantry drill continues uninterruptedly, for it is essential that he should not spoil the appearance of the rest of the battalion. Together with swimming, dancing, and infantry drill, his morning is completely occupied. After the midday dinner, he is assembled in squad for instruction in hygiene and guard duty, or he may be required to spend his time working upon his equipment, his brasses, his bayonet, and rifle.

Very little social diversion is permitted to the plebe, because he is usually awkward in appearance and unfamiliar with military customs and deportment. Consequently he considers that his life is excessively hard, to him unnecessarily so; butas I have observed cadets for thirteen years I am convinced of the wisdom of holding them in a distinct class for one year. Then they emerge from the cocoon of plebedom as dazzling yearling butterflies.

To afford instruction in guard duty the camp is surrounded by sentinels. A quota of cadets from each company marches on guard immediately after parade in the evening. There are three reliefs for each of the ten posts: three corporals, a sergeant, and two officers of the guard, and an officer of the day. The guard is under the control and supervision of the officer in charge, who is one of the Tactical officers. Each sentinel walks two hours and rests four, so that during the twenty-four hours the cadet walks eight hours. The effect of this duty upon the cadet is lasting, for it teaches him the fatigue a sentinel experiences and prevents him, when an officer, from demanding too much of his men. The borders of the camp are divided into posts, numbered from 1 to 10.

The first important duty demanded of the plebe is guard. With what quivering sensations this youthful soldier approaches his first real test! Before he goes on guard he is instructed in his orders, both general and special, but few feel as if they knew them well enough to stand the ordeal of an inspection by a yearling corporal. No opportunity is lost, therefore, before the hour to march on post to perfect his knowledge, so that after supper little groups of excited and nervousplebes study diligently these orders under the pale and insect-infested lamp-posts near the guard tent. In the obscure light these slim gray forms, some seated and some standing, seem shadowy and motionless except for their gloves, little dabs of white that move restlessly to and fro, attacking the ubiquitous mosquitoes.

The nearby guard tents under the elms are dark except the main one where sit the officers of the guard, who keep the record of a stream of gay upper-classmen, signing out for the hops and concerts. How far off they are to the plebe! It seems to each one, as he watches them from the shadows, that there is an impassable gulf between them, and he wonders as he listens to their hurried voices calling, “Ducrot, hop with,” or “Dumbguard, hop with, extended” if ever his year of plebedom will roll by. What are those unintelligible remarks? It is some time before he understands that the above expressions mean that Cadet Ducrot is taking a young lady to the hop, and that Cadet Dumbguard also, except that the latter’s girl lives at some distance so that he is allowed ten minutes more after the conclusion of the dance to escort the young lady to her home. Today, as I stroll by the camp in the evening and see the same scenes reënacted, I re-live the first impressions of my own plebe days.

Often while I was waiting my turn to go on post, I sat fascinated as I watched the scene at the guard tents in the twilight of the summer evenings.From the obscurity of the camp, stalwart figures were constantly coming. Their gray coats and the evening mists merged into one so completely, it seemed as if only animated pairs of white trousers were flitting across the parade, all converging toward Post No. 1. Little by little, as they approached the light of the guard tent, the rays that were stabbing the darkness illumined the bell buttons of the gray coats, and for a brief moment gleaming forms with happy laughing faces filled the picture and then into the darkness of the Plain quickly disappeared.

Such reveries, however, are usually interrupted by a sharp voice calling:

“Turn out the second relief!” “Hurry up, you plebes,” and away the novitiates scamper to perform their first guard tour. As the relief marches around the graveled paths under the command of a very military corporal, the plebe has, in spite of his feeling of uncertainty, a sensation of pride in being entrusted with the guard of a part of the camp. Each time that the corporal commands “Relief Halt No. 2!” and the rifles hit the ground in unison, a pleasurable thrill pervades his being, a consciousness of a certain importance. Before very much pride can swell his breast, he is brought back to reality by the stern corporal exclaiming, “Wake up, Mr. Dumbguard, and come to port arms!” or “Drag in your chin!” In goes the chin, and the shoulders instinctively draw to the rear. Glory was brief; humiliation reigns anew.

Then commences in earnest the lonely two hours of marching up and down, back and forth, at the end of which time the nine pounds of the rifle has tripled at least. The arms ache, and legs feel as if they would bore holes in the body.

The early part of the tour is filled with interest. The animation in some company streets in contrast to the silence in others, the occasional tinkling of mandolins, the cries from one tent to another, the laughter over a surreptitious bucket of lemonade, the Y. M. C. A. phonograph, the confusion over the wash lists, scampering cadets noisily returning from hops and concerts—all keep a sentinel from thinking of himself. It is not until the three taps of the drum, when the camp is magically plunged into obscurity and silence, that the plebe begins to feel the monotony of his duty and, while walking mechanically back and forth on his post, to become introspective.

The stillness of the camp only accentuates his slow nonchalant step on the path. In his imagination the air seems to be filled with invisible spirits—the spirits of the night that have come forth. First he is conscious of only a few timid ones here and there, but as the hours wear on they seem to grow bolder and bolder, filling the surrounding atmosphere and whispering in his ear their ghostly messages. Each nerve becomes more alert as he listens for the crunch, crunch, crunch of some official step on the gravel. How vivid and eerie seem his surroundings! The lonesome hours ofthe night strike a sympathetic chord in his sensitive nature and the balmy stillness calls forth his starry fancies. At this hour when his comrades lie in their tents bewitched by sleep, the most beguiling of enchantments, he is conscious that another mysterious world is awakening all around him in the solitude and silence. The air is filled with fairies holding their imperceptible revels. He hears the rustling of the leaves, the intermittent chattering of the crickets, the soughing of the breeze in the branches, as if the trees in great distress were calling mournfully to each other. Should this be the first time that he is alone at night on post, he is a little afraid, and starts at the faintest sound. It seems that when man reposes, theThingscome forth to their daily tasks, performed in a world unknown to us.

Never will he forget, however, the ineffable beauty of the scene, so beautiful that he is filled with a little sadness. The buildings across the Plain, stern and melancholy even in the darkness, seemed to be companion sentinels ever watchful over their traditions, and guarding the sleeping hills dimly discernible through their misty blankets. Occasionally a graceful river steamer, like some huge Jack-o’-Lantern ruffling the smooth waters of the Hudson, glides softly by under the cliff, her throbbing engines seeming to send forth a certain warmth that dispels the chill of the early morning.

It is at this hour especially that his thoughtswander to his “ain Folk” and reveal to his senses the full aroma of his days at home.

The clanking of a sword in the darkness calls him back to earth and to the realization that the dreaded inspection is at hand.

“Halt! Who goes there?” he quickly challenges.

“Corporal of the Guard,” answers a sepulchral voice from the shadows.

“Advance, Corporal of the Guard, with the countersign,” uncertainly commands the plebe. When within whispering distance, the corporal faintly breathes the countersign, “Saratoga,” or “Burgoyne” (or maybe Tannhäuser or Dumbguard, to test the sentinel), whereupon the corporal is allowed to pass by the sentinel’s order:

“Advance, Corporal of the Guard.”

In the eyes of the yearling corporal, a plebe is habitually wrong, so that for a few trying minutes the benighted sentinel endeavors to “take charge of his post and all government property in view,” while his preceptor picks him to pieces, his bearing, his accoutrements, his knowledge, admonishing him at intervals, to “Drag in his chin—way in.” But soon, the solitude of the night begins to work even upon the yearling corporal constraining him to indulge in a partial intimacy with the plebe, adding in softened tones:

“Mister, where are you from?”

“South Carolina, sir,” proudly responds the sentinel, touched by the upper-classman’s near-cordiality.

With a gruff “Pretty fine State, mister,” thecorporal virtuously departs to interrogate his next victim.

How welcome now is the first faint tread of the relief as it makes its bi-hourly round to take the sleepy sentinel back to the guard tent where a bed of camp stools awaits his aching muscles.

The tour of guard of a new cadet is sometimes made uncomfortable by the pranks of the upper-classmen, although since the abolition of hazing at West Point, this form of diversion has greatly diminished. The regulations against hazing have been made so stringent that few cadets indulge in the practice. As a matter of fact hazing no longer exists at the Military Academy. A few heedless chaps from time to time, forgetful of the future, unconscious of the heartburns that they will suffer later on, indulge in hazing the plebes, but they pay the price for their fun. Formerly, hazing was tolerated among the cadets because some of its features were not harmful or objectionable, but, as in all cases where a little liberty is granted to lads of immature judgment, license followed. The practice was carried too far and moderation ceased to exist. In 1901, at the instance of a former cadet’s parents, Congress ordered an investigation of hazing conditions, with the result that the Superintendent was directed to abolish all semblance of mistreatment of plebes by upper-classmen.

The more vicious practices disappeared at once,but from time to time investigation revealed isolated cases of the innocent kind. In the days of hazing, the favorite and most injurious punishment meted out to a plebe, if he were at all fresh, or “B. J.” as the cadets say, was a series of exercises known as “eagles.” The new man would be taken in a tent, stripped to the waist, and compelled to execute a setting-up exercise, “Full bend knees.” The knees are separated and bent as much as possible; point of knees forced forward and downward, heels together; trunk and head erect; but instead of placing the hands on the hips, he was required to raise the arms laterally. It is not the exercise itself that was injurious, but the duration of the punishment. Some men were required to “eagle” 100 or 150 times without a rest, and if they had committed a particularly heinous offense, this physical rebuke was administered under the broiling sun in the “catacombs.” Another form of punishment consisted in making plebes, stripped to the waist, hold pieces of matches or tissue paper, between their shoulder blades for half an hour or more, while their tormentors stood around insisting that they flatten their chins to their necks.

But this punishment was not viewed by the plebes with as much dismay as was the servitude to “Tabasco Sauce.” The prowling yearlings would descend into the Fourth Class sink, line up the plebes, and order them to stick out their tongues, upon which they dashed a flop or two of the burning liquid and fled. Sometimes, at the Mess Hall, asmuch as half a teaspoonful was meted out for some unconscious transgression by the plebe of the upper-classmen’s wishes. Fortunately the above practices have long since disappeared.

On the other hand, the greater part of the hazing consisted of what is known at college as “fagging,” such as dragging water, sweeping tents, making beds, cleaning brasses and rifles, making lemonade, running errands, sewing buttons on white trousers, etc. Each upper-classman selected a plebe for his “special duty man” to perform the aforementioned tasks. Most of the plebes did the duty cheerfully, buoyed up by the thought that next year their turn to have a plebe would arrive. A large part of the hazing, moreover, was the so-called “deviling” the plebes, a generic term applied to all kinds of humorous and mischievous pranks. Any cadet, for example, who possessed any peculiarity of size, appearance, or temperament was given a “tech” or technical name, to be used always in lieu of his own. One of my classmates, whose tent was in a part of the camp called “Paradise Alley,” was given in consequence of his auburn hair the following “tech” with strict instructions to use it no matter who asked him his name. In reply, therefore, to the same inquiry, “Who are you?” many times daily, he scrupulously replied:

“I am a too-loo-loo bird, sir! Peep-y-ty-peep, sir! Poop-y-ty-poop! Ah! ... there. I’m the sunshine of Paradise Alley, sir; I am a queen, sir.My hair is sky-blue pink with a heavenly border, sir! Don’t you think I’m handsome, sir? I don’t give a damn, sir!”

This “tech” became famous, the peep-y-ty-peep part fastening itself upon him as a nickname. Of course, all of these pranks were carried onsub rosaand presumedly without the sanction or knowledge of the authorities. One night, however, the cadet was detailed for guard for the first time. It happened that his tour of duty was from 2A.M.to 4A.M., those awful hours of the night. “Peep-y-ty-peep” was patrolling his post ready to charge anything that came along. Suddenly the huge shadow of a cavalry Tactical officer with a rattling saber and jingling spurs loomed out of the darkness. Frantically “Peep-y-ty-peep” charged down the post screaming, “Halt! Halt! who’s thar?” (in good old Alabama English), until most of the sleeping cadets in the vicinity of the post were awakened. After a few minutes of backing and filling the massive cavalry officer arrived in front of the now thoroughly bewildered “sunshine of Paradise Alley,” and began to ask him his orders. Poor old “Peep-y-ty-peep” forgot them all, general and special. After vain, fruitless efforts to obtain an expression of opinion of some sort from the sentinel, this officer said in desperation: “Who are you, anyway?” Whereupon perfectly seriously the rooky sentinel cried at the top of his voice, while the nearby tents shook with laughter, “I’m a too-loo-loo bird, sir! Peep-y-ty-peep, sir! Poop-y-ty-poop, sir! Ah...!there. I’m the sunshine of Paradise Alley, sir! I’m—” The Tactical officer hurriedly disappeared.

Such incidents as the above kept the plebes from becoming too depressed. The fun of the upper-classmen found many other outlets. On days when watermelons were served in the Mess Hall, the plebes were required at the conclusion of the meal to fill their mouths with seeds, and thus loaded to the gunwales to march back to camp. The wriggling, squirming, slippery little black particles fought with one another to burst open the encircling mouthen cul de pouleand leap to freedom, and occasionally their efforts were successful, on the march back to camp, to the detriment of the blouse of the plebe’s front rank file. More frequently, however, upon arrival at camp, the plebes of A Co. were lined up at six paces from those of B Co., and at a given signal the human machine guns belched forth their glossy black bullets. One upper-classman ordered me to gather a handful from the battlefield and plant them around his tent. To my dismay and chagrin they sprouted, whereupon I was instructed to care for them, keep them in health or sickness, and train the growing vines on slender cords.

The plebes were hardly allowed a moment to themselves. Every spare moment was employed in cleaning guns, brasses and other equipment, chiefly of upper-classmen for whom one happened to be a “special duty man.” If some unoffending sparrows alighted in the company streets, half a dozenyearling voices rang out, “Turn out, you plebes, and chase those eagles!” Lads in all sorts and conditions of undress fell precipitately out of their tents, bayonets in hand, to drive away the innocent feathered marauders. If an upper-classman wished to know the time, he would yell, “Quelle heure est-il?” a whole chorus replied, “Two o’clock, sir!” Again, every plebe was required upon inquiry to give his P. C. S., or previous condition of servitude. Those who had none, never having worked in their lives, were made to answer “schoolgirl,” as a mark of immaturity and unworldliness. Never was a plebe permitted to say: “I don’t know.” “Say something, Mr. Dumbguard,” was the admonishment followed by: “If you cannot think of anything, say ‘steamboat’! Never say that you don’t know!”

I once stood behind a man in ranks who weighed, he said, 190 pounds. I weighed but 120. It became my daily duty to weigh and report to him how much of his frail body I, as his near rank file, left uncovered and exposed to the elements. When a plebe was on guard at night, some of the yearlings would appear on his post covered with sheets which they fluttered at a great rate.

“Halt! Who goes there?” cries the sentinel.

“A flock of angels,” was the reply, and before the sentinel could get the corporal of the guard, the flock had flown.

Thepièce de résistanceof the camp was, however, a rat funeral for which elaborate preparations weremade. Efforts for days were exerted to catch a rat or a mouse, but if neither could be beguiled into the trap, a grasshopper served the purpose. In a plebe’s tent an imposing catafalque, equal to that prepared for any crowned head, was constructed of wooden lockers covered with black rubber ponchos. Upon the top of this bier surrounded by candles was Mr. Rat.

During the night preceding the obsequies a guard of honor of the plebes, fantastically dressed, kept a running watch over the fast-stiffening rodent. Next day, after drill, came the funeral. Orders were issued by the upper-classmen for all plebes to attend and for those having musical instruments to appear with them. One plebe was detailed to act as chaplain and prepare the funeral oration, another as leader of the band, another as chief mourner. The remainder of the plebes were the afflicted relatives whose weeds were the most bizarre and fantastic costumes that they could create. In the procession, therefore, were plebes in underdrawers and dress coats buttoned in the rear, hats reversed, breeches with no shoes, shoes without breeches, ponchos over nature only, and sometimesin puris naturalibus. Each mourner, moreover, came with a galvanized bucket to catch his tears.

First appeared the band composed of mandolins and guitars, a stray violin, and perhaps a lonely cornet, followed by the deceased borne upon a canvas stretcher strewn with dandelions. To thetune of Chopin’s funeral march, the grotesquely arrayed mourners followed the bier, chanting from time to time a parody written for the music and entitled “Somebody Hit Me with a Codfish Ball!” At a signal from the chief mourner the cortège halted to allow the plebes to deliver themselves with abandon to their grief. By order, they raised the galvanized buckets to catch the “tears that stopped the flood-gates of their eyes,” while they filled the air with agonized mournings and lamentations. If the sobbing and blubbering appeared too faint, the upper-classmen who lined the route increased the wailings by yelling, “Weep louder, you plebes!”

At the grave, somewhere in the rear of the camp, the “chaplain,” “Daddy” Singles, spoke feelingly of the departed one’s nobility of soul. The gnawing grief of the multitude gave way once more to despair (and usually to laughter) as they lowered into the ground poor old Mr. Rat, whose rigid whiskers gave him an amused expression, as if he were enjoying his honorable end.

After two months’ training in camp, the cadets return to barracks to begin their academic duties. At once, all nonsense ceases, and the new cadet is in no wise interfered with, even in fun. The routine changes completely and the day becomes fuller. Reveille is a half hour later, but the work increases and there are fewer leisure moments.

It is to the more serious and inexorable side ofhis training that the cadet must now turn. Life in barracks is more sedate, more formal, more cold than the free existence of camp where he and his comrades were living close to Nature. The time has arrived to renounce the pleasure of sleeping in the open, of breathing the fragrant out-of-doors, of living in the midst of scenery that appeals to every æsthetic faculty. It is in the rooms of barracks that the next nine months must be passed, the severe unadorned rooms whose bareness, however, is forgotten in the ineffable sweetness of the friendship of one’s roommate. At no place, perhaps, are closer friendships formed than at West Point. They are not of the whirlwind kind so common elsewhere today, that sweep one off his feet for the time being. Nor are they like some great roaring wind that shakes one’s nature to its depths and then leaves him bruised and torn, but wide awake at last, to spend its force in other directions. Rather are they friendships of slower growth, but deep and sincere, belonging more to a mature age than to the irresponsible years of a cadet when his enthusiasm, his likes and dislikes, seem to be the only things necessary to foster.

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