CHAPTER VIII
"Who whipped? How did it end?" asked a swarm of old cadets of Mr. Ross, on breaking ranks after supper.
"It didn't end," was the gloomy answer. "Allen jumped the fight and nabbed the plebe. He recognized me, too, I reckon, though the rest of us got away."
And so while the Fourth Class men made a rush to find their champion, the elders clustered about the referee for particulars. Geordie was found at his tent, looking very solemn, but quite cool and collected. He had changed back to plebe dress again, and had bathed the bumps and bruises on his brown face, Connell busily aiding him. His hand was swollen and sore from a sprain, but otherwise he was sound as ever.
"We had Woods licked," said Connell, emphatically. "Graham had him down when the rush came. Everybody seemed to know which way to go except ourselves. We ran slap into Lieutenant Allen, and he had to stop and take my name instead of gobbling the others. Yes; we've got to go to the guard-tent, they say. There's no helping that."
This was hard news indeed. Fights are so seldom interrupted, and the system is looked upon so eminently as a matter of course, that nothing but the most outrageous luck could have led to this catastrophe; and then to think of Graham's being the victim – Graham and his second – while the real aggressors had escaped scot-free!
"Not scot-free, either," said one lucky plebe, who had seen the battle and yet escaped capture – "not scot-free, by a long chalk. Mr. Woods got one Scotch lick he won't forget in a week." Whereat some of the group took heart and laughed; and then who should appear but the adjutant, Mr. Glenn.
"How is it, plebe – any damages?"
Geordie looked up through a fast-closing eye as he buttoned his jacket. "Hit pretty often, I guess, but I didn't notice it much at the time. What troubles me is that it's got Mr. Connell into the guard-house."
"Well, that's just what I've come to see you about," said Glenn. "Don't worry a particle. No one's more sorry you were caught than Mr. Allen himself, I'll bet. You've got to go to the guard-tent, but that's only for a few days. There's no dodging regulations, of course; but there you'll be let alone, and there'll be nobody to bother you. You've won the sympathy of the whole corps, and you did well, plebe." And here the adjutant put his hand on Geordie's shoulder. "That throw was tip-top!"
And then the assembled plebes would have been only too glad to give three cheers for the adjutant; but so big a gathering of the "animals" attracted the instant attention of their natural enemies, the yearlings, who swooped down to disperse the crowd, and the patrol came from the guard-tent, and with much show of severity the corporal directed Pops and Connell to fetch their blankets and come along.
And so, solemnly, the two culprits were marched away amid the subdued remarks of sympathy on every hand – even the group of elders about Ross – and in much better frame of mind than that magnate, for the orderly came at the moment to summon Mr. Glenn to the commandant's tent. That meant the colonel wanted his adjutant; and that probably meant that those cadets whom Allen had seen and recognized as participants in the forbidden fight were now to be placed in arrest.
Captures on the spot he had made but two – Geordie, breathless, bewildered, and half blind, and his second, Connell, who stood by his friend through thick and thin. All the others had scattered the instant the warning cry of the scouts was heard; First Class men and yearlings, veterans of such occasions, darting over the parapet and across the road and down the rocky, thickly-wooded steep towards the chain-battery walk, better known as "Flirtation;" while Mr. Allen, too dignified to run in pursuit, stumbled, as ill-luck would have it, on the men he least desired to come upon, if, indeed, he desired to capture any.
But he recognized both Ross and Jennings as they darted away, and saw them prominent in the ring. This meant jeopardy for two pairs of chevrons. Ross, slipping back to camp at the first opportunity, eagerly questioned Pops and Connell, who had been escorted thither by the officer. Had Mr. Allen asked them to name the others interested? He had; but, as became cadets, they declined to give their names. Glenn and Otis, the other two First Class men on the ground, had quietly retired among the trees in rear of them on hearing the alarm, and then made their way out of the gate as the Lieutenant took his helpless prisoners down the wooden stairway at the southeast angle. They had not been seen.
As for Allen's coming, it was accidental. Strolling with a friend from the hotel around the road that skirts the edge of the heights, he heard sounds from across the grassy parapet no graduate could mistake. A fight, of course! and having heard it, it was his duty to interfere. The next minute he was through the north gate and bearing down on the battle, when the outermost yearlings caught sight of his coming and gave the alarm.
Ross and Jennings did not attend the hop that night. Before they had had time to array themselves in fresh white trousers and their best uniform coats, Mr. Glenn, the adjutant, had returned from the commandant's tent and gone straight to his own. Presently he emerged, girt with sash and sword-belt, and that meant business. No use for any one to run and hide; that merely deferred matters.
"Mr. Ross, you are hereby placed in close arrest, and confined to your tent. Charge – promoting a fight. By order of Lieutenant-Colonel Hazzard," was the pithy address he delivered to his class-mate, with precisely the same amount of emotion which he might have displayed had he informed him he was detailed for guard duty on the morrow. And yet seconders or promoters of cadet fights were by regulations regarded as challengers, and, as such, subject to court-martial and dismissal. Then he went in search of Jennings, and though that worthy did for a moment contemplate the possibility of hiding somewhere, he was too slow about it. Those who heard Mr. Glenn this time declare he threw a little more emphasis into the curt order.
And so, when tattoo sounded that night, Cadet Lieutenant Ross and Cadet Corporal Jennings were grumbling at their fate in close arrest at their respective tents, for, being chevron-wearers, they were exempt from confinement with the common herd at the guard-tents, where by this time were Pops and Connell, by long odds the two most popular and important members of the plebe class.
And there for one mortal week the boys remained, having a very comfortable time of it, barring the nuisance of being turned out with the guard every time it was inspected at night. They were exempt from all the annoyance of their comrades down in the body of camp. They attended all drills, and lost neither instruction nor exercise. They had the unspeakable delight of being allowed, every warm evening, to raise their tent walls after taps, and sit and watch class-mate after class-mate taking his first lessons in sentry duty out on the posts of Two and Six.
Especially Benny, when at last it came his turn; and that self-sufficient young soldier, in just about one hour's active deviling, had perhaps the liveliest experience of a lifetime. The officers in charge – for some reason that has never yet been explained – seemed particularly deaf that night. The commandant and others were not disturbed by the racket, and Benny's instruction, coaching, and testing – above all, the testing – were left entirely to the cadet officers and non-commissioned officers of the guard, and, at odd times, to certain volunteers from the tents of Companies C and D, whose costumes were so confusing that their own comrades couldn't know them, much less could Benny.
And so the crack captain of the Beanton Battalion was kept hurrying from one end to the other of his post, challenging an array of mock generals and colonels, armed parties, patrols, grand rounds, reliefs, friends with the countersign or enemies without it, that would have been simply incredible anywhere but on a plebe's post at West Point. In less than twenty minutes poor confident Benny, who had guard duty at his tongue's end and wasn't going to be fooled with, had made every blunder a sentry could possibly make, had lost every item of arms and equipments, nerve and temper, and had been bawling for the corporal of the guard, Post Number Six, in accordance with the methods of the Beanton camp, and in defiance of the laws and customs of the regular service, all to the mischievous delight of the entire corps, until finally he could bawl no longer. He had sneered at Pops for being ducked in the ditch and overwhelmed in the darkness, yet he, occupying an open post, had been so utterly bewildered, so completely overcome, that the poor fellow would have been thankful for a ditch wherein to hide his diminished head.
They had been sent for, both Pops and Connell, and questioned at the colonel's tent as to the other participants in the interrupted fight, but respectfully declined to say anything on that score; and finally, just as it was noised about camp that the plebes were to be put in the battalion, and they were fearing their punishment might keep them back, they heard with beating hearts the order of the superintendent read in Glenn's clear and ringing tones at dress parade. Even to them, in the ranks of the guard, with a crowd of hundreds of gayly-dressed spectators interposing between them and the silent battalion, every word seemed distinct.
For "inciting, promoting, or otherwise participating in a fight, Cadet Lieutenant Ross and Cadet Corporal Jennings were hereby reduced to the ranks and confined to the body of camp east of the color-line until the 15th of August." New Cadets Connell and Graham, for taking part in the same, were ordered confined to camp for the same period. All were released from arrest and restored to duty; and Pops and Connell, shouldering their bedding, went back to their tent in Company B, and reporting to Cadet Lieutenant Merrick, in charge of the plebes, were welcomed with acclamations by their class-mates.
That night, for the last time, the new-comers marched to the mess-hall as a body. That night at tattoo, for the first time, they answered to their names with their companies. Geordie and Connell, rejoicing in having got off so easily (for their punishment practically amounted to nothing but forfeiture of the privilege of roaming over public lands on a Saturday afternoon or the mornings they marched off guard), and comforted by friendly words let drop by occasional First Class men, set themselves busily to work to put their rifles and equipments in order again. During his week in the guard-tent Pops had caused his new box and scabbard to be put in his locker, well covered by clothing. The weather had been hot and dry, so that the handsome new rifle had not suffered materially.
Two days later both Graham and Connell were on the detail again; the First Class privates had been relieved from guard duty as such, and their names placed on a roster to serve as junior officers of the guard. The twenty-one sentries were therefore taken from the Third and Fourth classes, and on this particular occasion there marched on eight yearlings and thirteen plebes. As before, Geordie had done his best to have his uniform and equipments perfect. As before, Mr. Glenn seemed dissatisfied with the condition in which he found two of the aspirants for colors among the Third Class men. Going back to the front rank, he indicated two young gentlemen with a gesture of his white-gloved hand, saying, briefly, "First colors, Murray; second colors, Wren," passed deliberately by four other yearlings, Cadet Private Jennings among them, stopped squarely in front of Pops in the centre of the rear rank, and said, "Third colors, Mr. Graham."
And our frontier boy felt the blood surging and tingling up to the tips of his ears. How his heart danced in response to the sweet melodies of Strauss, as in waltz-time the band beat off down the line. How proud and happy he was in response to the ringing order: "Pass in review! Forward, guide right!" The natty little column marched blithely away, wheeling at the angles, passing the statuesque officer of the day with perfect alignment and easy swinging step. Prompt and silent he stepped from the ranks at the order, "Colors, fall out!" knowing that every eye would be on him as he passed in front of the guard. Then came the order, "Rest!" and then, instantly, in Jennings's angry voice, "By thunder! that's the first time I ever heard of colors being given to a plebe when there were old cadets in line." And every yearling in the detail probably sympathized with him.
But it was not the adjutant with whom Mr. Jennings purposed squaring accounts for the alleged indignity, but the plebe whose sole offence was that he had obeyed orders too well.
"Keep clear of that brute Jennings all you can to-day," whispered Connell to his tent-mate. "He means mischief."
And Geordie nodded. Instinctively he felt that that burly yearling was his determined enemy, and that more trouble was coming. From Woods he had had not a word beyond the intimation sent by Mr. Curtis, a quiet, gentlemanly fellow, that as soon as the excitement had blown over he should expect Mr. Graham to meet him again and finish the fight. Referring this to their First Class mentor, Mr. Otis, they were told that it was customary, though not necessary. So Pops simply replied, "All right."
But Mr. Jennings behaved with rare diplomacy. All day long he held aloof from Graham, never so much as looking at him after the first angry outbreak. That evening, when relieved from guard and told he might return to his tent, Geordie really didn't know what to do with himself. He would much rather have been subject to sentry duty all night. However, he carefully placed his prized rifle in the gun-rack; and that evening a lot of plebes were singing and sparring for the amusement of their elders over in D Company, so Geordie went thither to look on and laugh. When the drums came beating tattoo across the Plain he returned to his tent, which was dark and deserted. Not until after roll-call did Foster strike a light. Then Graham noticed that four or five Third Class men were standing and watching him rather closely, though keeping across the street. He stepped inside, intending to make down his bed for the night; and then, there stood Foster, candle in hand, looking blankly at the three muskets.
"Why, Graham," said he, slowly, "what's happened to your gun?"
Turning instantly, Geordie saw by the light of the candle, in place of the flawless, glistening weapon he had left there an hour earlier, a rifle coated red with rust and dirt. Amazed, he seized and drew it forth, mechanically forcing open the breech-lock and glancing in. There could be no mistake; from butt plate to front sight, barrel, bands, hammer, lock and guard, breech-block and all, it was one mass of rust. Dazed and dismayed, he looked for the number, and then all doubt was gone. It was his own old rifle, the one that had been taken away his first night on post. His beautiful new gun was gone.
One moment he stood irresolute, then sprang forth into the company street.
"Mr. Bend," he cried, in wrath and excitement, "look, sir, they've taken away my new rifle and left this, my old one, in its place!"
"Who has done it?" snapped Bend, flaring up with indignation, as he saw the abominable plight of the restored weapon. "Have you any idea? Any suspicion?"
"No, sir, I can't accuse any one. It's too mean a trick."
A dozen yearlings were gathered by this time, saying very little, however, and some of them exchanging significant glances, but Bend turned impatiently away, ordering Pops to follow.
"Oh, Leonard, look at this!" he cried, as they reached the captain's tent, and a long whistle of amazement and indignation was all the First Class man would at first venture in reply.
"That gun has been lying in damp grass ever since the night you lost it," said he, finally. "The man who took your new one knew where to find this, and was one of the party that downed you. Have you still no suspicion?"
"No, sir," said Geordie, with a gulp. "I suppose they did it out of revenge for my taking colors this morning."
"Glenn! oh, Glenn!" called Mr. Leonard from his tent door.
"Hello!" came the answer back through the darkness.
"Come here, will you? lively– I want you."
The drums and fifes by this time were halted on the color-line, and the last part of tattoo was sounding. Bend turned away to superintend the formation of his company, but the captain directed Graham to remain. Presently the soldierly form of the adjutant appeared.
"Look at that!" said Leonard, handing him Graham's rifle.
"Hello, where did you find it, plebe?"
"In my gun-rack, sir, just now, in place of the new one you saw at guard-mounting this morning."
"Do you mean that's gone?"
"Yes, sir."
"That'll do, then. Join your company. Leonard," said he, as Geordie turned away, "the man that did this dirty trick shall be kicked out of the corps inside of six months, if I have to drop everything else to find him."
CHAPTER IX
Events crowded thick and fast into plebe life during the next few days. In the first place both the adjutant and Cadet Captain Leonard came to Geordie's tent a little after taps the night of the discovery of the exchange of rifles. Pops and Foster were still awake, chatting in whispers about the matter. Benny, who had been full of excitement and interest at first, seemed to be overcome by drowsiness and dropped off to sleep. The boys were advised by the First Class men to say as little as possible on the subject. Leonard would report it to the commandant, as in duty bound, but ask that no official investigation be made. He had strong suspicions, he said, and if the perpetrators were not put upon their guard something might be effected. Then, next morning, when Mr. Jennings marched off guard he surprised his class-mates by denouncing the whole business as a low-lived trick. Of course the plebe ought to be "taken down," but not by any such means as that. He came over to B Company street as his class was dismissed after battery drill and talked at Bend, who paid no attention to him. He went so far as to say that he believed no Third Class man had anything to do with the business; it was the work of plebes who were jealous of the partiality shown Graham by the adjutant. There was the man who should be given to understand by the whole class what they thought of him and his conduct! Other yearlings chimed in with one view or another, but Bend, working away over some company papers in his tent, held his peace. Jennings, who had already an unsettled score with Bend, was galled by this cool, almost contemptuous manner, and the next thing anybody knew hot words were exchanged – hot at least on the part of Jennings, for Bend kept control of his tongue and temper – and that evening occurred one of the most famous fights Fort Clinton ever saw, and Bend, game to the last, though outmatched from the start, was finally whipped. For three days B Company was deprived of the services of their plucky senior corporal, and little Hastings had to act as first sergeant while his senior stayed in hospital until his many bruises were reduced. Bend was not the only cadet whose name appeared on the morning sick report, submitted to the commandant, with "contusions" given as the reason of his disability, and everybody in authority knew perfectly well that "contusions" meant another fight; but so long as no one was caught in the act, no punishment followed. The difference between the cadet duels and those of the French fencers or German students appears to be that, though only nature's weapons are allowed, somebody has to be hurt.
But though declared victor, as anybody could have predicted he would be, Jennings was anything but a happy man. He had lost his chevrons. He had lost much of the popularity that had attended him since the plebe camp of the previous year, when his class-mates hailed him as one of their champions. He saw that now the better men looked upon him as verging close upon bullyhood, holding that he had forced the fight between Woods and Graham and then forced another between himself and Bend, a man whom he clearly outclassed. This in itself was enough to hurt him seriously, but there were graver matters afoot. Glenn had never yet dropped the "Mister" in speaking to him, and, by the unwritten laws of the corps of cadets, that meant "keep your distance." The invariable custom of the old cadets, First Class officers and all, was to "Mister" everybody in the Fourth Class from the date of their entrance until the coming of the following June – nearly twelve long months – but then to drop the formal title, and welcome the new yearling to the comradeship of the corps. Then every yearling in good standing expected to be hailed by his surname or the jovial nickname, and in return to be accorded the proud privilege of addressing even the first captain and adjutant as friends and comrades – as "Rand" and "Glenn," as the case might be. West Point recognizes no secret societies, no oath-bound fraternities. There is one general brotherhood, initiation to which occupies fully ten weeks, probation nearly ten months, but membership is for life or good behavior. Now Glenn plainly said by his manner that he neither liked nor trusted Jennings, and Mr. Rand, the big first captain, who was at first so friendly to him, now began to hold aloof. It was anything but as a conquering hero he returned from the battle with Bend. He had expected no such display of cool, nervy, determined courage against such odds. He was sore without and within, though he had received, of course, no such heavy punishment as had sent Bend to the hospital. He sat with his silent second in his tent, applying wet sponges to his bruises and noting how few were the congratulations, how indifferent the inquiries as to his own condition. Later he was lying on his blankets revolving matters in his mind, wondering what he could do to restore his waning popularity, when he heard some plebes chatting eagerly in the B Company tent just back of his own. "Graham's got his gun again all right," was what they were saying, and before he could arrive at further particulars who should appear at the tent door but the adjutant and Cadet Captain Leonard. They bade him lie still, but they had a question or two to ask.
"You were on post on Number Three last evening, Mr. Jennings," said Glenn, "and for full an hour before tattoo, when Mr. Graham's new rifle was exchanged for an old rusty one. The new rifle was found in the weeds near the dump hollow close to your post. Did no one cross your post?"
"Not a soul that I saw," promptly answered Jennings, "and unless it was found in the south ditch of Fort Clinton, it must have been hidden nearer Number Two's day post than mine."
"We have questioned Number Two," said Glenn, briefly. "He denies all knowledge of it. He says, what's more, that nobody could have got away without his seeing him. It was Mr. Douglas, of the Fourth Class, as you know, and this was his third tour."
"Oh, I can't pretend to say no one got across my post. No one can be at all parts of that long beat at the same time. It was cloudy, too, and pitch dark. Anybody could have crossed up there at the west end while I was down by your tent. If the gun was found there, it is more than likely some one did cross. It would have gone hard with him if I'd caught him."
"Then you're sure you saw no one – had no conversation with anybody?"
"I saw no one cross. I held conversation with half a dozen – class-mates and plebes both – when I happened to be down by the tank. There were Cresswell and Drake, and Curry early in the evening; they were condoling with me about being 'broke.' Then there were plebes coming down there frequently; I had more or less chaff with them, and Major-General Frazier among them. I heard him spouting about his exploits. Where was the rifle found?" continued Jennings.
"Oh, out near the east end of the old dump hollow, hidden among the weeds and rubbish," said Leonard. "But never mind that just now. It was brought to my tent, and you are reported to have said you thought it was the work of some plebe. Why?"
"Well, lots of 'em are jealous of Mr. Graham for getting colors so easily for one thing. They think the commandant shows him partiality. They say it's because Graham's father is an army officer. That's why I think they might have put up the job among themselves."
"Yes? And how did they know where the old gun was hidden – the one that was taken from him the night he was dumped into the ditch off Number Three? You think plebes did that?"
But that was something Jennings could not answer. He stopped short, and was evidently confused.
There was indeed something queer about the case. Very little the worse for its night in the weeds, thanks to there having been no dew, for the night skies were overcast by heavy clouds, the rifle was brought in by a drum-boy orderly, who said he stumbled upon it accidentally. Glenn had cross-questioned sharply, but the boy persisted in his story. It was the same youngster whom Benny had employed to buy him cigarettes at the Falls. Pops was overjoyed to get his beautiful rifle again, and, personally, well content to drop any effort to find the perpetrator. Indeed, it seemed for a time as though nothing was being done. Bend came back to duty with discolored face, cool and steady as ever, and Jennings kept away from the B Company street, where he now had few friends. Geordie began to wonder when the yearlings would decide to summon him to Fort Clinton to settle the score still hung up between Woods and himself. It was awkward sitting at table with a man to whom he couldn't speak.
Meantime every day and hour made him more at home in his duties and in the new life. Of course it wasn't pleasant to be everywhere hailed as "Corporal" Graham, and to be compelled, whether in ranks or out, wherever he moved, to stalk along with his shoulders braced back, his little fingers on the seams of his trousers and the palms of his hands turned square to the front, his elbows in consequence being spitted to his side like the wings of a trussed chicken; but this was the method resorted to with one and all the new-comers, whether naturally erect or not, to square the shoulders, flatten the back, and counteract the ridiculous carriage of so many – at least, of the Eastern city boys. Anglomania in exaggerated form was epidemic on the Atlantic seaboard just then, and to insure recognition in polite society it seemed to be necessary to cultivate a bow-legged, knee-sprung style of walk, with shoulders hunched forward, chest flat, elbows bent at right angles, and carried straight out from the side; these, with a vacuous expression of countenance being considered "good form"; and strenuous measures were resorted to at the Point to knock it out of such college-bred youngsters as sought to set the fashion in the corps.
But what appetites they had! How dreamless were their hours of sleep! How vigorous and healthful the days of martial exercise! Squad drills were all finished now. Fully uniformed and equipped, the whole plebe class was in the battalion. A "live" superintendent was watching every detail of their doings. The system of responsibility among the officers, both graduates and cadets, was such that no disturbance of any account occurred by night, no hazing of a harmful nature by day. The roar of the morning gun and the rattle and bang of the drums brought Pops from his blanket with a bound. He was always one of the first to appear in front of his tent, sousing head and chest and arms in cool water, then rubbing the hard skin red before dressing for roll-call. Benny, on the other hand, self-indulgent and procrastinating, copying after the old cadets, thought it more professional to lie abed three minutes longer, and then come flying out at the last minute, frequently to be reported late at reveille, and demerited accordingly. So, too, in many another matter. Howsoever excellent he may have appeared on parade in command of the High-school Cadets, Benny was no model on drill as a high private. His wits, too, had a way of going wool-gathering, and while young men like Geordie and Connell paid strict attention to business and rarely received reports of any kind, the "Major-General" was in perpetual hot-water, and ever ready to lay the blame on somebody else. One thing he could do to perfection – that was make explanations. He wrote a beautiful hand. He was plausible, pleading, and successful. He was as full of excuse as an Irish laundress.
"He's got more reports on the delinquency books than any one in the class," said Pops, reproachfully.
"Yes," said Connell, whimsically, "and more of 'em off."
And thereby hangs a tale.
No cadet can expect to get along without ever receiving reports. Any boy who so desires can readily obtain reports aggregating one hundred demerit in a single day; yet if he receive that many in six months, out he goes into the world again, discharged for failure in discipline. The breaches of regulation in the power of a boy to commit are simply myriad. Only by determination to conform to rules in the first place and eternal vigilance in the second can he live without demerit. Even then the faintest slip – a loose button, shoestring, drawer-string, a speck of dust, a tarnished belt-plate, an instant's mooning on drill or parade – renders him liable. To utterly avoid report one has to be all eyes, ears, and attention.
Now, while it is hardly possible to get along without ever receiving a report, it is equally impossible to be perpetually receiving them without being more or less to blame. Here was Benny's weakness. He blamed everybody but himself, and, so believing, sought to convince the commandant. Before camp was over it was said of him that he got off many a report he richly deserved – a most unfortunate reputation at West Point – for there the first lesson taught and the last insisted on was "the truth in everything, and nothing but the truth."