A Cadet's Honor: Mark Mallory's Heroism

by Upton Sinclair

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  "FIRST NIGHT."

  Dress parade leaves but a few moments for supper, with no chance for"deviling." But when the battalion marched back from that meal and brokeranks, when the dusk of evening was coming on to make an effectivescreen, then was the time, thought the cadets. And so thought theplebes, too, as they came up the road a few minutes later, tremblingwith anticipation, most of them, and looking very solemn and somber intheir dusky fatigue uniforms.

  "First night of plebe camp," says a well-known military writer, "is athing not soon to be forgotten, even in these days when pitchy darknessno longer surrounds the pranks of the yearlings, and when officialvigilance and protection have replaced what seemed to be tacitencouragement and consent.

  "Then--some years ago--it was no uncommon thing for a new cadet to bedragged out--'yanked'--and slid around camp on his dust-covered blankettwenty times a night, dumped into Fort Clinton ditch, tossed in a tentfly, half smothered in the folds of his canvas home, ridden on a tentpole or in a rickety wheelbarrow, smoked out by some vile, slow-burningpyrotechnic compound, robbed of rest and sleep at the very least afterhe had been alternately drilled and worked all the livelong day."

  In Mark's time the effort to put a stop to the abuses mentioned had justbeen begun. Army officers had been put on duty at night; gas lamps hadbeen placed along the sentry posts--precautions which are doublednowadays, and with the risk of expulsion added besides. They have doneaway with the worst forms of hazing if not with the spirit.

  The yearlings "had it in" for our four friends of company A thatevening. In fact, scarcely had the plebes scattered to their tents whenthat particular plebe hotel was surrounded. The cadets had it allarranged beforehand, just what was to happen, and they expected to haveno end of fun about it.

  "Parson Stanard" was to be serenaded first; the crowd meant to surroundhim and "invite" him to read some learned extracts from his beloved"Dana." The Parson was to recount some of the nobler deeds of Boston'sheroes, including himself; he was to display his learning by answeringquestions on every conceivable subject; he was to define and spell alist of the most outlandish words in every language known to the angels.

  Texas was to show his skill and technique in hurling an imaginary lassoand firing an imaginary revolver from an imaginary galloping horse. Hewas to tell of the geography, topography, climate and resources of theLone Star State; he was to recount the exploits of his "dad," "the Hon.Scrap Powers, sah, o' Hurricane Co.," and his uncle, the newSenator-elect. Mark was to give rules for rescuing damsels, savingexpresses and ferryboats, etc. And Mr. Methusalem Zebediah Chilvers ofKansas was to state his favorite method of raising three-legged chickensand three-foot whiskers.

  That was the delicious programme as finally agreed upon by theyearlings. And there was only one drawback met in the execution of it.The four plebes could not be found!

  They weren't in their tent; they weren't in camp! Preposterous! Theyearlings hunted, scarcely able to believe their eyes. The plebes, ofcourse, had a perfect right to take a walk after supper if they chose.But the very idea of daring to do it on the first night in camp, whenthey knew that the yearlings would visit them and expect to beentertained! It was an unheard-of thing to do; but it was just what onewould have expected of those B. J. beasts, so the yearlings grumbled, asthey went off to other tents to engage other plebes in conversation andcontroversy.

  But where were the four? No place in particular. They had simply joinedthe other three and had the impudence to disappear in the woods for astroll until tattoo. They had come to the conclusion that it was betterto do that than to stay and be "guyed," as they most certainly would beif they refused their tormentors' requests. And Mark had overruledTexas' vehement offer to stay and "do up the hull crowd," deciding thatthe cover of the night would be favorable to the sevens' hazing, andthat until then they should make themselves scarce.

  In the meantime there was high old sport in Camp McPherson. In responseto the requests of the merry yearlings, some plebes were sitting out onthe company streets and rowing desperate races at a 34-to-the-minutestroke with brooms for oars and air for water; some were playingimaginary hand-organs, while others sang songs to the tunes; some"beasts" were imitating every imaginable animal in a real "menagerie,"and some were relating their personal history while trying to stand ontheir heads.

  All this kind of hazing is good-natured and hurts no one physically,however much the loss of dignity may torment some sensitive souls. It isthe only kind of hazing that remains to any great extent nowadays.

  In the midst of such hilarity time passes very rapidly--to theyearlings, anyway. In almost no time tattoo had sounded; and then thecompanies lined up for the evening roll call, the seven dropping intoline as silently as they had stolen off, deigning a word to no one inexplanation of their strange conduct.

  "That's what I call a pretty B. J. trick!" growled Cadet Harris. Bullhad been looking forward with great glee to that evening's chance toridicule Mark, with all his classmates to back him; it was a lost chancenow, and Bull was angry in consequence.

  Bull's cronies agreed with him as to the "B. J.-ness" of that trick. Andthey, along with a good many others, too, agreed that the trick oughtnot be allowed to succeed.

  "We ought to haze him ten times as hard to-night to make up for it!" wasthe verdict.

  And so it happened that the seven, by their action, brought down upontheir heads all the hazing that was done after taps. This hazing, too,was by far the least pleasant, for it was attended to only by the morereckless members of the class, members who could not satisfy their tastefor torture by making a helpless plebe sing songs, but must needs tumblehim out of bed and ride him on a rail at midnight besides.

  The fact, however, that all such members of the yearling class haddecided to concentrate their torments upon him did not worry Mark in theleast. In fact, that was just what Mark had expected and prepared for.

  And so there was destined to be fun that night.

  "Now go to your tents, make down your bedding just as you were taught atbarracks; do not remove your underclothing; hang up your uniforms whereeach man can get his own in an instant; put your shoes and caps whereyou can get them in the dark if need be; turn in and blow your candleout, before the drum strikes 'taps,' at ten. After that, not a sound!Get to sleep as soon as you can and be ready to form here at reveille."

  So spoke Cadet Corporal Jasper; and then at the added command, "Breakranks, march!" the plebe company scattered, and with many a sigh ofrelief vanished as individuals in the various tents.

  The corporal's last order, "be ready to form here at reveille," is asource of much worriment to the plebe. But the one before it, "get tosleep as soon as you can," is obeyed with the alacrity born of hours ofdrill and marching. Long before tattoo, which is the signal for "lightsout," the majority of the members of the class were already dreaming.Perhaps they were not resting very easily, for most of them had a vagueidea that there might be trouble that night; but they knew that lyingawake would not stop it, and they were all too sleepy anyway.

  The last closing ceremony of a West Point day in camp is the watchful"tac's" inspection. One of these officers goes the rounds with a darklantern, flashing it into every tent and making sure that the fouroccupants are really in bed. (The "bed" consists of a board floor, andblankets.) Having attended to this duty, the tac likewise retires andCamp McPherson sinks into the slumbers of the night.

  After that until five the next morning there is no one awake but thetireless sentries. A word about these. The camp is a military one and isnever without guard from the moment the tents are stretched until the29th of August, when the snowy canvas comes to the ground once more. The"guard tent" is at the western end of the camp, and is under the chargeof the "corporal of the guard," a cadet. The sentries are cadets, too,and there are five of them, numbered--sentry No. 1 and so on. Theceremony each morning at which these sentries go on duty is called"guard-mounting." And during the next twenty-four hours these sentriesar
e on duty two hours in every six--two hours on and then four off,making eight in the twenty-four.

  These sentries being cadets themselves--and yearlings at present--hazingis not so difficult as it might seem. A sentry can easily arrange tohave parties cross his beat without his seeing them; it is only when thesentry is not in the plot that the thing is dangerous.

  The "tac"--Lieutenant Allen was his name--had made his rounds for thenight, finding plebes and yearlings, too, all sleeping soundly, orapparently so. And after that there was nothing moving but the trampingsentinels, and the shadows of the trees in the moonlight as they fellon the shining tents--that is, there was nothing moving that wasvisible. The yearlings, plenty of them, were wide awake in their tentsand preparing for their onslaught upon the sleeping plebes.

  Sleeping? Perhaps, but certainly not all of them. Some of those plebeswere as wide awake as the yearlings, and they were engaged in anoccupation that would have taken the yearlings considerably by surpriseif they had known it. There were seven of them in two tents, tents thatwere back to back and close together, one being in Company A and one inB.

  They were very quiet about their work; for it was a risky business.Discovery would have meant the sentry's yelling for the corporal of theguard; meant that Lieutenant Allen would have leaped into his trousersand been out of his tent at the corporal's heels; meant a strictinvestigation, discovery, court-martial and dismissal. It was all rightfor yearlings to be out at night; but plebes--never!

  It grew riskier still as a few minutes passed, for one of the B. J.beasts had the temerity to come out of his tent. He came verycautiously, it was true, worming his way along the ground silently, intrue Indian--or Texas style. For Texas it was, that adventurous youthhaving vowed and declared that if he were not allowed to attend to thisparticular piece of mischief he would go out and hold up a sentryinstead; the other three occupants were peering under the tent foldswatching him anxiously as he crawled along.

  As a fact, Texas' peril was not as great as was supposed, for thesentries had no means of telling if he was a yearling or not. The ideaof a plebe's daring to break rules would not have occurred to themanyhow. Be that as it may, at any rate nobody interrupted the SevenDevils' plans. Cadet Powers made his way across the "street," depositedhis burden, a glistening steel revolver some two feet long. And then hestole back and the crowd lay still in their tents and watched andwaited.

  They had not long to do that. Texas barely had time to crawl under thecanvas and to mutter to his friends--for the hundredth time:

  "Didn't I tell ye them air guns 'ud come in handy?"

  At that very moment a sound of muffled laughter warned them that themoment had arrived.

  "Just in time!" whispered Mark, seizing his friend by the hand and atthe same time giving vent to a subdued chuckle. "Just in time. S-sh!"

  The four, who lay side by side under the tent, could hear each other'shearts thumping then.

  "Will it work? Will it work?" was the thought in the mind of every oneof them.