Читать книгу West Point Colors - Anna Bartlett Warner - Страница 11

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Now don't go off half cock; folks never gains

By usin' pepper sarce instead o' brains. —Biglow Papers.

If Cadet Magnus Kindred knew in a general sort of way that all the simple, loving women folk at home were praying for him morning, noon, and night, "and watching thereunto with all perseverance," it was with a very easy remembrance of the fact, and not the faintest idea that anything but pleasure touched the case. And he would have simply shouted at Rose's panic over the unexplained "B. J." In fact, if anybody knows the origin of those two cabalistic letters, Magnus certainly did not.

Indeed, he had scant time for running down questions. Drills began as soon as examination was over, and were pushed on "fiercely" (as Randolph declared), hot sun or no sun, rested or tired. Though Magnus had been used to such an active open-air life that all this came easier to him than to some others. As to the rest, he got along pretty well for a "pleb," having a certain sensible nature which made light of hardships, and was not quick to take offence. So when he was jeered and pointed at, chin poked in and toes pushed out, he rarely said anything stronger, even to himself, than, "Just you wait!" Good common sense everywhere befriended him, even when the drill masters abused their power, or first classmen showed their prowess by "jumping" plebs.

So he brought in water and cleaned guns; stood attention, and stood his ground; and when the time came for that amusement, "advanced ghosts" in the most correct terms, but kept his musket against all attempts of Cadet Devlin and his compeers. Nay, on one such occasion, he gave the marauder the most accurate measure of himself upon the ground that the young man had ever had. Of course Magnus was reported, but he gave too straight answers for the charge to stand, and the upshot was that Mr. Devlin lost his chevrons "for hazing plebs." The whole account caused great consternation at home, only lulled by the assurance Magnus gave that if he had let anyone take his gun, he himself might have been put in "light prison" or sent home in disgrace. For to the bewildered mind of a pleb in those early days, anything might happen.

Devlin swore vengeance, and in a small way carried it out. But young Kindred laughed off some things, ignored others, and now and then gave Mr. Devlin a blaze out of his honest eyes before which that gentleman rather shrivelled up. Nobody liked to exactly try to handle Charlemagne Kindred: there was about him "a look of unknown quantities"—as Mr. Upright remarked one day. Cadet Upright was a staunch friend; and it was a blessing to all the plebs in Camp Hard that year that he was head man over them.

"Come and clean my gun, Mr. Kindred," he would say, adding, when Magnus was in the tent, "The gun is not very dirty, and there is no hurry about it, but you must be doing something, and in here is better than out there."

A fact which Magnus realised when from the cool recesses of the tent he saw other plebs fetching water in the sun, or standing attention for a lecture from Mr. Devlin: teased and worried and laughed at by Mr. Prank.

It was during the fervid days of that July that Rig ("poor Rig," as Magnus generally termed him in the letters home) went through a small bit of experience which, by his own account, made him "a sadder, if not a wiser, man."

The morning was intensely hot. The plebs had been out at their early drill and now in the canvas shade were enjoying a few minutes' rest. Guard-mounting was just over, and for a brief space no one had anything special to do. The visitors' seats were nearly deserted, with only a few sentimentals from either side the colour-line still lounging there. The sentries paced up and down in full fatigue dress: the row of stacked arms shimmered in the heat.

In his tent Magnus was devouring over again the last night's letter from home, and so did not notice what was going on, until the shadow of Cadet Prank in the tent door made him look up in time to see Rig (alias McLean) start to his feet and stand very stiff indeed.

"Good-day, Mr. McLean," said the man with chevrons. "Don't disturb yourself, I'll not come in. I know you've been hard at it this morning, and I really hate to ask you to go out again,—but in such a case,"—and Mr. Prank gazed into the glowing sunshine in deep perplexity.

Magnus, watching from the depths of the tent, saw the gleam which no effort of Prank's could keep out of his eyes, with the dangerously solemn lines about the mouth. But poor Rig at such honeyed words from an upper classman, lost what little everyday perception belonged to him. "He's just got to learn for himself, though," thought Magnus, looking on with intense amusement.

Mr. Prank suddenly turned and glanced suspiciously down towards the listener; but Magnus was all quiet, behind his letter.

"You see, Mr. McLean," Prank went on, dropping his voice a little, "I want a man I can trust, to do me a small service. If you are not too much fatigued—it would not take long."

Visions of Mr. Prank for his bosom friend, and Camp Hard suddenly transformed into Elysium, floated before Rig's eyes.

"Yes, sir,—no, sir," he answered, gathering up the points.

"It is really but a minute's work," said Prank with another glance over Rig's head towards Magnus; "but a particular friend of mine has gone on guard without his gloves. Most absent-minded man alive! And if the Com. comes along, he's ruined. So I thought if you would just take them to him—you see I should have to report him. He's on post No. 6."

Mr. Prank held out a pair of immaculate white gloves. But now Rig drew back. To waylay a sentinel on his beat, was something so clearly beyond pleb limits that he took fright.

"Yes, sir," he began; "certainly, sir. But you know, sir, it's against orders, I believe——"

Mr. Prank drew himself up to all his inches.

"That will do," he said. "Of course, I don't know much about regulations and never heard the orders. Very kind of you to instruct me, I am sure; I shall not forget it! Sorry to have disturbed your toilette, Mr. McLean, but I thought such a trifle could not seriously put you out. Someone else, probably, will be kind enough—whose hair curls easier than yours."

And tucking the white gloves into the cadet pocket (his sleeve), Mr. Prank strode haughtily away.

Rig felt miserable. He did not see that Magnus in his dark corner was shaking from head to foot. But to lose his character for obligingness! With a bound he was after the retreating chevrons.

"Oh, Mr. Prank!" he said. "Of course I didn't mean that you didn't know, sir; and I have just thought of a way, if you think it will do. I can hang the gloves on one of the bayonets where the arms are stacked, you know, sir, and then he can get them for himself."

"The very thing!" said Prank, with a well-kept face. "I see you are bright, Mr. McLean, as well as obliging. Take the gloves, my dear fellow, and be quick. And count upon me hereafter."

With a swelling heart Rig stepped briskly up to the shining row of guns, where not an inch nor a line was out of the most spick-and-span state of military precision, and hung the white pendant on a glittering point of steel. And as he turned—alas! he was tapped on the shoulder and marched off to the guard tent "for tampering with the arms."

"I shouldn't have minded that so much," he said afterwards to Magnus, "if I hadn't been such a double-distilled fool. And I'm not a fool really, you know,—but I'm not 'a gem of purest ray serene,' either. And I just lost my head with being told I was."

Plenty of that sort of sport (to give it its common name) went on in Camp Hard, and even the most patient men grew tired of it, and the most good-natured got cross. It is monotonous when all the fun goes to somebody else. Even the straight shoulders sometimes rebelled against the perpetual bracing up; and many a poor fourth classman wished that his grey trousers had no side seam which could serve as a landmark to his weary thumbs: for in those days "finning out" was in full force.

But indeed it was sometimes hard to take even what the law allowed.

A strict order had been published that no cadet should ask a pleb to perform any menial service, but when Corporal Main remarked, "Mr. Stone, there are some very dusty shoes in my tent,"—no more was needed. Stone was just come in from drill, and ached in every inch; but he went at the shoes, and cleaned and rubbed and polished for dear life, while Corporal Main strolled off with Miss Flyaway, and told her the story.

Again, another humane order was read out one day in the Mess Hall, to the effect that in that place of supposed relaxation plebs need not "brace," but might sit and stand "at will." But the minute the reader's back was turned Cadet Prank drawled out:

"Boys, hadn't you all a great deal rather brace up?"

And so many hurriedly answered, "Yes, sir!" that the contrary noes were never counted.

That was the way of it; and by dint of being laughed at and pointed at; drilled, straightened, pulled into shape, and called "beasts," the fourth classmen began to feel as if in truth the name fitted. They huddled together in corners, talked in whispers, and told endless stories of home.