West Point Colors

by Anna Bartlett Warner

Among all the unwonted eyes that ever saw June come over West Point, none could get more delight than did Cadet Kindred's two young sisters. The mere shining out of the whole post in white trousers was an event. And the guns that greeted the Board of Visitors were, to the full, as imposing, as the various "planks" in that respected body. The girls watched every point of the welcoming review, and then studied the chosen guests as they trooped into the "big house" reception. But better than chicken salad indoors, was the music discoursed by the band in the pretty grounds outside. It may be said, however, that Violet did not fail to see Mr. Trueman, in sash and plume, go up the steps with the rest of the graduating class, and to think for one brief moment that it might be pleasant to go there too.

Only parade that night, but a wonderful walk after supper; and next day, and every day for ten more, a series of varied pleasures.

The examinations in the library were positively awe-inspiring; such battle plans, such hieroglyphics. There was some trembling of heart the first time they saw Magnus under fire; but he so plainly knew what he was about, that fear soon passed into rejoicing. And when Mr. Clinker was set to read Spanish, and the story (as translated) sounded unutterably ridiculous, Mrs. Ironwood declared that her two girls behaved better than she did.

Something of this in the morning; at night a concert; in the afternoon a drill. Perhaps on the cavalry plain with the ear-tearing racket of the Light Battery; where the guns were sometimes pointed at the ladies, and the ladies cried out, and stopped their ears, and ran away; and the hills sent back the thunder, and the descending sun half glorified the clouds of dust. Or maybe they went down by the river, and saw Mr. Trueman and a throng of unknown men build the pontoon bridge, themselves sitting on the grass in a blaze of sunshine, which the north wind softened down. With gay dresses on every side, and grey-and-white men standing behind them, or down on the grass too. Sugar-plums in many hands, the perfume of flirtation in all the air; and certainly their own attendant cavaliers were well disposed for both these soft delectations. But if Rose looked round, it was generally to put some intelligent question, which Bouché could only answer in kind; and Violet's bright eyes were too eagerly watching what Mr. True did with his boat, to heed what Randolph whispered about them.

How skilfully those huge grey pontoons swung into line; how stirring was the sounding tramp of the plank-bearers; how curiously they locked arms going back, and how very charming was the walk over that strange bridge when it was done.

CADET BOAT AND CREW

Another day came skirmish drill, with the grey files in all sorts of varied action; the men scattered over the plain as a sower casts his seed. Speeding down in the hollow, dashing up the ridge, disappearing behind the trees, and firing straight at the pretty spectators. In those days, the short midway rest was all right for visiting; and so, when the other men dropped down on the grass, Magnus and Mr. Trueman and quite a little crowd came over to the seats, cap in hand. Smoky, and dusty, and hot—and charming—for a few minutes of lively talk. To the begrimed warriors every girl looked perfectly resplendent, in her fresh summer dress.

Then, as the drill went on, and the privates came down on one knee to fire, or crouched down, or lay at length, with the cadet officers standing motionless behind them; what terribly exposed positions the chevrons seemed to have! What a mark for the enemy's guns was each straight figure, casting its motionless shadow across the sunlit grass. Bullets might whistle over the men on the ground—but for these! It was all too real; and the young sisters were glad when those on the ground sprang up, and leaders and men were merged in an equality of danger.

One night there was the noisy, vivid, weird mortar drill; touched up with talk, flitting changes of place, comments, explanations, and fairyland bursts of red fire. What a night that was! The roar of the guns, the soft-spoken words; the flash-illumined smoke, the dark figures behind the "footlights" on the battery; the motley human mass which the crimson fire caught in its red glow.