"THE RIFLE WAS BROUGHT IN BY A DRUM-BOY ORDERLY"
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."
As read out by the adjutant each day after parade, and posted at the tent of the sergeant-major, the delinquency list of the corps was a long one. Every cadet reported for an offence from "absence from reveille" to "dusty shoes" had forty-eight hours within which to render a written explanation, something after this form:
Camp Reynolds, West Point, N. Y.,
August 1, 18—.