“Huh! Catch me asking any of them!” commented Harry, vindictively.
It is no wonder the boys were mentally depressed the first few days after their ordeal began—mentally depressed and physically weary. They tried to realize that it was all for their good, but it was not easy.
“I thought we’d have some larks when we came here,” observed Sam. “All the stories I ever read about life at West Point were lively.”
“I guess some of the fellows who wrote those stories never came up as far as Newburgh,” sighed Tom. “It isn’t very lively.”
It certainly was not. The new cadets did not have as much fun as they would have had at a boarding school or a college where there was not so much discipline. But on the one hand, this strict discipline was necessary as the basis of a military education, and on the other hand, there was scarcely a plebe who had the mental or physical energy to go out after any fun at the close of a day’s drill, provided such fun could have been had without undue risk.
In fact, there was not much that could be done in the way of outside fun those first few weeks. Every hour of the new cadet’s life must be accounted for. His comings and goings had to be reported on the second. His superior officers must know where he was, and what he was doing, every minute of the day or night. And it was too much of a risk to “take any chances.”
“I think we’ll get the guns, to-day,” observed Tom, one morning about a week after they had begun to receive their drill instructions.
“What makes you think so?” asked Sam.
“I heard some of the officers talking about it.”
“Well, it will be something new to occupy us,” went on Sam.