“And so this is an introduction to West Point,” ruminates the Harvard spectacles, “strikes me this chap is somewhat brusque. I wonder where all the other fellows are!”
Meanwhile over in front of the Administration Building is a large group of candidates just reporting. Some are laughing and joking, others remain silent, plunged in thought, wondering why they feel so strangely. About the same impression fills each one’s mind. Underneath those parti-colored striped shirts each heart is thumping just a little faster than usual. The delay in reporting seems interminable. With thoughts of all sorts racing through their heads, they await their reception, or their “breaking in” with fearful interest.
Photo White Studio
“Beast Barracks”—Drawing Mattresses
Some few have been to West Point before, but the large majority have never been so fortunate. They know it only by Cadet Days, General King’s entertaining book of cadet life, or by The Spirit of Old West Point, General Morris Schaff’s charming reminiscent book of life in the Corps, about the time of the Civil War, or by romantic stories gathered here and there.
No words that I know of seem as magical as “West Point.” To the candidate it conjures a vision of all that he hopes to be. The honor of being a cadet, the privilege of wearing the uniform, the immense possibilities of physical and mental achievement, the soul-satisfying fear of an ambition about to be realized, the glamour of military life, and, it must be admitted, a secret feeling of righteous superiority over his boy friends at home,—all these thoughts crowd his imagination so that for once he sees frozen the vague ideal that he always has had of himself.
I am sure that Gawain’s first impressions of King Arthur’s court were dim in comparison with the dazzling visions of West Point that fill the candidate’s mind. For months, in some cases for years, he has striven for an appointment. All of his interests and hopes have been centered upon becoming a cadet. He has read all the literature about the place, he has gone to sleep many a night living over in imagination his career. At last the day comes when he sets forth on the road of his great ambition. He can hardly believe that he is actually on the way to West Point! What enchanting pictures crowd his imagination and beguile the journey! In his mind’s eye he is arriving; he sees himself in uniform, he wonders how he will like the life: one moment he is troubled by the probability of failure, the next, he spans the years in thought and is back home again on furlough, and he thrills with pride and pleasure at the prospect of greeting his old comrades after an absence of two years. How delightful it is to build castles in Spain! His imagination runs on and on; he promises himself to study hard, he wants his family to be proud of his record; he hopes to be a cadet officer. In his reverie he graduates and joins the Army, his ambition realized. All a-tingle with excitement he eagerly awaits the arrival at West Point.
When, however, the great gray buildings loom up as the day-line boat approaches the wharf, his buoyancy begins to ebb, his exhilaration cools under a mental Texas Norther, and the joy of anticipation so recently experienced receives a chill that causes him to gaze around uneasily and forlornly. He feels a little sad and melancholy. Thoughts of home sweep over him.
