It is in the Field Training of the Infantry that the cadet acquires a real knowledge of command. He must be able to size up situations and quickly form a decision. He must then issue orders, clear and definite, to cover the case. It is in these drills that he learns something of the art of handling troops and what is the feeling of responsibility. The cadets who actually exercise command are the First Classmen. They are detailed by roster, irrespective of whether they are privates or cadet officers, so that every man has many opportunities to command a company before he graduates. It is highly important that the cadet should be given practice in appearing before a body of men and in giving them instructions. Nothing helps so much to give him confidence in himself. It is of great value to him when he joins his regiment in the Service. Cadets of the First Class are therefore detailed for every kind of duty. They are company commanders, acting adjutants, lieutenants, officers of the day and of the guard. Whenever there is a chance to place responsibility upon the cadet, advantage is taken of it by the Commandant.
The Infantry instruction is progressive. The First Classmen are trained in more advanced work by means of tactical walks. These exercises are similar to those prescribed for officers in the Service and are in line with their future work as subalterns. An officer takes four or five men with him to some neighboring terrain well adapted to a particular problem. All of the different phases of the problem are considered and the cadets required to size up each situation and issue their orders as if in actual warfare. They are provided with maps which they must be able to read with facility. At the close of the exercise the officer holds a critique.
Nor is target practice, that important branch of Infantry instruction, neglected. In summer when the cadets are in camp, the complete course of firing as prescribed for Infantry and Cavalry troops is given the First Class. It is held down on the flats near the river in the shelter of Cro’s Nest where a fair range parallels the Hudson. Every clear morning at seven the detachments march down to the range. At this hour the air is cool and crisp and so crystalline that every feature of the landscape stands out sharply defined. West Point is incomparably beautiful at this season and time of the day. But as the sun mounts higher in the Heavens the coolness is replaced by a steadily increasing heat. From the arrival at the range until noon, Washington Valley echoes with the crack! crack! of the Springfields. Little groups of cadets are stretched out in the blazing sun trying to find the bull’s eye and hoping to pile up a big enough score to win the coveted medal of Expert Rifleman or Sharpshooter. Meanwhile another portion of the men is down behind the butts, taking its turn in shifting the targets. All morning long they monotonously pull the frames up and down, pasting on the target, now a white paster, now a black one, or mechanically waving the red flag back and forth. Intermittently the telephone rings: “Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling.”
“Re-mark No. 8!” sings out the operator.
Careful search is made on No. 8 for the third time and up goes the red flag, the sight of which fills the hopeful cadet back at the firing point with a feeling of disappointment and disgust. And so the morning passes, the men firing so interested that they are oblivious of its flight, and the men in the butts thinking less of pasters and red flags than of the cool shower that waits them in camp, and blessed dinner.
If one wishes, however, to see the finished results of the discipline and cohesion produced by Infantry training he must attend either a review and inspection by the Corps, or a parade.
Every Saturday, shortly after the return of the cadets from dinner, there is an inspection on the Plain, preceded by a review, at which the appearance, clothing, and equipment of the cadet are minutely examined by his Tactical officer. I know of no finer sight at West Point than this ceremony, especially in the summer and early fall when the Plain is green and the cadets wear the excellent combination of the gray coats and white trousers. As the companies maneuver on the Plain preparatory to taking their places on the line, the perfection of their marching, their impeccable appearance, the white cross-belts, the glittering breastplates, and bell buttons of coat, the foreign-looking dress hat with its rigid little pompon, the splendid bearing of the men, betray the beholder into believing that he is watching the evolutions of some legendary corps d’élite. The scene seems foreign and yet again very American. The most characteristic feature is the thoroughness with which every detail of dress, equipment, and marching has been worked out. When the Corps turns the bend near Sedgwick monument and comes swinging down past the reviewing officer, the most callous spectator could not fail to have his emotions stirred. His pride is flattered. He is watching a ceremony whose perfection of execution and beauty is symbolic of an institution that in a sense belongs to him, to the man next to him, and to all the spectators along the line. It is the product of America. No wonder he reverently removes his hat as the colors march by.
No less beautiful although not so elaborate is the ceremony of parade. During the spring and fall, daily parades are given by the battalion that has attended infantry drill on that day. The drummers sound the first call in the sally-port. The Area of Barracks is practically deserted, but within the rooms cadets are feverishly adjusting their belts, wiping off their guns, struggling into their coats, or looking for mislaid breastplates. Out of the doors all at once begin to dart the plebes, first one then another, and still others. They hastily proceed to their places on the walk and mark the rear rank. The hands of the clock slowly creeping around to the hour for the assembly are watched intently by the Officer of the Day who stands in the sally-port ready to give the signal.
From all the doors of the barracks are now pouring the upper-classmen immaculately dressed in stiffly starched and evenly creased white trousers, gleaming white belts, and shining buckles. Their faces are so obscured by the chin strap of their high dress hat that all personalities are lost, and each man appears to be the duplicate of his fellow. The picturesqueness of the uniforms and the background of the severe stone barracks recall the days of Frederick the Great. The assembly sounds. At once the companies are formed and inspected. They proceed to their places in the sally-ports and between the neighboring buildings preparatory to debouching on the Plain. At the termination of the Adjutant’s call the band begins its march. One company emerges unexpectedly from the north sally-port, another from the south, another from near the Academic building, still one more from the shadow of the old gymnasium. More of them keep coming and move out on the Plain. The fresh green grass offers a charming contrast to the white of the uniforms as the companies perform their evolutions before advancing to the line. The Plain is dotted with companies in column, companies in line, companies in columns of platoons, marching in perfect cadence as if animated by machinery.
