After the Corps has been given the maximum of military training for any one year, a week’s practice march is held as a climax to the intensive work of the summer camp. With band playing and with all the panoply of war the cadets march down to the ferry to cross to the other side of the Hudson. For the next six days they march and maneuver through the beautiful country in the neighborhood of West Point. Every day camp is established at a new point and a problem worked out on the march from one place to the other. All branches of the Service are represented. The main body of the Corps go as Infantry, but the First Class make up the Cavalry and Field Artillery. The “hike” is a valuable experience for the cadets. They learn what it means to be a “doughboy” and carry a pack on one’s back through the sweltering heat and the dust of the road. They appreciate how tired the Cavalryman and the Field Artilleryman are when they throw themselves down in their pup tents after the labors of the day. Their understanding of real soldiering is broadened and their sympathy for the duties that enlisted men have to perform, awakened. They return to the Post, footsore and weary, prepared to take up their studies in barracks and continue their military training in the limited time after recitations.
During the entire year all military instruction ceases at six o’clock in the evening. Military methods are, however, inextricably woven into every part of the cadet life in addition to what might be called purely military training. All during the evening study period, for example, a certain number of cadets are on guard in the hall of the divisions to prevent the cadets from visiting in each other’s rooms, and to preserve the utmost silence in the barracks. The only noise that can be heard is the tread of the sentinel who walks back and forth wrapped in his own thoughts that occasionally are interrupted by the Corporal of the Guard sticking his head in at the door and saying:
“All right on your post?”
“All right, sir,” answers the sentinel, who as soon as his superior disappears replunges into his reverie until time for his relief.
At twenty minutes past nine a preliminary tapping of the drums is heard on the Plain near the Commandant’s quarters. A few minutes of silence ensue. Then the music of the fifes and drums startles the night as the drum corps commences its march to barracks to sound tattoo. The notes of the fifes float out over the darkened Plain in the weirdest possible manner, as if the spirits of the night were trying to be gay but could not suppress a certain plaintiveness in spite of their joy. They are like a little boy going upstairs in the dark who keeps saying out loud, “I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid.” On they come, the music growing louder and louder, until they reach the sally-port where their racket is a signal to the cadets to cease work and make down their beds. Some of the men are already asleep, but the vast majority are still sitting at tables, supporting their heads on their hands as they try to absorb the meaning of the printed words that dance before their eyes. The Drum Corps has ceased to play and stands near the Guard House waiting for half-past nine. The silence of the Area is broken only by the tramp of the third relief marching around the stoop of barracks from one division to another.
Photo White Studio
At P. M. E. Drill
Building a Pontoon Bridge
“No. 1. Off!” commands the Corporal.