For days and days groups of Army Service Corps men going around the Post clipping the trees, mowing the grass on the Plain, and daubing with black paint the cannon on Trophy Point have been heralding the approach of June. The odors of the fresh grass and of the tar in the gutters are exhilarating smells for every cadet in the Corps. There are buoyancy and hope in their manner and a decided note of anticipation in the air. This feeling of anticipation is the greatest charm of a cadet’s life. It really begins with the candidate before he enters the Academy. He anticipates his entrance; then as a plebe, he looks forward with even greater pleasure to the day of his “recognition” when he shall become an upper-classman. Words are too weak to express the eagerness with which, as a Yearling, he sees the spring slip by and June arrive bringing with it his long desired furlough. And then he has before his eyes the seeming El Dorado of graduation.
Our plebe, Mr. Ducrot, is especially on the qui vive for the passage of the days. Ever since the snow left the Plain and the surrounding hills, and the first little blades of grass began to peep through the boggy spring earth, his attitude toward life has somehow seemed different. For the past ten months he has led the life of an obscure being, like the silk worm in his cocoon spinning his silk. He has almost completed his work of the plebe year and is about to emerge from his shell. For a few weeks he is seized with the languor of spring. The drills while not irksome seem unduly long; the lessons harder to prepare. But as the days of May fly by he feels his wings growing stronger and stronger and the spring fever is forgotten in the anticipation of being a Yearling.
At last the first of June arrives! At reveille even, everyone is happy. He tries his best to answer about a dozen upper-classmen who ask him all at once, “Mr. Ducrot, how many days until June?”
“No days until June, sir!” he replies in a voice that vibrates with joy. It is hard for Mr. Ducrot to believe that the day that he has so long anticipated is here. It has been so long coming. He cannot be mistaken, however, for all around him are cadets in fresh white trousers, the first time since the previous summer. He knows that for years and years it has been the custom for “the Battalion to go into white” on the first of June, at reveille. Only a few days now remain before he will put aside his humility and meekness and be received by the upper-classmen upon terms of equality.
The great metamorphosis or “recognition,” as it is called, occurs upon the day before graduation, immediately after the return of the Battalion from supper, and just prior to the graduation ball. On this night, at supper formation and in the Mess Hall, the upper-classmen are particularly severe. They “brace” and “crawl” the plebes more than ever before, filling the air with, “Get your shoulders back, Mr. Ducrot, more yet! more yet!” or, “Draw in that chin!” On this night, however, the whole affair seems humorous, for the plebes have completed their year and the upper-classmen are now about to extend to them a warm handclasp. In order not to let the plebe training fizzle out or have an inglorious end, the rigor of the “crawling” that for months has diminished little by little is all at once revived with great earnestness and enthusiasm. No one minds, however, but regards this last evening’s treatment more as a “grind,” or joke.
After supper the battalions form in front of the Mess Hall and march back to the barracks in the soft June twilight. To the observer at a distance, a roar seems to arise from the ranks as the corporals, sergeants, and lieutenants hurl corrections at the plebes. The noise continues until the Corps wheels into line to listen to the orders of the first captain standing under the trees in front of the barracks consulting with the Officer of the Day. The various instructions and orders having been announced he commands:
“Dismiss your companies!”
At once the upper-classmen in the front ranks turn and cordially grasp the hands of the plebes and slap them on the back, the first time in a year since their arrival at West Point. All of the dreariness of a year’s subjection is dissipated by the affectionate and fraternal welcome in the Corps proper by the upper-classmen, whose strong grips are to the plebe a sufficient reward for the hardships of the year just completed. Friendships whose seeds were sown, but prevented from growing by the great gulf between upper-classmen and plebes, now find their fullest opportunity for development. The Rubicon is passed, and our plebe lays aside his sackcloth-and-ashes manner for the more man-of-the-world one of a Yearling. And richly does he deserve this recompense for his manliness and grit! Following Kipling’s advice in If, he has for a long year (sometimes by force majeure) filled “the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,” so that his “recognition” by his fellow cadets means that he is stamped approved, and that he is entitled to associate with real men.
Mr. Ducrot is now entitled to enjoy all the privileges allowed the cadets by regulation and by the custom of the Corps. As a plebe, tradition ordains that he shall not attend the hops, or be allowed the social recreations of the upper-classman, but now the bars to the pasture of pleasures are removed and he scampers in like a young colt to enjoy his new freedom.
The two months of camp life that follow graduation give cadets plenty of opportunities to enjoy their spare moments. The entire forenoon is taken up with the various kinds of military instruction, with infantry drill, practical military engineering, target practice, artillery drill, equitation, swimming, and what not, but the afternoon is at their disposal from the return of the Battalion from dinner until parade at five-thirty. They have many diversions from which to choose. Close by the camp are five tennis courts for the devotees of the racquet. Upon the Plain is a good golf course for those who like this sport and speak its unintelligible language. A selected number of the First Class defy the afternoon heat playing polo down on the Flats, while others don their bathing suits and go canoeing upon the river. The less energetic throw their blankets in the shade of the trees near the Y. M. C. A. tent and abandon themselves to a siesta, or to the delights of some good book.