The characteristic feature of the New Year’s hop occurs at midnight. A few seconds before twelve o’clock, a musician in the orchestra sounds the “attention.” An impressive stillness falls over the ball room, while the trumpeter blows “Taps” just as the old year dies. Not a person in the whole room stirs. At the first stroke of twelve, the trumpeter blows the “Reveille,” a signal that another year has awakened.
The cadets of the upper classes then rush to the center of the ball room, form into class groups, and give their class yell. The under classes yell for the First Class which politely responds with a class yell for each. The First Classmen then end the incident by a yell, adding three prolonged and joyous cries:
“Never again! Never again! Never again!”
They mean that never again as cadets at West Point will they attend a New Year’s dance. They are announcing to all present the completion of a definite period, the closing of one chapter of their lives that can never again be relived. The music starts up, the dancers float off, and the incident is soon forgotten, but to one standing by who takes the trouble to reflect a little there is an element of sadness in the almost debonair manner that these young men renounce a portion of their lives that has not been lacking in benefits and in happy associations.
After the mid-winter break nothing interrupts the routine of the cadets’ ordinary diversions until the annual play on the 20th of February. The upper-classmen give the Hundredth Night Play. It is ordinarily a satire upon conditions at the Academy. The setting is invariably West Point, and the principal characters are the officers on duty. The other characters satirize the type with which West Point abounds: the cadet girl, her friend, the chaperone, the cadet “spoonoid,” the professors and instructors. Shouts of laughter greet the appearance of the impersonations of the officers, and rounds of applause follow jokes gotten off at their expense. There is nothing assumed or counterfeit about the genuineness of the cadets’ enjoyment. There is, of course, an officer who censors the play before its production, for although there is no more polite body of men in the world than the Corps of Cadets, yet their enthusiasm and eagerness might lead them to indulge in personalities that would offend. The Tactical officers who are immediately over the cadets are most generally impersonated; the exaggeration of their little weaknesses is not more enjoyed by the cadets than by the officers themselves. In fact, whenever any one of them is left out he rather regrets it.
The approach of spring leaves but little time for pleasure. Drills are resumed after study hours, followed by parade and guard mounting, then more study hours after supper. The Battalions must be whipped into shape for June week; each class must be given drills to prepare the individuals for their coming task in June. Many things occupy the cadets’ attention. The First Classmen can think of little else except graduation. They are busy looking over samples of uniforms, boots, civilian clothing, or ordering same, or trying on uniforms. Some few have the added responsibility of planning for their approaching marriage. Naturally, the interest of First Classmen in cadet activities begins to wane. The Second Class anticipate their First Class camp when the reins of power pass to them, the Yearlings dream and dream and dream of furlough. Every spring evening during the half-hour after supper they gather upon Battle Monument to sing their furlough songs. Little snatches float across the Plain, partly unintelligible, but from which the words “love” and “girl” and “moon,” sung with greater emphasis apparently, can be clearly distinguished. Only the “call to quarters” drags them back to earth, whereupon with a vociferous “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o!” they break up the meeting and march back to barracks, arm in arm, singing of the pleasures to come when they will leave the Academy for two months and return to the bosom of their families.
Not least of the pleasures at West Point is the camaraderie. There are always plenty of friends to be had, fine manly fellows with clean thoughts, affectionate and kind. A cadet rarely fully appreciates what this comradeship means until he is about to graduate. Then he reflects upon his four years spent in the society of so many fine men, and he feels a poignant regret at leaving their midst. The recollections of the hardships endured and overcome together, of the mutual confidences, of the sympathy when needed, of little sacrifices made for him, fill him with tenderness and sadness. He finds it hard to say good-bye to the truest friends that he will ever have.
The last few months, however, are so filled with duties and obligations that he has few moments for reflection. Before he knows it June and graduation are upon him. He then attends his own Graduation Ball. Just prior to the last dance, once again the First Class assembles in the center of the room, gives its class yell followed by the three cries:
“Never again! Never again! Never again!”
A little lump comes in his throat as the echo dies away. Never again will he be a cadet at West Point. A yell that has heretofore been most musical has all of a sudden become most melancholy.