The interior of the Chapel is worthy of its beautiful service. “Storied windows richly dight” rise majestically to the high Gothic roof and throw upon the gray walls a myriad of delicate lights, pale blues and pinks, saffrons, and deep purples. Two parallel rows of silk flags, the scarlet of the artillery, the somber blue of the infantry, and the gold of the cavalry, hang from the long covered galleries on either side of the nave. The deep rich shades of the magnificent memorial window shroud the chancel in a “dim religious light.” Nor is the service lacking in military pomp. Company after company of gray-clad cadets, their brass buttons shining, file briskly into the Chapel. The tramping of hundreds of pairs of feet up the aisle and the rattling of their buttons against the pews as they take their seats reverberate through the vast hall. The officers, in their uniforms, and their families assemble in the seats along the sides.
The first note from the organ announces the commencement of the service. The choir of over a hundred voices, singing the processional hymn, walk two by two in slow and solemn order up the aisle to their places in the stalls. A wave of music sweeps through the church as the procession moves forward. Last of all comes the Chaplain, immaculate in fresh linen surplice, and conspicuous by his distinguished bearing.
The service proceeds. The Chaplain advances to the reading desk and reads the lessons for the day. Inspiring hymns are then sung, followed by an eloquent sermon upon subjects that touch the daily lives of the cadets. Once again the celebrated organ peals forth, and during the offertory casts with its music a spell over the devout congregation. Two stalwart cadet officers then march quickly up the aisle to the chancel where awaits the Chaplain to receive the offerings. The organ’s music fills the church anew and the hall resounds to hundreds of strong voices singing “Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” followed immediately by the patriotic hymn,
My Country ’tis of thee,
Sweet Land of Liberty,
Of thee I sing—
Land where our Fathers died,
Land of the Pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountain side
Let Freedom ring!
The Chaplain standing upon the steps of the altar pronounces the solemn benediction, which is scarcely concluded when the choir begins to sing the “Amen” to the accompaniment of Holy Grail motif from Parsifal. Faintly at first the singing arises from the stalls, then stronger and stronger, then diminishing in volume until it dies away with a final “Amen.”
Besides the service at the Chapel there is another service held on Sundays. It is the Y. M. C. A., a purely religious body among the cadets and not as in the cities a sort of club house where a swimming pool, assembly rooms, and gymnasium are the main attractions. These advantages are already a part of West Point’s equipment. The Y. M. C. A. at the Academy meets every Sunday evening after supper in a hall over one of the sally-ports, and here after a few prayers, a speaker makes a short address. On week days the hall is frequented by cadets only to read the papers or to play the victrola, and in Lent the Chaplain holds afternoon services. Formerly the Chaplain held these prayers immediately after breakfast, but once a cadet captain, wishing to remind the cadets that the services would take place immediately after the dismissal of the Battalion, mixed up his verbs and announced very emphatically “cadets are cautioned about the ten-minute service in the Y. M. C. A.”! The Sunday service, however, is the reason for the existence of the organization. The prayers are not long and the addresses sometimes most interesting, especially when they relate to the work that the cadet will have to do as an officer. The meetings are usually terminated when the bugler blows the evening call to quarters in the sally-port under the hall. Of all the sounds at West Point, Sunday evening “call to quarters” is the most doleful and depressing. It means that after the break of Saturday and Sunday, the cadet must once more turn to his books and dig out the problems for Monday. When he hears its melancholy, long-drawn-out notes, he has the Sunday evening feeling, which is only a degree more cheerful than the blue Monday feeling, and he reluctantly goes back to his room to begin anew the weekly cycle.
The cadet is really never quite free from the spiritual influences of the Academy. Nature, his Chapel, traditions, precept, and example so arouse and sharpen his insight into things and into himself that his day gradually assumes a new background. These are the influences that, when he is an officer, draw him back to his Alma Mater and make him speak of it always with undisguised affection.
CHAPTER XIII
THE SPIRIT OF WEST POINT
On a fine bright morning about the middle of June, every year, the Corps of Cadets wakes up to find that Battle Monument and vicinity have been completely transformed. The Quartermaster’s men have canopied a portion of the monument’s platform with beautiful brand-new flags, and placed under them comfortable wicker chairs for the President, the Secretary of War, the various generals, and other dignitaries who usually honor West Point with their presence on this graduation day. On the front edge of the platform is a rostrum, flag bedecked, for the speaker of the occasion, and spread over the green lawn are rows and rows of seats that await the coming of the cadets. Promptly at ten o’clock, the Corps swings across the parade ground to take its place for the final ceremonies that mark the separation of another class from its midst.