Such is “mortar drill” at West Point. It gets to be very exciting at times, for there is no end of rivalry among the young gunners, and there are fair partisans to look on—sisters, and some who are not sisters. Cadets always look forward with pleasure to the hours for mortar drill. It is a pleasure vouchsafed to first classmen alone.
Gazing wistfully at the scene during half an hour of liberty that morning were certain members of the plebe class with whom we are acquainted. “Plebes” or new cadets, are far, far away from such a delightful function as mortar drill. It takes the three years to get to that honor, three years of work. The road that leads to it is blocked with much débris; there are fallen logs, and many bad places, ruts, and mud holes; there are drills and examinations by the dozens, and the wayside is strewn with the corpses of unfortunate plebes and yearlings who get “left” during the journey.
Some such train of thought was wandering through the minds of the aforementioned interested plebes.
Three years does seem a dreadfully long time, with such chances of failure.
“It is a case of ’Many are called,’” began one of the plebes.
“And the arithmetical ratio,” put in another, “of those who successfully achieve the ultimate object of their concentrated endeavors, and of those who are compelled to relinquish their efforts owing to unprognosticated circumstantialities, is so excessively diminutive that——”
Another gun went off there and put a period to the discourse.
It is quite needless to say that the person last quoted was our genial friend, Parson Stanard. There dwelt no other human being in all West Point who could have delivered such an address as that. There were probably no others who would have taken it more as a matter of course than did the six who were with him then. They were used to the Parson.
The party strolled back toward camp, after drill was over, internal conditions reminding them that they might soon expect to hear the drum that summoned them to dinner.
As the plebes entered the camp the members of the guard were being “turned out” for inspection. Mark recognized one of them and he turned to his companions.