CHAPTER XXV.
A SWIMMING MATCH.
The manner in which the cadets dine has not as yet been described inthese pages; perhaps here is just as good a place as any to picture thehistoric mess hall where Lee and Grant and Sherman once dined, andtoward which on that Saturday afternoon were marching not only the groupwe have just left, but also the object of all their dislike, the B. J.plebe who fell in behind the cadets as the battalion swung pastbarracks.
The cadets march to mess hall; they march to every place they go as acompany. The building itself is just south of the "Academic" andbarracks; it is built of gray stone, and forcibly reminds the candidobserver of a jail. They tell stories at West Point of credulouscandidates who have "swallowed" that, and believed that the cadetbattalion was composed of disobedient cadets, about to be locked up inconfinement.
There is a flight of iron steps in the center, and at the foot of thesesteps, three times every day, the battalion breaks ranks and dissolvesinto a mob of actively bounding figures. Upon entering, the cadets donot take seats, but stand behind their chairs, and await the order,"Company A, take seats!" "Company B, take seats!" and so on. The plebes,who, up to this time, are still a separate company, come last, as usual;they are seated by themselves, at one side of the dining-room.
The tables seat twenty-two persons, ten on a side, and one at each end.The cadets are placed according to rank, and they always sit in the sameseats. The tables are divided down the center by an imaginary line, eachpart being a "table"; first class men sit near the head, and so on downto the plebes, who find themselves at the center (that is, after theyhave moved into camp, and been "sized" and assigned to companies; beforethat they are "beasts," herded apart, as has been said).
The dinner is upon the table when the cadets enter; the corporals arecharged with the duty of carving, and the luckless plebe is expected tohelp everybody to water upon demand, and eats nothing until that dutyhas been attended to. After the meal, for which half an hour is allowed,the command, "Company A, rise!" and so on, is the signal to leave thetable and fall into line again on the street outside. This, however,does not take place until a lynx-eyed "tac" has gone the rounds, makingnotes--"So-and-so, too much butter on plate." "Somebody else, napkin notproperly folded," and so on. This ceremony over, the battalion marchesback to camp, a good half mile, in the broiling sun or pouring rain, asthe case may be.
That Saturday afternoon being a hot one, and a holiday, our friends ofthe last chapter, Bull Harris and his gang, sought out an occupation inwhich fully half the cadets at the post chanced to agree; they went inswimming, a diversion which the superintendent sees fit to allow. "Gee'sPoint," on the Hudson, is within the government property, and thitherthe cadets gather whenever the weather is suitable.
That particular party included Bull and Baby (who didn't swim, but likedto watch Bull), Gus Murray, Vance and the rest of their retainers. And,on the way, they passed the time by discussing their one favorite topic,their recent triumph over "that B. J. beast." There was a new phase ofthe question they had to speculate upon now, and that was what the"beast" could possibly have done to move to such unholy wrath soimportant a personage as the senior captain of the Battalion. Also,they were interested in trying to think up a method by which those extrademerits might be speedily given without incurring the wrath of thatofficer. Though each one of the yearlings was ready, even anxious, toexplain that he wasn't the least bit afraid of him.
"I tell you," declared Bull, "he couldn't prove anything against us ifhe tried. It's all one great bluff of Fischer's, and he's a fool to actas he did."
"I'd a good mind to tell him as much!" assented Baby.
"It won't make any difference," put in Murray, "we'll soak the plebe,anyhow. We can easily give him five demerits in short order, and withoutattracting any attention, either."
"He's out, just as sure as he's alive!" laughed Bull. "We wouldn't needto do a thing more."
"Exactly!" cried the echo. "Not a thing!"
"All the same," continued the other, "I wish we could get up a scheme toget him in disgrace, so as to clinch it. I wish we could----"
Just here Bull was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from Murray.Murray had brought his hand against his knee with a whack, and therewas a look of inspiration upon his face.
"Great Caesar!" he cried, "I've got it!"
"Got it! What?"
"A scheme! A scheme to do him!"
"What is it?"
"Write him a letter, or something--get him to leave barracks atnight--have a sentry catch him beyond limits, or else we'll report himabsent! Oh, say!"
The crowd were staring at each other in amazement, a look of delightspreading over their faces, as the full possibilities of this sameinspiration dawned upon them.
"By the lord!" cried Bull, at last. "Court-martial him! That's theticket!"
"Shake on it!" responded Murray.
In half a minute the gang had sworn to put that plan into executionwithin the space of twenty-four hours. And after that they hurried ondown to the point to go in swimming.
"Speak of angels," remarked Murray, "and they flap their wings. There'sthe confounded plebe now."
"Of angels!" sneered Vance. "Of devils, you mean."
"By George!" muttered Bull. "You can't phaze that fellow. I thoughthe'd be up in barracks, moping, to-day!"
"Probably wants to put up a bluff as if he don't care," was the cleversuggestion of the Baby. "I bet he's sore as anything!"
"I told him I'd make him the sickest plebe in the place," growled Bull,"and I'll bet he is, too."
The yearling would have won his bet; there was probably no sadder man inWest Point than Mark Mallory just then, even though he did not choose tolet his enemies know it.
"Look at him dive!" sneered Baby, watching him with a malignant frown."He wants to show off."
"Pretty good dive," commented a bystander, who was somewhat moredisinterested.
"Good, your grandmother!" cried the other. "Why, I could beat thatmyself if I knew how to swim!"
And then he wondered why the crowd laughed.
"Come on, let's go in ourselves," put in Bull, anxious to end his smallfriend's discomfort. "Hurry up, there!"
The crowd had turned away, to follow their leader in his suggestion;they were by no means anxious to swell the number of those who hadgathered for the obvious purpose of watching Mark Mallory's feats as aswimmer. In fact, they couldn't see why anybody should want to watch aB. J. beast, and a "beast" who had only a day or two more to stay, atthat.
Just then, however, a cry from the crowd attracted their attention, andmade them turn hastily again.
"A race! A race!"
And Bull Harris cried out with vexation, as he wheeled and took in thesituation.
"By the Lord!" he cried. "Did you ever hear of such a B. J. trick inyour life? The confounded plebe is going to race with Fischer!"
A Cadet's Honor: Mark Mallory's Heroism Page 25
