"I don't admit anything."
"Well, you didn't deny it."
"I wouldn't dignify such an absurd statement with a denial. You're green with envy, that's all, because a young lady of Greta Inskilling's caliber wouldn't give you the time of day."
"You think not? Why, I take that as a challenge, Cadet Groves. I have made a point of not exerting my considerable charms upon the lady in question, out of respect for your tender sensibilities. But if you challenge me, as you most certainly have—and Gil here is a witness—then perhaps I ought to teach you a lesson in humility. I daresay that in a fortnight I could make Miss Inskilling forget you even exist."
"That will be the day."
O'Connor laughed heartily. His joviality was contagious, and Christopher, despite the sobering prospect of being called before Superintendent Thayer, laughed along with him.
"Come on, Johnny," said Bryant. "We'll be late for formation."
"Right." Putting on a somber face, O'Connor offered his hand to Christopher. "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Cadet Groves. I shall always treasure our friendship. Rest assured I will perform an annual pilgrimage to your final resting place."
Christopher scoffed and slapped away the proffered hand. "I'll dance a jig on your grave."
It was a long-standing, if somewhat morbid, joke between the two of them.
"Let's go, Gil," said O'Connor, and took off running down the path in the direction of the riding hall.
Christopher watched them go, the smile born of his witty skirmish with O'Connor fading from his lips. What could Thayer want with him? Whatever it was, no doubt it meant trouble. There was but one way to find out. Christopher ascended the steep footpath to the ramparts. At the top he squared his shoulders and marched resolutely across the parade ground, making for the superintendent's house.
Chapter 2
Christopher couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to his doom. Try as he might, he could not anticipate the subject which Sylvanus Thayer had summoned him to discuss. Not that this would be a discussion, per se. A cadet did not discuss anything with the superintendent of the United States Military Academy as though he were an equal. The superintendent did the talking and the cadet responded with "Yes, sir" or "No, sir" at the appropriate times. Christopher was fairly certain that he had not broken the rules of West Point. That left three alternatives. Either he was going to be falsely accused of some infraction, or ordered to betray one of his fellow classmen—he was aware of plenty of infractions perpetrated by his fellow cadets. Or, it did indeed have to do with Greta Inskilling.
None of the options was especially appealing. Christopher decided that the first one would be the least difficult to endure. Although he did not approve of some of the illicit activities of his classmates, he would never rat on any one of them. Not even Adam Vickers, who hated him. And what if O'Connor was on the mark about Greta? What if this did concern her? Christopher had long ago surmised that Greta's father was less than pleased with his daughter's preference, among her many beaus, for a lowly West Point cadet.
Piet Inskilling could trace his New World roots back to the development of New Netherland as a trading post colony in 1624. Christopher was painfully aware that in those days his ancestors were still dirt-poor Welsh tenant farmers. The Dutch were never interested in colonizing New Netherland. They built a handful of forts—one of them, Fort Orange, here on the Hudson River. Dutch traders bartered with the Indians for their furs, and New Amsterdam, on Manhattan Island, became the center of the early fur trade. It also became a base for Dutch merchant ships involved in the budding Virginia tobacco trade, as well as for Dutch privateers who preyed on Spanish galleons as far away as the Caribbean. New Amsterdam became a typical sailor's town, with numerous taverns, havens for smugglers and other notorious characters, as well as a number of substantial houses owned by the money men. One of these was Piet Inskilling's great-great-great grandfather, a merchant who dabbled in everything from furs to tobacco to stolen Spanish gold.
In 1638, the States General of the Netherlands tried to encourage settlement by issuing the Charter Privileges to Patroons. Anyone who brought five hundred tenant families to New Netherland at his own expense was given a vast tract of wilderness, over which the patroon exercised manorial privileges. Soon, the most valuable land in the Hudson Valley was held in immense feudal estates—one of the grandest belonging to the Installing family.
But New Netherland did not prosper. It suffered poor management—a succession of autocratic governors, including the wooden-legged Peter Stuyvesant, a distant relative of Piet, who mismanaged the colony's affairs, antagonizing the Indians as well as the English colonies to the north and south. Stuyvesant persecuted the Quakers, seized the colony of New Sweden on the Delaware River, and ended the free trade policy of New Amsterdam. In naval and commercial competition with the Dutch, England finally made its move in 1664. That year a British fleet appeared off New Amsterdam and demanded a Dutch surrender. Without the means to mount a viable resistance, Stuyvesant complied, and New Netherland became New York without a shot having been fired. Most of the Dutch families—the Van Rensselaers, Van Burens, Roosevelts, and Inskillings—kept their estates and prospered under British rule.
The clannish patroons tended to guard their bloodlines rather jealously. Piet Inskilling was no exception. True, Christopher stood to inherit a Kentucky estate, but Elm Tree was inconsequential when compared to the vast wealth and holdings of the Inskillings, and it didn't really matter anyway, because Piet wanted his daughters—Greta was the youngest of three—to marry the sons of other patroons. Greta's older sisters had complied with their father's wishes, but Greta was being willfully disobedient, as was her nature, in persisting with her flirtation with Cadet Groves. Or so Piet Inskilling perceived it. Christopher sincerely hoped it was more than a flirtation, much more. He thought Greta considered it more serious than that, too, but he wasn't absolutely sure.
So maybe O'Connor was right, mused Christopher. Maybe old Inskilling had prevailed on his good friend Sylvanus Thayer to take a hand in the business. As he neared the superintendent's house, Christopher's lips thinned, a grim and obstinate expression on his face. His personal affairs were none of Thayer's business. By God he would quit the Corps of Cadets before he would allow even the superintendent to interfere in his private life.
Just shy of his destination, Christopher suddenly faltered. What was he thinking? He wasn't even sure he really loved Greta Inskilling. True, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he was flattered by her interest, but he wasn't even sure what love was, and he had to consider whether she was worth throwing away his future, especially since it was entirely possible that her interest in him would turn out to be fleeting. He had always wanted to be a soldier. What other career path could he follow? Politics? No. Politics had corrupted his father. It had taken Jonathan Groves away from his family and forced him to compromise his values for the sake of appearances. Elm Tree? He could raise horses, but he was a poor businessman. Besides, Elm Tree enjoyed a good reputation but not much else. His mother had a difficult time keeping the place afloat financially. West Point seemed to be his only avenue, the sole means by which he could make something of himself. And he was thinking of throwing it all away for . . . what? Love? Or foolish pride?
A commotion drew his attention to the cadet barracks across the vast parade ground. His comrades were boiling out of the doors to form ranks in the bright May sun. He watched them, and longed to be among them. Formation—standing in the hot sun or the bitter cold, depending on the season, in full dress uniform—never had appealed to him as much as it did at this moment.
The door to the superintendent's small, white clapboard house opened and Sylvanus Thayer emerged. With his shock of pale hair and hooked nose and stiletto eyes he looked like a bald eagle appearing suddenly out of its aerie. He was clad, as usual, in an impeccable uniform, braid on the high stiff collar and sleeves of his tunic, epaulets on his narrow shoulders, a sa
ber buckled around his waspish waist.
Christopher snapped to attention, a reflex action. But Thayer did not seem to notice him at first. The superintendent glowered across the parade ground at the long gray line of cadets formed in front of the gray stone barracks. If he was pleased by what he saw, his expression did not reveal it, but then he always looked stern and disapproving.
Finally his cold blue eyes flicked down at Christopher.
"Ah, Mr. Groves. Punctual, as always. Come, walk with me."
Thayer started off with long, vigorous strides, hands clasped behind his back, saber rattling against his leg. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, and seldom looked up. Christopher had to lengthen his own stride just to keep up.
"So, Mr. Groves, you are doing quite well this year. The President has asked about you."
Christopher was stunned. "The President? General Jackson?"
"The same. He is planning on paying us a visit in a few weeks. Prior to the arrival of the board of visitors. I suspect his interest in your progress stems from the high regard in which he held your father."
"Yes, sir."
"I was pleased to be able to inform him that your marks are quite satisfactory in every regard."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me. You have earned those marks by virtue of your hard work and dedication to duty. In mathematics you currently stand fourth in your class, with credits of one hundred and ninety-seven out of a possible two hundred. In French you are fifth, rating ninety-eight out of a possible one hundred credits. On the roll of general merit, therefore, you stand at two hundred and ninety-five out of three hundred. Very commendable. As was the case last year, I expect to see your name on the list of 'distinguished cadets.' "
"Yes, sir." Christopher's cheeks burned with the fever of pride. To be on the list of distinguished cadets—the first five in each class—was a conspicuous honor. Those five names would be certified to the secretary of war for inclusion in the army register.
"You are doing equally as well in natural philosophy and chemistry," continued Thayer, and rattled off Christopher's current marks in those two difficult disciplines. Christopher was not at all surprised to learn that Thayer knew his ratings in such detail. The superintendent had a phenomenal memory, and kept himself well-informed of the standing of both the best and the worst of his cadets. In order to be well-acquainted with the details of the Academy, he received daily reports on each cadet.
"As I recall," continued Thayer, as they passed between the Academy and the mess hall, heading down the path to the riding hall, "General Jackson wrote a letter of recommendation for your admittance into the Academy. That is quite an honor for you, I am sure. Ture, the President and I have had our differences. As you may know, I had to severely discipline two of his nephews, and on one occasion he reinstated a cadet whom I had been forced to dismiss."
"Yes, sir." Christopher studied Thayer's profile, looking for a flicker of emotion behind the superintendent's stony mask. Thayer's words were sharp with disapproval, but his features were no sterner than usual.
"Nonetheless, the President continues to evince his support for the Academy. It is well for us that he sees fit to do so, Mr. Groves. Every year, it seems, a bill to abolish this institution is introduced in Congress. I understand that this year such a bill was put forward by Davy Crockett, a representative from the President's home of Tennessee. Hmph!"
Christopher knew that sound. It meant Thayer was contemptuous of Crockett or the bill or both. But what wasn't clear was why Thayer had summoned him—and why the superintendent was telling him all of this. If Thayer's purpose was only to inform him of Andrew Jackson's interest in his progress at West Point, then what was the reason for discussing the Academy's travails? Christopher didn't have a clue. All he could do was listen and learn. Yet he could not dispel a feeling of deep anxiety. Whatever lay at the end of the path down which Thayer was leading him, Christopher was pretty certain he wasn't going to like it.
"From the beginning," said Thayer, "the Academy has had to fight for its very existence. Americans have always had an abiding distrust of the concept of a standing army. Understandable, since in the days when we were yet British colonies the redcoats garrisoned in our towns seemed to be here for the purpose of occupation and oppression, in spite of their claims that they were intended to protect our frontiers against the French and the Indians. We cherish the perception that we are a nation of farmers who will lay aside our plows, pick up our rifles, and defend our country in volunteer armies when the need arises."
"I believe it was Alexander Hamilton, sir, who said that war is a science."
"Precisely. There have always been a few farsighted individuals who understand the need for an officers' training school. But this academy would have never been established but for the possibility that officers trained here in military engineering would also be able to build roads and harbors and bridges. I believe the efforts of our graduates in that vein have proven the value of advanced scientific training a thousand times over. Still, our enemies continue to attack us. Some of them complain that this is a place of privilege, producing a military aristocracy. How quickly they forget the lessons of our recent war. Volunteer armies can triumph if well-led. The President's victory at Chalmette is a case in point. But for every triumph there were many failures, and all because our brave citizen-soldiers were commanded by imcompetents, woefully ignorant of even the most basic precepts of military strategy."
Thayer sighed, and abruptly stopped walking. He looked all about him, and his piercing gaze came finally to rest on Christopher's face. "I fear our countrymen's prejudice against professional soldiering will always be a cross for us to bear. This academy's reputation for civil engineering is all that redeems us to the popular sentiment of our times. And since there is no army to speak of, a cadet's prospects are slim, if his preference is a military career, unless of course he wishes to be posted on the frontier. What is your preference in that regard, Mr. Groves?"
"I—I'm not sure, sir. I know many of the cadets leave the Army shortly after graduation for employment as engineers or teachers."
"Is that what you have in mind for yourself?"
Christopher's reply had not satisfied Thayer. "No, sir," he said. "I want a military career."
"Our best cadets qualify for the Corps of Engineers. That is the place for young officers of vigor and ingenuity. Bearing in mind that you have some time yet to spend with us, I believe that in the end you will qualify in that respect."
"I was thinking more along the lines of the cavalry, sir."
The truth seemed to disappoint Thayer. Christopher knew as well as anyone that the cavalry was not held in high regard. The United States Light Dragoons—nick named the "Lazy Dogs"—was treated like the orphan stepchild of the United States Army.
"Ah yes," said the superintendent. "Your knowledge of and love for horses. And you seek adventure, no doubt."
Here it comes, thought Christopher. O'Connor was right. This was about Greta Inskilling. Thayer was going to tell him what he already knew—that an officer in the cavalry had no business contemplating a future shared with a young woman from the upper crust of society. What could a cavalryman expect to offer such a woman? A Spartan existence at some remote and dusty frontier outpost? An income which was scarcely sufficient for a single man to make ends meet, and a meager pension to reward a lifetime of thankless service? At least a member of the Corps of Engineers enjoyed the prospect of lucrative private practice. Christopher braced himself for what was coming next.
"I have received another letter besides the President's concerning you," said Thayer. "From a Mrs. Emily Cooper."
Caught completely off guard, Christopher was speechless. His flesh tingled, as from a thousand tiny pinpricks.
Thayer's perpetual expression of stern disapprobation seemed more severe than usual. "I assumed upon receipt of the letter that the lady intended to ask permission to visit her young cousin, Adam Vickers. So I w
as much surprised to find hardly a mention of Cadet Vickers. Mrs. Cooper very much wants to see you, Mr. Groves."
"Me? But why?"
"She did not share her reasons with me. I must admit that it was with some reluctance that I gave her permission."
"Yes, sir," said Christopher. He didn't know what else to say.
"I am aware of the . . . connection between your father and Emily Cooper. I am also aware of the animosity which exists between you and Cadet Vickers, no doubt as a direct result of that connection."
Christopher's face felt hot. "If there is animosity, it is not on my part, sir."
"Perhaps not. But it exists, and is a source of grave concern for me. This academy's reputation is a fragile thing, Mr. Groves. West Point has many enemies. The scandal which swirled around the dismissal of my predecessor, Captain Partridge, came perilously close to destroying us. Another scandal might do the trick. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"
"Yes, sir," said Christopher stiffly. There was more he wanted to say, but he was inhibited in the presence of this man who was second only to God when it came to power over Christopher's fate.
One corner of Thayer's grim mouth curled in what might have been a wintry smile. "You are wondering why I gave Mrs. Cooper permission to visit West Point if I am so concerned by what might transpire as a consequence of that visit."
"Yes, sir. As a matter of fact I was wondering precisely that."
"Two reasons. One, it is not my nature to ignore or flee from unpleasant situations. And two, I have absolute faith in your tact and your fidelity to this institution."
"Thank you, sir."
Thayer nodded. "I expect Mrs. Cooper to arrive in a matter of days. I know you will conduct yourself at all times with the best interests of the Academy in mind. Now, I intend to have my afternoon ride. That is all." He turned toward the nearby riding hall and stables, took two steps, and turned back. "Good luck to you, Mr. Groves."
"Thank you, sir."
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