Part 6

"The arch-fiend, _we_ call him," said Carr, with a laugh. "He's the professor of confusion worse confounded, Mrs. Gresham. Do you want him brought up, too?"

"Thank you, no: here comes Joseph. How do you do, Mr. Kindred?" And Mrs. Gresham gave Magnus a warm clasp of the hand that went to his heart.

"Come and sit here by me," she said, making room for Magnus. "I suppose you enjoy these concerts very much?"

"Sometimes," Magnus answered her. "They make a change."

"Why don't you go to the hops, if you want a change?" said Catty, leaning her elbows on her aunt's lap, and gazing up at the new acquaintance. Magnus laughed in spite of himself.

"How do you know but I do?" he said.

"I never see you there when I go," said Catty.

"I'll tell you, child," said Miss Flirt, coming to the rescue. "Mr. Kindred never goes to the hops in the hop room, because at this time of year he has no end of hops outdoors."

Catty looked mystified.

"I'm not talking to you," she said, turning her back. "But I never met you out walking either, Mr. Kindred. Don't you ever walk with anybody but your best girl? I never do, when my special cadet's on guard."

Amid the little hubbub which this called forth, Mrs. Gresham rose up.

"If you will give me your arm, Mr. Kindred," she said, "I should like to walk round the camp. The lights and shades show so differently from different points; it is pleasant to watch them. I have been in Europe for three years, and West Point is new to me. What is the band playing now?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am. One of Moore's melodies comes next."

"How lovely the shadows are! I used to be quite a painter in my young days," said Mrs. Gresham as they strolled along. "Is that one of your studies?"

"Not this year, ma'am. Indeed we have no real studies 'in camp.'"

"But still many things that deserve the name: I understand. What do you call the hardest thing you have to do?"

"Sometimes, 'study to be quiet,'" said Magnus, with a look and tone at once so playful and so full of feeling that Mrs. Gresham opened her heart, and took him right in.

"Ah, yes!" she said, "I can well believe it. And I am glad you have Bible words at hand for your hard places."

"Do you care about them?" said Magnus quickly. "I thought nobody did, here."

"About Bible words? Oh, yes they do!" said Mrs. Gresham, with her gentle smile. "You do not know many people here yet, Mr. Kindred."

"And I am not likely to, very soon," said Magnus. "But I spoke too quick. Yes, I know there are some right here in the Corps who care. There's Mr. Upright of the first class. I do not believe he ever misses a chance of doing the out-and-out thing for a Christian to do. And Mr. True of the third, he's another. Oh, there are a lot among us that know enough--if we only hold out," he added soberly.

Mrs. Gresham had listened for her son's name, but it did not come. He, too, "knew enough," but alas! only that very morning when he came in from drill, Magnus had heard him curse his horse, and the instructor, and the whole concern, in terms that would have wrung the gentle mother's heart. The girls did not know, as they hung upon his arm; the officers did not guess, seeing only the straight military figure and good face: only God knew, and the fellow-students to whom Gresham was setting his example. The mother felt the omission, sighed, waited, and sighed again; then silently locked up her fears and her disappointment.

"But you _must_ hold out, Mr. Kindred," she said. "If you are a professing Christian, you have sworn it."

"Yes, ma'am," Magnus answered soberly, "and I mean it, too. But there are harder times here than you can guess."

"It is the pinch that shows what a man is," said Mrs. Gresham. "If you must run, run before the firing begins."

Magnus laughed.

"I'll remember," he said.

"But remember, too," said Mrs. Gresham, "that here as everywhere else: on the Hill Difficulty of West Point, no less than among the Delectable Mountains at home, you are to be a witness for Christ."

"Yes, ma'am--you would think so," said Magnus excitedly, "and so mother thinks. But how are you going to do anything _here_? Religion don't count, in this old camp."

"Religion may come in and stay, even where she is not fêted and caressed," said Mrs. Gresham.

"That is true enough," said the boy, colouring. "All the same, you can't guess, as I said, what a hard time she has. And now guard duty begins; and it'll be drill and walk post, walk post and drill, night and day. Your shoulders poked in, and your feet kicked out. Skinned if you don't skin somebody else, and nearly skinned actually if you do. Told forty things a day that you don't understand, and then given extra tours _because_ you don't. That's what they say. Why, there are six hundred and sixty-eight separate regulations that we are supposed to keep!"

"Six hundred and sixty-eight!" said Mrs. Gresham. "Well, it must take a very lively imagination to 'suppose' that three hundred boys will keep six hundred and sixty-eight regulations."

"They know we can't do it," said Magnus hotly. "But we're bid to, all the same. And they punish us if we don't."

"Good-evening, Mrs. Gresham," said another voice, and Cadet Main (alias Mean) came up and shook hands. "What work of charity have you in tow now?"

"Mr. Kindred has been telling me about the many regulations," said Mrs. Gresham.

"Oh, regulations!" said Main. "Yes, there's quite a little many of 'em. Keeps a fellow busy to break 'em all; but some of us max it, every time."

"Break them? You mean 'keep them,'" said Mrs. Gresham.

"No I don't--not I!" said Main, laughing. "You'd better believe I don't. Why, the only fun I have in life is breaking regulations."

"Breaking them?" repeated Mrs. Gresham, looking bewildered. "But you will get yourself into trouble, so, Mr. Main."

"Will, shall, have, and expect to," said Main. "I'm bound to get some fun out of this old prison."

"Suppose the walls open, rather suddenly, and let you out."

"Make my best bow, and go. It'll be a great loss to the service. But you should talk to Lorenzo here, Mrs. Gresham; he's played good boy ever since he came. Regular pet of the Com.'s, he is. Why, he won't even help carry off Sammy from the Mess Hall."

"And pray how comes 'Sammy,' as you call him, to need carrying off?" demanded Mrs. Gresham severely. But that brought such a chorus of laughter from the whole group of cadets (several more had gathered round), that Mrs. Gresham let her question drop.

"We'll run it up to the hotel some day, and present him, Mrs. Gresham," said Main.

"If you 'run it'--to anywhere I am, I'll not see you," said the lady.

"Why, you _can't_ keep all the regulations," said Devlin. "Not if you did your level best. You just _have_ to break them."

"Then what is it all for--this Blue Book you tell of?"

"Light reading for the Academic Board," suggested Mr. Sharpless.

"Skinning made easy," said Main. "Every new Tac makes a new rule and tacks it on. They'll bring it up to a thousand presently."

They had made the circuit of the camp, and now came round once more to the open space before the lights, with its shadowy border where the motley groups paused, moved on, went in and out. The camp points of flame flickered, and peered into the dusk; contesting now with a nobler light their right of search. For in the east the moon was rising; lifting her fair face above the hilltops, and pouring a flood of summer glory over river and plain.

"Just so she will be rising at home," Magnus thought. "With the girls all sitting on the steps, and mother in her rocking chair in the porch."

It is well for the homesick cadet that his surroundings are so fine, beguiling him with their beauty; but it is also a good thing that he never can do much "mooning" at once. Before Magnus had got to the middle of his third sigh came the sharp voice of the drum, calling him to order. And yet "sharp" is hardly the word; only neglected duty takes on that tone, but the drum-call was brisk, imperative, unmistakable. Yet fine, as well, and stirring; as duty attended to always is.

It was pretty to see the grey and white figures coming out from the dusky shadows among the trees, and crossing to the tents. Some at a quick run, others slowly, as under protest: here and there one very lingeringly, with many a backward look and farewell word, to some white-robed vision that shewed angelic in the uncertain light.

Meanwhile, the racket of drum and fife filled all the air, rattling up and down the company streets. The crowd scattered, the band tramped off; and still here and there a tardy cadet came hurrying in, but only in time to get a cold "late" or "absence."

"Oh, it _is_ such fun to make them run!" said one fair creature delightedly. "I just kept Mr. Dunkirk fooling along after the first drum; and there he goes, for all he is worth."

"Too late?" queried a quiet lady in a dark dress.

"Not too late to get to bed," said Miss Saucy. "They won't make him walk post to-night, poor boy. But he'll be on the black list to-morrow."

"Then you won't have him to walk with on Saturday," said another girl.

"Have somebody else, _ma chère_. One gets tired of the same man too often. If I didn't trip him up now and then I should die of a surfeit of honey, and never have a chance at treacle and lumps of sugar."

"But do you mean to say," said the lady in black, "do you really mean to say that you get these young men into difficulty _wilfully_? That _you_ are responsible for their being late?"

"Well, I do everything wilfully," said the girl--"and I am never responsible for anything. So I don't know how you'll fix it."

"I shall tell the Commandant to-morrow!" said the lady excitedly.

"No good." said the girl. "He can't skin me--and he _will_ skin him. It don't hurt much: _he_ don't care. Says he don't."

"He ought to care!"

"Very likely he ought," said Miss Saucy. "Oh, he's not absolute perfection--won't be canonised till he's dead, I dare say."

XI

ON GUARD

Twelve small strokes on the tinkling bell; Midnight comes, and all is well!

--_Culprit Fay._

Yes, with the new uniform came also new work, as Magnus had been warned. Guard duty put in its claim, and the plebs were promoted to walk post, and to learn what upper classmen could do to make that duty unpleasant. "Jumping plebs" went on with variations. "Crawling" seems to be the favourite word now, but probably the thing itself is not much slower than it was of yore.

The first night on guard was a never-to-be-forgotten thing to Magnus Kindred.

It was a quiet night enough, so far as disturbances went, for this time the tide of mischief seemed to set in some other direction. But that only left the power of the night itself unchecked. So still, so solemn, so sweet, and yet with such a bitter flavour. Strange beyond description, and beautiful past all telling.

Charlemagne had gone on with the second relief, tattoo had beat, and taps had said its closing word; and now all private lights were out. The day had been hot, but the night came down dewy and cool; and the full summer moon was slowly flooding the world with glory, and lining out everything in clear black and white.

Every tent wall was raised to let in the air. The prostrate men on the floors were as still as the white canvas above their heads. Sleeping off drills and difficulties here, and there plotting and planning; or perhaps gazing out into the night with wide-open, homesick eyes.

A faint breath stirred the trees around Camp Hard; from across the plain one could just catch the sound of slow footsteps, where the enlisted sentry paced up and down the Officers' Row. Far below, on the river, boats went and came: a sloop, dreaming noiselessly along on the incoming tide; or two steamers, signalling before they met. You could hear the dash of the swell upon the shore, and the panting breath of the fierce little tugs, with the more stately beat of the paddles of a side-wheeler. Over all, the moon rode high and clear.

And, for this night, the Western pleb was unmolested. Not a stray ghost crossed his beat. Up and down, up and down, in company with his shadow, the slow, measured step leaving his thoughts free: and they had all gone home. And so it was, that by degrees Magnus Kindred fell into one of his desperate fits of lonely homesickness, ready to fire off his musket, or do any lawless thing, if only so he might be arrested and dismissed to freedom, mother, and the girls. And on post you cannot throw your arms into the air and yourself down on the ground; not get even the smallest bit of any such slight relief.

As Magnus turned on his beat, pacing now towards the western hills, the exceeding beauty of the bit of star-spangled sky to the north was full in view. The Great Bear and his associates held on their shining way, despite the moon, calm, high, lifted above all of earth's tears and turmoils. What was that his mother used to sing?

"Ye stars are but the shining dust Of my divine abode; The pavement of those heavenly courts Where I shall see my God."

Magnus remembered with another of his sharp twinges.

"All right for her!" he thought, pacing back again to meet the moon, "all right for them all! But the folks that tread those pavements have gotten the victory."

"I do not think, myself," Cadet Kindred went on candidly, eyeing the stars once more, "that I am fighting for it hard enough to hurt, just at present. 'Gotten the victory,'" he repeated to himself, "won it, and kept it."

The dear folks at home might not even be thinking of him, just then; they were doubtless all peacefully asleep, each having laid down her heart's desire at the feet of Him "that keepeth Israel," so leaving the far-off young sentinel in His tender care. But Magnus knew, almost as if he had heard them, the prayers sent up for him that night.

A sharp, resonant cry brought him suddenly back to Camp Hard and duty. From the post in front of the camp the sentinel gave the hour.

"Number One! Half-past ten o'clock and all's--well!"

Then it came to Magnus.

Now the guard had been admonished, that very day, not to mumble the words, but to give each its full value, clear and strong. But this first man was sleepy, or lazy, and gave small heed to the order. His "All's well!" was loud enough, but seemed rather a matter of hope than of certainty.

I am not sure that Magnus even supposed that he himself was working out the spirit of the order, but he was homesick and disheartened, as well as ignorant of military affairs; and with that a little bit reckless, and ready to do anything for a change. What did it matter, anyhow? And so, as it came to his turn, he shouted forth the call at the top of his voice, and to the closing notes of the retreat bugle call at parade.

[Music: Num-ber two: Half-past ten o'-clock, and all is ... well!]

And half the camp heard it.

Of course there was a stir, and Magnus was reported for "calling the hour in an improper manner." But he went scot-free, after all, by reason, doubtless, of his short acquaintance with guard duty.

XII

_OFF_ GUARD

Are you shining for Jesus loyally, Shining just anywhere; Not only in easy places, Not only just here and there?

--F. R. HAVERGAL.

In such fashion days and weeks rolled by; as time-wheels will, over the roughest ground, and through the most uninteresting country. For without doubt, drills can become monotonous; and if the body yielded itself more and more easily to regulations, as the time went on, so did not always the mind.

At first, in the strangeness of everything, details went for less, but now that he no longer wore the grey bag, to have his toes still kicked out set his blood tingling. He was so well made by nature, that "this extra regulation ramrod style," as he spitefully termed it, seemed like persecution. For some of the drill masters by no means slackened their demands as the need of them grew less.

"Get your shoulders back, Mr. Kindred!"

"_Get_ them back, sir!"

"_Get_ them _back_!"

"He had better take a sledge hammer and pound them in," Magnus declared one day.

"You'll be pounded for disrespect," Rig warned him.

"All right; it's a true bill. I don't respect that man, and I never shall."

"But officers, you know," suggested Rig.

"Oh, officers!" said Magnus loftily. "What business has he to be an officer, with the manners of a boot-black?"

However, as I said, time did wear on; with parades, drills, gymnastics, and the rest of it. And in the intervals, when upper classmen walked with the pretty girls, and went to teas and picnics, the plebs drew together and eyed them from a distance, making many comments, uttering many groans; but, most of all, knitting up firm and strong the class bond which no after-years could break.

This class bond is a most natural thing among boys who have faced hardships side by side; and in a way, it is very fine; but it has its danger, too.

The stand taken by each one in the class for and with each other one, in those first hard weeks when they feel as if every man's hand was against them all, sometimes passes into a "Stand by the class!" which cramps the influence, and hinders the action of many an individual man. "The class, right or wrong!" is never a safe motto.

One other little event in camp life that summer may be told over here, for its after-effect upon Magnus Kindred.

There were two or three men in the pleb class who, by reason of a certain offhand brightness of thought and tongue, had more influence with the rest than they deserved, for either their principles or their brains. Men able to put the wrong thing into such brilliant words, that the real meaning was lost sight of in the fun and the glitter. And so, in the scarcity of amusements, Magnus fell into the habit of lingering where they stood; listening to their sayings, laughing at their sallies, and, to a certain degree, following their lead. And, as often happens, the light words, the smart speeches which were not true, won their way. He began to hearken more readily, and more easily lent himself to plans and projects he might better have let alone; getting into the swirl of a current not likely to land him on any good and fruitful shore.

And then, as birds of a feather are apt to find each other out, some men of like tendencies in the first class made common cause, in a way; finding an admiring look of any sort quite pleasant, and a pleb a convenient catspaw, now and then. They made the musical ones come in for a chorus; and under such innocent cover matured their plans, and told their stories, to nobody's good.

If one of these wits set forth the fact that "Muffti" was sure to lead the prayer-meeting that night, Magnus would perhaps stay in his tent, or wander off beyond sound of the hymns, which always pricked his conscience and his heart as well. Or if some smart man made fun of the preacher who was to fill the chaplain's place during the summer vacation, Magnus was careful the next Sunday to practise himself in the fine art of sitting bolt upright when fast asleep. He grew to be an expert at smuggling in "boodle": he took the loan of books he had much better have let alone.

"Come round to my tent after dinner, Mr. Kindred," said Cadet Upright one day; and of course Magnus went; then stood attention in the straightest sort of way; very much wondering for what unknown breach of rules he was to be called to account by the first Captain.

So he stood up to all his inches, just within the tent door, while Cadet Captain Upright sat on a camp stool facing him; a stray sunbeam working its way in to touch the chevrons, and lighting up the honest, sunburnt face. Mr. Upright was no beauty, but not a man in the Corps was more thoroughly respected than he. "Not much to look at," said Sam Weller of his hat, "but it's an astonishin' 'un to wear!"

"Mr. Kindred," began Upright, "I asked you to come, because I wanted to talk to you."

He paused, and Magnus responded, "Yes, sir."

"You are in danger," Upright went on. "You are taking risks no wise man will shoulder."

"What have I done, sir?" Magnus demanded, stiffening slightly.

"Nothing special, to my knowledge," said the first captain, "But I see you in slippery places, where sooner or later a man must go down. And the mud often sticks for a good while to come, even after--and even if--he picks himself up and gets away."

"I don't see, sir," Magnus began--"what risks are you talking of, Mr. Upright?"

"The risk of being false to yourself, and to your Christian pledge and name; the risk of (practically) forgetting your mother and your mother's words."

But now Magnus burst forth.

"Forgetting my mother!" he said. Then checking himself:

"Oh, well, sir, that proves you never saw her, Mr. Upright."

Upright laughed, and his eyes shone.

"Good for you!" he said heartily. "But, Mr. Kindred, you are training with the wrong crowd."

And now Magnus coloured, and his eyes went down. Upright watched him for a moment in silence; then he took up a slip of paper, and held it out.

"Here is a reminding text I wrote off for you," he said. "Take it with you up and down the post. 'He setteth a print on the heels of my feet.' That will do, sir," and Magnus saluted, and whirled away.

"Might be the Com. himself, for the style he talks!" he grumbled, under his breath. But all the same, the words sank in. They were too true to miss a hearing, on the one side, and had been too kindly spoken to lose it, on the other. Yes, he was training with the wrong crowd, there was no doubt of that.

Magnus winced under the confession. There was no one he so little liked to find fault with as himself, and to court-martial Cadet Kindred, on his own knowledge and belief, was extremely unpleasant.

But the finding of the Court is rarely severe in such cases; and Magnus presently let himself off with a few admonitions to be more careful. He went to prayer-meeting regularly, boned discipline a little, and kept away from that crowd (what he called) "all he could."

Then they broke camp, and marched into barracks, and that was a help, for work began at a rate that left scant time for lawless play. Magnus Kindred had studied before, studied hard, but never with the exactness of drill and discipline and pressure that now filled every day. Breakfast, recitation, study, dinner, study, recitation, drill; then dress parade, supper, and study. Some of the plebs resigned and went home, others talked gloomily of being "found" in January; before which wintry fear homesickness itself gave way. And again others drew the buckles of their armour tight, looked well to their stirrups, and went at the difficulties, lance in rest.

XIII

A BLUE CHRISTMAS

No age, no race, no single soul, By lofty tumbling wins the goal. The steady pace it keeps between; The little points it makes unseen; By these, achieved in gathering might, It moveth on, and out of sight: And wins, through all that's overpast, The city of its hopes at last.

--MRS. WHITNEY.

Of these true knights Charlemagne Kindred was one. Lessons, problems, questions, went down before his fierce assault. He had never enjoyed being headed off in what he chose to do; and had pledged it to himself that if ever anything did that kind office for him, it should not be West Point.

"_You_ stop me?" he would say to some particularly obnoxious book. "_You_ get in my way?" and probably the hard-headed volume would then and there find itself pitched to the furthest corner of the room. But after that little expression of opinion, Magnus would pick the book up, and bone with all his might. Smith's "Conic Sections" got quite used to such short excursions, and Ketel's "French Grammar" grew old before its time.

Rig's method was different.

"Kin, I'm growing grey," he said plaintively one morning.

"Grey as a goose."

"No, but really," said Rig, laying down the book. "This thing's too hard, you know. Breaks a man all up."