Dick Prescotts's Fourth Year at West Point Part 37

A splendid, swift bit of pontoon bridge building had been shown the visitors on the day before; one battalion had given a lively glimpse of tent pitching in perfect alignment as to company streets, and in record time.

In the forenoon, there was to be a lively battery drill, to be followed by a dizzying demonstration of the speed at which machine guns may be moved, placed in position and fired so fast that there is a hail of projectiles.

For this afternoon, the cavalry drill in squadron, and after that, infantry drill that would include a picture of infantry on the firing line. After that, the last dress parade in which the present first cla.s.smen would ever take part as cadets.

Oh, it was a stirring picture, full of all the dash, the precision and glamour of the soldier's life! The pity of it all was that every red-blooded American boy could not be there to see it all.

Just before three o'clock every man of the first cla.s.s turned out through the north sallyport in the full equipment of a cavalryman.

Here they halted before barracks.

d.i.c.k caught sight of four figures standing hardly more than across the road. A swift glance at the time, and Prescott stepped over the road.

"Good afternoon, mother. Good afternoon, Mrs. Bentley. And Laura and Belle---oh, how delighted I am to see you both here!"

Genuine joy shone in this manly cadet's eyes; none could mistake that.

"You did not know that Greg had invited me to the graduation ball, did you?" asked Belle Meade.

"I did not," d.i.c.k answered truthfully. "Yet I guessed it as soon as I saw you here. And you have been at the Annapolis graduation, too?"

"Why, of course!" exclaimed Belle, almost in astonishment. "And Laura went with me. That's something else you didn't know, d.i.c.k."

"I've been through the course at West Point," laughed the cadet, "and by this time I am not astonished at the number of things that I don't know."

"Dave and Dan said they had seen you only a few days ago, but they sent their love again," rattled on Miss Meade. "But I'm taking up all of the talk, and I know you're dying to talk to Laura."

Belle accompanied her words with a little gesture of one hand that displayed the flash of a small solitaire diamond set in a band of gold on the third finger of the left hand.

d.i.c.k did not need inquire. He knew that Dave Darrin had placed that ring where it now flashed.

Just then Greg came through the sally-port. In an instant he bounded across the road. He immediately took it upon himself to talk with Belle, and d.i.c.k turned to Laura with flushed face and wistful eyes.

In the first instant Miss Bentley flushed; then a sudden pallor succeeded the flush. d.i.c.k, taking her dear face as his barometer, felt a sudden indescribable sinking of his heart.

They exchanged a few words, then-----

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-ta!

It was the bugle calling the a.s.sembly.

Swiftly Greg sprang across the road to form his troop, while Anstey formed the other.

Both acting troop leaders turned to report to d.i.c.k that their respective troops were formed.

Then Prescott, for the last time as a cadet, marched the cla.s.s across the plain at swift, rhythmic tread, to where the veteran cavalry horses stood saddled and tethered.

Reaching the cavalry instructor, Prescott halted, saluted, and reported his command.

"Stand to horse!" ordered the instructor briskly. There was a dash; in another instant each cadet stood by the head of his selected mount.

"Prepare to mount!"

Each cadet seized mane and bridle, also thrusting his left foot into stirrup box.

"Mount!"

Like so many figures operated by machinery, the first cla.s.smen rose, throwing right legs over saddles, then settling down in the seat.

Then, all in a twinkling, the ranks reformed.

"Mr. Prescott, take command of the squadron, sir!" rang the instructor's voice.

d.i.c.k thrilled with pleasure as he received the command with a salute.

He had not looked, but he knew that those dearest to him were in the crowd beyond, looking on.

"Draw sabre!" sounded d.i.c.k's not loud but clean-cut order.

Greg and Anstey repeated the order in turn. Instantly all down the strong line naked steel leaped forth. The sabres sprang to the "carry," and the superb picture breathed of military might.

Cadet Captain d.i.c.k Prescott, well in advance, sat facing his squadron; he throbbed with a soldier's ardor at the beauty of the scene.

"Fours right!" he shouted.

"Fours right! Fours right!" sounded in the differing tones of Greg and Anstey.

"March!"

"March! March!"

Into a long column of fours, to the tune of jingling accoutrements, the squadron swung. Prescott wheeled about and rode forward at a walk. In the same instant, the bugler, a musician belonging to the Regular Army, trotted forward, then slowed down to a walk close to the young squadron commander. From that time on, all the commands were to be given by the bugle.

"Trot! March!" traveled on clear, musical notes, and the long line of young hors.e.m.e.n moved forward at a faster gait. There was none of the b.u.mping up and down in saddle that disfigures the riding taught in most riding schools. These gray-clad young centaurs rode as though parts of their animals.

Straight past the canvas shelter that had been erected for the superintendent, the Board of Visitors and their ladies, swung the four platoons in magnificent order and rhythm.

Then, on the return, the young cavalrymen swept, at a gallop, by platoons, in echelon and by column of squads. This done, the cadets rode forward, baiting in line before the reviewers. Here the senior cavalry instructor rode in front and gave the command:

"Present---sabres!"

The salute to the superintendent and his guests was given with magnificent precision.

"Continue the drill, Mr. Prescott!" rang the senior instructor's voice.

Once more the line of gray and steel swept over the plain. Now, the evolutions were those of the field in war time. The charge brought cheers from a thousand throats, and a great fluttering of handkerchiefs.

Then, while three platoons halted, remaining motionless in saddle, the fourth platoon, after starting at the gallop, sheathed sabres and drew pistols.

Crack! crack! Crack! crack! It was merely mimic war, with blank ammunition, but not an onlooker escaped the impression of how much death and destruction such a line of charging, firing men might carry before them.