d.i.c.k Prescotts"s Fourth Year at West Point.
by H. Irving Hanc.o.c.k.
CHAPTER I
d.i.c.k REPORTS A BROTHER CADET
"Detachment halt!" commanded the engineer officer in charge.
Out on the North Dock at West Point the column of cadets had marched, and now, at the word, came to an abrupt stop.
This detachment, made up of members of the first and third cla.s.ses in the United States Military Academy, was out on this August forenoon for instruction in actual military engineering.
The task, which must be accomplished in a scant two hours, was to lay a pontoon bridge across an indentation of the Hudson River, this indentation being a few hundred feet across, and representing, in theory, an unfordable river.
"Mr. Prescott!"
Cadet Richard Prescott, now a first cla.s.sman, and captain of one of the six cadet companies, stepped forward, saluting.
"You will build the bridge today, Mr. Prescott, continued the instructor, Lieutenant Armstrong, Corps of Engineers, United States Army.
"Very good, sir," replied d.i.c.k.
With a second salute, which was returned, Prescott turned to divide his command rapidly into smaller detachments.
It was work over which not a moment of time could be lost. All must be done with the greatest possible despatch, and a real bridge was called for---not a toy affair or a half-way experiment.
"Mr. Holmes," directed Prescott, "you will take charge of the boats. Mr. Jordan, take charge of the balk carriers!"
A balk is a heavy timber, used, in this case, in the construction of the pontoon.
Cadet Jordan, one of the biggest men, physically, in the first cla.s.s, scowled as he received this order for what was especially arduous duty.
"That"s mean of you, Prescott," glowered Jordan.
"If you have any complaints to make, sir, make them to the instructor,"
return Cadet Captain Prescott, after a swift, astonished look at his cla.s.smate.
"You know I can"t do that," muttered Cadet Jordan. "But you-----"
"Silence, sir, and attend to your duty!"
Then, raising his voice to one of general command, Prescott called:
"Construct the bridge!"
Jordan fell back, with a surly face and a muttered imprecation, to take command of the squad of yearlings, or third cla.s.sman who must serve in carrying the heavy balks.
In the meantime d.i.c.k"s roommate, Greg Holmes, had hurried his squad away to the flat-bottomed, square-ended pontoon boats, placing his crews therein.
Almost instantly, it seemed, Greg had placed the first boat in position.
"Lay the balks!" ordered d.i.c.k Prescott.
Cadet Jordan moved forward with some of his yearlings, who carried the heavy balks, or flooring timbers, on their shoulders. It was hot, hard work---"thankless," as the young men often termed it in private.
These balks were laid across the first pontoon.
As quickly as the balks had been laid the detachment of lashers were at work securing the balks in place.
"Shove off!"
The first was floated to the mooring stakes and a second boat was moved into position.
"Chess!"
Another column of yearlings moved forward, each with a heavy plank on his shoulder. It was heavy, hot, hard and dirty work. Outsiders who imagine that the Military Academy is engaged in turning out "uniformed dudes" should see this work done by the cadets.
Almost with the speed of magic the planks were laid in an orderly manner forming a secure flooring over the balks.
The second boat was anch.o.r.ed, and then a third, a fourth. As the bridge grew Cadet Prescott walked out on the flooring that he might be at the best point for directing the efforts.
As the fifth boat reached its position, d.i.c.k turned to see that all was going well.
The yearlings, whose duty it was to carry the balks---"balk-chasers,"
they were termed unofficially---were standing idle, though alert.
They could not move until Mr. Jordan, of the first cla.s.s, gave the order.
And Jordan? With one hand hanging at his side, the other resting against the small of his back, he stood gazing absently out over the Hudson.
"Mr. Jordan!" called d.i.c.k, hastening back over the planking.
"Sir!" answered the surly cadet, facing him.
"Hurry up the balks, if you please, sir."
With a scowl, Jordan turned slowly toward the waiting yearlings.
"Lay hold!" commanded Jordan, and, though it was hard work, the yearlings responded willingly. This was what they were here for, and this hard work was all part of the training that was to fit them for command after they were graduated.
"All possible speed, Mr. Jordan!" admonished Prescott, with a tinge of impatience in his voice.
"Lay hold! Raise! Shoulder!" drawled Mr. Jordan, with tantalizing slowness.
The yearling squad, each man feeling the cut of the sharp corners of the heavy balk on his right shoulder, yet, bearing it patiently, awaited the next command.