In the Area of the South Barracks, directly opposite the sally-port, is a little brick building with a clock tower. It is small and insignificant looking to the ordinary observer, but not so to the cadet. Here dwell the “Tacs,” the officers of the Tactical Department, who are charged with the discipline and purely military instruction of the Corps. More especially, it is the Headquarters of the Commandant, his assistants, the cadet Officer of the Day, the officers of the guard, and the orderlies. The mail, the precious mail, is assorted twice daily within its old walls, and its creaky wooden floor is worn thin by the lively tread of hurrying cadets feverishly crowding around the bulletin boards.

In the second-floor room of the Tower is the Officer in Charge, the monarch of all he surveys. True, his reign is but twenty-four hours, but he returns to the throne about once a week. During his tour he is the Corps monitor. From the quaint little porch off his room, the “poop deck,” as the cadets think of it, he coldly and inscrutably regards all formations in the Area. When the punishment squad is walking tours, the door of the “poop deck” opens unobtrusively, and for a moment he stands casting a glance over the oscillating gray figures, walking their narrow paths back and forth. As quietly as he comes forth he fades from view. The “Area Birds” breathe more freely as he disappears, but soon again he reappears like an accusing conscience. His presence hovers over the daily life of the cadets. To them he is the “O. C.” and source of all information. His decisions have the sacredness and authority of the Delphian oracle. If the weather is threatening, it is he who decides whether raincoats shall be worn to meals. If visitors arrive during study hours, his permission must be obtained to speak with them for half an hour. If knotty problems of interior administration bother the Officer of the Day, his advice is immediately sought. He is amazingly omniscient.

Each day brings a new “O. C.” until the roster of the Tactical officers has been exhausted, whereupon the cycle begins anew. There are various species of “O. C.’s,” and it is astonishing how the personality of each one will influence the day of the cadet. There is the cheerful “O. C.” with a kind manner and a cordial tone in his voice. Between him and his young charges there seems to be a bond of mutual confidence and affection. They feel that his reserve is assumed “By order,” and that if they only knew him, he would be their friend. They feel his human side, his understanding of their difficulties, and they have no resentment when he reports them because they know that in doing so, he feels a sympathetic pang. When he enters the Mess Hall, his presence is welcomed, as much as cadets can welcome the presence of any officer. Somehow the laughter seems gayer and the day altogether brighter during his tour. There is no unconscious load to carry in addition to the actual burdens of the day. At parade, a little more effort is made to execute smartly the manual when he gives the commands.

Then there is the gloomy “O. C.,” the stand-off kind that looks daggers upon the approach of any cadet. He appears to circle over the Corps like some hungry bird ready to pounce any moment upon his prey. When he has occasion to question a cadet, a barrier of ice immediately rises between them and their viewpoints drift miles and miles apart. He seems to them never to have been a young man himself, so little of the power of understanding does he possess. They look him up in the Army Register and discover that he too was a cadet not so many years ago, but to believe it strains their credulity to the breaking point. When things go wrong, instead of pointing out the error in a natural manner, there are anger and resentment in the voice. All of his “skins” seem flavored with malice. Apparently, he goes out of his way to be disagreeable, as if to be so was to be military. His tour is regarded with dread especially by the First Classmen detailed that day for guard.

But the influence of either type of Officer in Charge is transient. It passeth from day to day. If the Gloomy One is on duty, there is the consolation that the Cheerful One will succeed him like sunshine after rain. It is the Commandant of Cadets, the chief of all the “Tacs,” who exercises the great permanent influence over the Corps. Ever since the creation of his office in 1825, he has been “the Com” to the embryo officers under him. He prescribes all of their drills and casts the mold for the discipline of their bodies and souls. He is the tribunal that grants or withholds their privileges and that punishes them for their premeditated or thoughtless misdeeds. Whereas a few years ago he exercised his power for the seclusion of his office, at a distance from the cadets, today he meets and talks with them daily, ascertains their viewpoint, giving to his work the new spirit of the personal touch that has crept into the instruction at West Point. To be successful in his important work, he must never look bored. He must take an interest in the cadets rather than in the Regulations. He must be human. To gain the admiration of his men he must be above all efficient, fairly good to look upon, military in appearance, and well dressed, and to gain their liking and respect he must be smart, strict, and impartial. There are two faults in an officer that a cadet finds hard to forgive: lack of neatness and “being wooden.”

In his work, the Commandant is assisted by the “Tacs,” Infantry, Cavalry, Field, and Coast Artillery officers. Officers of every branch of the Service are represented because at West Point, the duties of all arms are taught. It is with these officers more than any others that the cadet comes into the most direct contact.

For purposes of administration, each company is commanded by a Tactical officer. He passes upon all permits, requests, requisitions for clothing and for ordnance. He inspects the rooms of his command to see that they are clean and in order. He examines the rifles and equipment for dirt and rust. He supervises one or more of the drills. He is really the presiding genius over the company, in whose welfare he takes unselfish interest. It is the duty of him and his brother “Tacs” to uphold the discipline of the Corps, which means that when a man has to deal with eight hundred young wills, American nurtured, he must utilize something stronger than mere words to see that the eight hundred conform to the set standards of the institution. His chief weapon to emphasize to the cadet the importance of the Regulations is the report or “skin,” which carries with it a certain number of demerits, and sometimes punishment tours.

The cadet consequently looks upon the “Tac” as his arch enemy. One cannot help having a little resentment toward a person who is always present to check up his misdoings, no matter how just and well deserved the punishment may be. The feeling is only human and the military atmosphere rather augments it. It is especially difficult, I think, for Americans to feel continually the heavy hand of authority, because each one of us is so individualistic. Unconsciously, the cadet cannot get away from the presence of the “Tac.” Life in barracks seems to revolve around this individual. From the early morning inspection, until the evening study period when he again comes around, knocking sharply on each door and interrupting the train of thought, his spectre, if not himself, is haunting the surroundings. The cadets know that he is just across the way in the Guard House, and that they will meet him at drill in the afternoon. He is the important factor that must be considered in their daily comings and goings. He is a sort of irritating yoke.

It is not to be wondered at then, that he is the subject of unlimited discussion, despite regulations to the contrary, and that every peculiarity of manner, dress, or speech is noticed and criticized. His entire personality is usually summed up in some nickname that comes like an inspiration and hits the nail upon the head. Occasionally the name is complimentary, in unconscious recognition of an innate nobility which marks him out as of finer clay, but more often it is uncomplimentary and droll.

Nothing pleases a cadet quite so much as to see a “Tac” do something wooden. They say that he is gross, which has nothing whatsoever to do with being fat, but simply means that his mind is somewhat dense. Immediately the blunder spreads like wild-fire from lip to lip, growing as it goes and repeated with a joy that approaches delirium. There was at one time an officer on duty whose idiosyncrasies were told and retold. He furnished many a good story for the delight of the Corps, and his departure threatened the existence of The Howitzer, the cadets’ annual publication, and of the Hundredth Night, the annual play in which the officers may be satirized. His mind seemed to work by rule and regulation. One night when he was making his inspection of barracks, he came to a room where only one cadet was studying at the center table. He entered, looked around, and then inquired:

“Cadet, where is your roommate?”

“In bed, sir!” was the reply.

“Is he asleep?” asked the officer.

“I don’t know, sir,” answered the cadet.

“Well, find out,” ordered the “Tac.”

The man then turned to his roommate who was plainly visible in bed, and asked:

“Jim, are you asleep?”

“Yes” sounded off a voice from the depths of the comforters.

“He says he’s asleep, sir.”

“Very good, cadet,” replied the “Tac,” and quite satisfied, left the room, just in time to escape the outburst of laughter that followed this highly intellectual conversation.

To be always under the observation of so many pairs of keen young critical eyes is sufficient to make any officer somewhat self-conscious, and to give a certain kink and twist to his actions. The cadets, like all youth, are merciless in their judgment, sometimes almost cruel. They are ever on the alert for any slip that the “Tac” may make and intolerantly condemn him. But so responsive are the cadets that it would take but a smile, or a word or so bordering on intimacy, to remove all critical feelings and bring about “glad confident morning.” I wonder sometimes why that so seldom happens. I suppose it is because we are all artificial.

Although the Tactical officer is very much occupied with the interior discipline and economy of his company, the greater portion of his time is given over to the military instruction of the cadets. The purpose of this instruction is to familiarize the cadet with the duties and needs of a private in the ranks by practical experience, to impress upon his character the habit of obedience, and to train him in the function of command by repeated exercise.

In order best to accomplish this purpose, the cadets are organized into two battalions of four companies each. This is the present organization, but as soon as the Corps has been increased to the full strength recently organized by Congress, the Commandant intends to make a regiment. Although the Tactical officers command the companies in the sense that they are the supervisors of the discipline and administration, the actual commanding of the companies on the drill ground is entrusted to the cadets. Selected men perform all of the duties of the officers and non-commissioned officers. They are chosen for this honor on account of their good conduct and studious habits, and the soldier-like performance of their duties. They are as strict and conscientious in upholding the Regulations as are the officers themselves. As a matter of truth they are more severe because they seldom take it upon themselves to put any interpretation upon the motive underlying the act. A thing is right or it is wrong. There is no middle line. Whenever any cadet is on duty, he insists that all under him obey implicitly his orders, and should any man be so rash as to disregard his authority, he instantly enters a report against the offender. It would seem that such an action would arouse the resentment of his fellow cadets, but this does not occur, due to the honor system at West Point. Cadets generally recognize that their attitude toward their work must be different from the student at the average educational institution because their duties are all in serious preparation for their future careers.

Of course, there are some men who carry their authority too far when they find themselves in command of their fellows. Sometimes they lack judgment and consequently deserve sympathy; sometimes there are a few men who deliberately try to make an impression upon their superiors at the expense of the men in the ranks. These men who allow their desire for probable advancement to lead them astray are quickly sized up by the Corps, and dubbed “quilloids.” They are usually disliked and made to feel the displeasure of their comrades. In nearly every class there are some of these men who do not see clearly, and who persist, throughout their whole course, in placing false values upon trivialities.

Since the cadets are organized into Infantry battalions, the greatest amount of time is devoted to the work of this arm. There are many reasons why this should be so. The Infantry is the largest branch of the Army, and to it is assigned the greatest percentage of graduates. Infantry drill is the basis of all drills and is the best for inculcating discipline and cohesion among the men. Besides, the Great War in Europe has proven that Infantry is still the Queen of Battle, and that all of the other branches, the Artillery, the Cavalry, the Engineers, the Aviation Corps are but her minions. It is the Infantry that decides the fight.

The practical military instruction of the cadets, although carried on throughout the year, varies in intensity at different periods. In the depth of winter it is impossible to drill out of doors. The Infantry instruction is then suspended, except for the daily class and meal formations. When, however, March 15th rolls around, the Ides of March remember, and the snow leaves the ground, the Corps begins its annual training. Immediately after the dismissal of the sections from recitations at four o’clock, the battalions form in front of barracks for the afternoon drill. Despite the raw March winds that blow across the Plain, chilling one to the marrow, the battalion designated for Infantry drill sets about overcoming the inequalities of marching, the lack of precision in the execution of the manual, raggedness of the movements that have been produced by the long inactivity of the winter. It is at this period that the most scrupulous attention must be paid to the manner of executing the various movements. Every little dereliction is criticized, every mistake is corrected, and every movement repeated until it can be faultlessly performed.

First the companies are drilled alone and then later assembled for a short battalion drill before going back to barracks. Up and down the Plain the companies march, now in column, now in line. The right guides of each company seem to be carrying the burden of the drill as with tense faces they fixedly regard the two points upon which they are directing the march of the company. Meanwhile they are measuring their step by a silent count of “one-two-three-four.” The officers and file closers are attentive and alert, giving a word of caution here and one of reprimand there, as the line crowds in on the left, or, like an accordion, opens out on the right. The plebes in the rear rank are striving to the utmost to keep in step and on the line, and at the same time carry their rifles straight and drag in their chins. The detail and care with which every command must be executed begins to produce a feeling of monotony, and stolen glances seek the clock in the tower. Fifteen more minutes! The hour seems interminable and the wind more and more disagreeable. Finally the hands of the clock roll around to five and the musician appears in the sally-port and sounds the recall.

The next afternoon the second battalion attends close order drill and the first takes its place at extended order. A lighter gayer crowd march forth to this exercise. Here they will have a little chance for individual leadership, the command of a platoon perhaps, or of a squad, or they will enjoy the comparative freedom and independence of the skirmisher. In the early part of the spring course the mechanism of the drill must be rehearsed upon the Plain. The parade ground is therefore dotted with prone and kneeling groups of platoon columns and of squad columns. The blast of the officer’s whistle, the simultaneous outstretching of the squad and platoon leaders’ arms as a signal, and the columns magically deploy into one long line of skirmishers. Once again the blast of the whistle sounds; more signals; bayonets are fixed and squads begin their rushes forward to the delight of the small boys and visitors who line the surrounding walks. Then follows the assembly and the companies do it all over again.

As soon as the mechanism is well learned, the battalion is taken up into the hills and maneuvered over all sorts of ground. Combat problems involving advance guard and outposts are worked out under the direction of the Tactical officer. In these exercises the actual command of the companies is in the hands of the cadets, but the Tactical officer, assisted by other officers, directs the drill. The cadets detailed for this drill called Field Training are assembled in front of the old gymnasium where the officer outlines the problem and gives the men a talk on the principles that are involved. Each man is made to understand just what he must do before he starts out and must know the general principles to be applied in cases that arise. A situation is assumed where the cadets are a force in the country of the enemy. They are to form, we will say, the advance guard of their regiment. The instructor gives to the cadets who are to command all information that he has of his own forces and of those of the enemy and he points out to the young commanders what is to be accomplished. The cadet officers are then called upon to communicate to the men under them the instructions that, in their opinion, are necessary to accomplish the mission. The officer stands near to make suggestions and corrections, or to point out errors of judgment. As soon as all understand what they are to do the command moves out to work out the problem.

It is in the Field Training of the Infantry that the cadet acquires a real knowledge of command. He must be able to size up situations and quickly form a decision. He must then issue orders, clear and definite, to cover the case. It is in these drills that he learns something of the art of handling troops and what is the feeling of responsibility. The cadets who actually exercise command are the First Classmen. They are detailed by roster, irrespective of whether they are privates or cadet officers, so that every man has many opportunities to command a company before he graduates. It is highly important that the cadet should be given practice in appearing before a body of men and in giving them instructions. Nothing helps so much to give him confidence in himself. It is of great value to him when he joins his regiment in the Service. Cadets of the First Class are therefore detailed for every kind of duty. They are company commanders, acting adjutants, lieutenants, officers of the day and of the guard. Whenever there is a chance to place responsibility upon the cadet, advantage is taken of it by the Commandant.

The Infantry instruction is progressive. The First Classmen are trained in more advanced work by means of tactical walks. These exercises are similar to those prescribed for officers in the Service and are in line with their future work as subalterns. An officer takes four or five men with him to some neighboring terrain well adapted to a particular problem. All of the different phases of the problem are considered and the cadets required to size up each situation and issue their orders as if in actual warfare. They are provided with maps which they must be able to read with facility. At the close of the exercise the officer holds a critique.

Nor is target practice, that important branch of Infantry instruction, neglected. In summer when the cadets are in camp, the complete course of firing as prescribed for Infantry and Cavalry troops is given the First Class. It is held down on the flats near the river in the shelter of Cro’s Nest where a fair range parallels the Hudson. Every clear morning at seven the detachments march down to the range. At this hour the air is cool and crisp and so crystalline that every feature of the landscape stands out sharply defined. West Point is incomparably beautiful at this season and time of the day. But as the sun mounts higher in the Heavens the coolness is replaced by a steadily increasing heat. From the arrival at the range until noon, Washington Valley echoes with the crack! crack! of the Springfields. Little groups of cadets are stretched out in the blazing sun trying to find the bull’s eye and hoping to pile up a big enough score to win the coveted medal of Expert Rifleman or Sharpshooter. Meanwhile another portion of the men is down behind the butts, taking its turn in shifting the targets. All morning long they monotonously pull the frames up and down, pasting on the target, now a white paster, now a black one, or mechanically waving the red flag back and forth. Intermittently the telephone rings: “Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling.”

“Re-mark No. 8!” sings out the operator.

Careful search is made on No. 8 for the third time and up goes the red flag, the sight of which fills the hopeful cadet back at the firing point with a feeling of disappointment and disgust. And so the morning passes, the men firing so interested that they are oblivious of its flight, and the men in the butts thinking less of pasters and red flags than of the cool shower that waits them in camp, and blessed dinner.

If one wishes, however, to see the finished results of the discipline and cohesion produced by Infantry training he must attend either a review and inspection by the Corps, or a parade.

Every Saturday, shortly after the return of the cadets from dinner, there is an inspection on the Plain, preceded by a review, at which the appearance, clothing, and equipment of the cadet are minutely examined by his Tactical officer. I know of no finer sight at West Point than this ceremony, especially in the summer and early fall when the Plain is green and the cadets wear the excellent combination of the gray coats and white trousers. As the companies maneuver on the Plain preparatory to taking their places on the line, the perfection of their marching, their impeccable appearance, the white cross-belts, the glittering breastplates, and bell buttons of coat, the foreign-looking dress hat with its rigid little pompon, the splendid bearing of the men, betray the beholder into believing that he is watching the evolutions of some legendary corps d’Élite. The scene seems foreign and yet again very American. The most characteristic feature is the thoroughness with which every detail of dress, equipment, and marching has been worked out. When the Corps turns the bend near Sedgwick monument and comes swinging down past the reviewing officer, the most callous spectator could not fail to have his emotions stirred. His pride is flattered. He is watching a ceremony whose perfection of execution and beauty is symbolic of an institution that in a sense belongs to him, to the man next to him, and to all the spectators along the line. It is the product of America. No wonder he reverently removes his hat as the colors march by.

No less beautiful although not so elaborate is the ceremony of parade. During the spring and fall, daily parades are given by the battalion that has attended infantry drill on that day. The drummers sound the first call in the sally-port. The Area of Barracks is practically deserted, but within the rooms cadets are feverishly adjusting their belts, wiping off their guns, struggling into their coats, or looking for mislaid breastplates. Out of the doors all at once begin to dart the plebes, first one then another, and still others. They hastily proceed to their places on the walk and mark the rear rank. The hands of the clock slowly creeping around to the hour for the assembly are watched intently by the Officer of the Day who stands in the sally-port ready to give the signal.

From all the doors of the barracks are now pouring the upper-classmen immaculately dressed in stiffly starched and evenly creased white trousers, gleaming white belts, and shining buckles. Their faces are so obscured by the chin strap of their high dress hat that all personalities are lost, and each man appears to be the duplicate of his fellow. The picturesqueness of the uniforms and the background of the severe stone barracks recall the days of Frederick the Great. The assembly sounds. At once the companies are formed and inspected. They proceed to their places in the sally-ports and between the neighboring buildings preparatory to debouching on the Plain. At the termination of the Adjutant’s call the band begins its march. One company emerges unexpectedly from the north sally-port, another from the south, another from near the Academic building, still one more from the shadow of the old gymnasium. More of them keep coming and move out on the Plain. The fresh green grass offers a charming contrast to the white of the uniforms as the companies perform their evolutions before advancing to the line. The Plain is dotted with companies in column, companies in line, companies in columns of platoons, marching in perfect cadence as if animated by machinery.

Parade on the Plain