For days and days groups of Army Service Corps men going around the Post clipping the trees, mowing the grass on the Plain, and daubing with black paint the cannon on Trophy Point have been heralding the approach of June. The odors of the fresh grass and of the tar in the gutters are exhilarating smells for every cadet in the Corps. There are buoyancy and hope in their manner and a decided note of anticipation in the air. This feeling of anticipation is the greatest charm of a cadet’s life. It really begins with the candidate before he enters the Academy. He anticipates his entrance; then as a plebe, he looks forward with even greater pleasure to the day of his “recognition” when he shall become an upper-classman. Words are too weak to express the eagerness with which, as a Yearling, he sees the spring slip by and June arrive bringing with it his long desired furlough. And then he has before his eyes the seeming El Dorado of graduation.

Our plebe, Mr. Ducrot, is especially on the qui vive for the passage of the days. Ever since the snow left the Plain and the surrounding hills, and the first little blades of grass began to peep through the boggy spring earth, his attitude toward life has somehow seemed different. For the past ten months he has led the life of an obscure being, like the silk worm in his cocoon spinning his silk. He has almost completed his work of the plebe year and is about to emerge from his shell. For a few weeks he is seized with the languor of spring. The drills while not irksome seem unduly long; the lessons harder to prepare. But as the days of May fly by he feels his wings growing stronger and stronger and the spring fever is forgotten in the anticipation of being a Yearling.

At last the first of June arrives! At reveille even, everyone is happy. He tries his best to answer about a dozen upper-classmen who ask him all at once, “Mr. Ducrot, how many days until June?”

“No days until June, sir!” he replies in a voice that vibrates with joy. It is hard for Mr. Ducrot to believe that the day that he has so long anticipated is here. It has been so long coming. He cannot be mistaken, however, for all around him are cadets in fresh white trousers, the first time since the previous summer. He knows that for years and years it has been the custom for “the Battalion to go into white” on the first of June, at reveille. Only a few days now remain before he will put aside his humility and meekness and be received by the upper-classmen upon terms of equality.

The great metamorphosis or “recognition,” as it is called, occurs upon the day before graduation, immediately after the return of the Battalion from supper, and just prior to the graduation ball. On this night, at supper formation and in the Mess Hall, the upper-classmen are particularly severe. They “brace” and “crawl” the plebes more than ever before, filling the air with, “Get your shoulders back, Mr. Ducrot, more yet! more yet!” or, “Draw in that chin!” On this night, however, the whole affair seems humorous, for the plebes have completed their year and the upper-classmen are now about to extend to them a warm handclasp. In order not to let the plebe training fizzle out or have an inglorious end, the rigor of the “crawling” that for months has diminished little by little is all at once revived with great earnestness and enthusiasm. No one minds, however, but regards this last evening’s treatment more as a “grind,” or joke.

After supper the battalions form in front of the Mess Hall and march back to the barracks in the soft June twilight. To the observer at a distance, a roar seems to arise from the ranks as the corporals, sergeants, and lieutenants hurl corrections at the plebes. The noise continues until the Corps wheels into line to listen to the orders of the first captain standing under the trees in front of the barracks consulting with the Officer of the Day. The various instructions and orders having been announced he commands:

“Dismiss your companies!”

At once the upper-classmen in the front ranks turn and cordially grasp the hands of the plebes and slap them on the back, the first time in a year since their arrival at West Point. All of the dreariness of a year’s subjection is dissipated by the affectionate and fraternal welcome in the Corps proper by the upper-classmen, whose strong grips are to the plebe a sufficient reward for the hardships of the year just completed. Friendships whose seeds were sown, but prevented from growing by the great gulf between upper-classmen and plebes, now find their fullest opportunity for development. The Rubicon is passed, and our plebe lays aside his sackcloth-and-ashes manner for the more man-of-the-world one of a Yearling. And richly does he deserve this recompense for his manliness and grit! Following Kipling’s advice in If, he has for a long year (sometimes by force majeure) filled “the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,” so that his “recognition” by his fellow cadets means that he is stamped approved, and that he is entitled to associate with real men.

Mr. Ducrot is now entitled to enjoy all the privileges allowed the cadets by regulation and by the custom of the Corps. As a plebe, tradition ordains that he shall not attend the hops, or be allowed the social recreations of the upper-classman, but now the bars to the pasture of pleasures are removed and he scampers in like a young colt to enjoy his new freedom.

The two months of camp life that follow graduation give cadets plenty of opportunities to enjoy their spare moments. The entire forenoon is taken up with the various kinds of military instruction, with infantry drill, practical military engineering, target practice, artillery drill, equitation, swimming, and what not, but the afternoon is at their disposal from the return of the Battalion from dinner until parade at five-thirty. They have many diversions from which to choose. Close by the camp are five tennis courts for the devotees of the racquet. Upon the Plain is a good golf course for those who like this sport and speak its unintelligible language. A selected number of the First Class defy the afternoon heat playing polo down on the Flats, while others don their bathing suits and go canoeing upon the river. The less energetic throw their blankets in the shade of the trees near the Y. M. C. A. tent and abandon themselves to a siesta, or to the delights of some good book.

Then, there are the social beings who spend most of their time in the society of girls. They are the “spoonoids” of the Corps. After dinner they flock en masse either to the visitors’ seats or to the hotel where mothers, sisters, sweethearts, friends and friends’ friends gather around admiringly. It must not be imagined that all “spoonoids” are alike. There are the virulent kind who are never in camp during “release from quarters,” who are never seen on the athletic field except in a dress coat. They are always rushing some girl, first one, then another, and are of the genus that are never quite on time for any formation. They come running into camp at the last minute, breathless and excited, and are peevish if everyone doesn’t turn in and help them into their belts for parade. Then there is the more moderate “spoonoid,” the unobtrusive sort, who, when he goes walking with a girl, dons his comfortable gray shirt and white trousers, and sets forth carrying a few deceptive golf sticks. Lastly, there is the timid kind who sneaks into his dress coat and tries to slip out of camp without being seen by his fellows. He really wants to go out but he is a little ashamed of his desire, and he doesn’t want the other chaps to know anything about it. Besides, the chorus of “ahs-s-s-s-s-s!” from all the tents along the line terrify him.

West Point, however, is indebted to these social beings for the touch of romance and glamour that they give to the summer life. Their bright uniforms and the gay dresses of their partners (and the still gayer parasols) are seen everywhere on Flirtation Walk, on the balcony back of Cullum Hall, on the Plain, and chiefly at the visitors’ seats, and their youth and enthusiasm add a distinct charm to the social life.

But the real amusements and pleasures of summer camp come after supper. Thrice weekly small hops are held from eight to ten o’clock and on the other three nights open-air concerts are given by the band.

The hops are the most popular and enjoyed of all the pleasures. The Yearlings have an opportunity of showing how much they profited by their dancing lessons of the previous summer and they flock to Cullum Hall in droves. On hop nights the camp is practically deserted. Some few men who do not care for dancing, and another small group who pose as women haters, remain in the limits visiting one another or reading. The new plebes, of course, are in their tents, silently working upon their equipment. Commencing at seven-thirty, however, a stream of upper-classmen begins passing the guard tents, signing out for the hop, bound first for the hotel or for some officers’ quarters where charming young partners await them. As soon as darkness falls the couples set forth for the dance. As they emerge out of the obscurity of the Plain into the brilliant light that pours out of the main entrance of the hall they appear for all the world like a lot of summer insects drawn to a bright electric bulb.

It is a charming picture that the cadets in their uniforms and the girls in their pretty dresses make as they gather in Cullum Hall for the dances. It recalls all of the stories of beauty and chivalry that poets have so often idealized. As I watch them today, their youth tempts my imagination and it runs away, but as a matter of truth the reality is not quite so ideal.

The cadets, even the most imaginative, see things more clearly and recognize that some of the girls that come to the hops were not the subject of the poet’s thought when he wrote his odes to beauty. There are all sorts of girls. There are young girls, and some not so young; pretty girls and homely ones; vivacious girls and inanimate ones; intelligent girls and dull ones; and occasionally some few attend the dances who are so little favored with feminine charms that for years the cadets have called them “L. P.’s.” These damsels are usually the friends of friends, or maybe, the friends of friends of friends—very distant as you see, and the poor cadet is called upon to pay off his friend’s social debt. He does it well, too, for the dances are all by card so that every girl has her partners arranged beforehand, and she leaves the ball having experienced the intoxication of a great belle.

The cadets have no little fun over these girls, and if by any chance they know them ahead of time they make an attempt to ensnare one of their classmates, saying:

“Say, Jim, there is a peach of a femme coming up for the next dance, will you ‘drag’ her for me?”

He elaborates upon her charms with the deceit of an experienced politician until accommodating Jim accepts.

Most men, however, are wily about these unknown friends’ friends, but occasionally they are caught. I know one cadet who was asked to take such a girl to a hop. He replied that he would not do so himself but that he would find some other cadet. With true Irish persuasiveness and unexampled Blarney he prevailed upon a classmate. When the latter was making out the card of the supposedly beautiful girl (but in reality a true L. P.) his first thought was to offer some dances to the promoter of the young lady. The arch-plotter, however, innocently replied:

“I’m awfully sorry, Joe, but my card is full.”

This answer appeared exceedingly strange to Joe, until he beheld his partner for the dance. Then the base ingratitude of his friend so enraged him that he at once broke off all diplomatic and social relations.

So wary have the cadets become lest they be taken in, that when a fellow cadet comes out into the hall to get one of the stags to dance with a girl, he is at once the object of suspicion. When he asks his friend to take a dance because the girl’s partner failed to turn up, or what not, the friend instantly demands:

“Where is she?” “Where is she?”

Some of the more astute cadets then point out the prettiest girl in sight saying:

“There she is; she’s a fiend,” meaning she is all that is to be desired, and lead off their victim apparently in her direction, but by a well-planned movement, the victim is shunted off so that before he realizes it he finds himself bowing before Miss L. P. His comrade has escaped in the crowd, leaving him to “darkness and despair.” Here begins a desultory conversation, not marked by any great intellectual effort.

L. P.: “Do you like to dance?”

Cadet: “Yes, do you?”

(Long pause—atmosphere strained.)

Polite cadet: “Isn’t this a beautiful hall?”

L. P.: “Yes, how many lights are there in the ceiling?”

Cadet: “340.”

(Second longer pause—atmosphere at breaking point.)

Usually a chap relieves the situation by suggesting:

“Let’s go out on the balcony.”

There one can at least console himself with the beauty of the scene, for unless devoid of all feeling, no person can behold the glory of the Hudson from the balcony of Cullum Hall, by night, or better, by moonlight without being greatly stirred.

Two hundred feet immediately below the balcony lies the river, apparently calm and unruffled, but anyone who knows it well visualizes the deep current beneath that flows resistlessly toward the sea. On moonlight nights its surface is agleam from the rays of the full moon standing almost stock-still over the hills that form the river’s opposite banks. Here and there as far down as Anthony’s Nose the obscurity is dotted with lights mostly yellow, but with an occasional red or green that tells of the approach of a boat. Peace and beauty reign over this scene. It is as if one were gazing upon the enchanted garden of a land of fairies. Occasionally the charm and wonder of the river are added to by the passage of a night boat that goes churning by, brilliantly lighted, with its name Berkshire or Trojan outlined in electric lights, and with its searchlight flashing broad beams on the banks, first on this spot, then on the other. The operator plays the beam upon the Riding Hall, then slowly passes it to the Administration building, bathing the tower in light, then to the Officers’ Mess, or maybe some caprice will seize him and up dances the beam to the chapel on the hill, descending as captiously to Cullum Hall. For a few moments the entire balcony is illuminated by the cold light of the searchlight that reveals other cadets and their girls, some seated on the broad granite railing, and others strolling up and down. The beam moves slightly upward, and the beauty of Cullum’s classic lines is outlined against the blackness of the night. Then a jerky movement of the operator’s arm and darkness once more enshrouds the building. The steamer passes on, darting its beam back and forth like a spoiled child, until it rounds Gee’s Point where it is lost to view.

The strains of the music draw all of the couples back to the ball room. A more beautiful hall for a dance could hardly be imagined. Conceived by the artistic brain of Stanford White, it forms a most exquisite setting for the gray and white uniforms of the cadets and the rainbow hues of the gowns. The fine old portraits of West Point’s famous generals, the wall bronzes commemorating their deeds, the battle-torn flags, the Mexican cannon, the names of the great victories of the Mexican and Civil wars, are inspiring surroundings for young men and women. The atmosphere of the hall impels the cadets to be chivalrous and courteous. It would be impossible not to have good manners in such a hall. It is no wonder that the cadets enjoy the dances and that the girls find a certain glamour in the entertainments.

On the nights when there are no hops, the concerts are held, and although lacking the brilliancy of the dances, they have a delightful charm of their own. Twice a week the concerts are given in camp, and once a week in front of the quarters of the Superintendent. Upon these occasions the visitors’ seats are crowded, chiefly with the officers, their families, and guests. Here and there on the parade ground are groups of cadets and girls seated on camp stools. The chaperone sits near by wrapped in a blanket to protect her from the heavy dew of the evening. Perhaps, another group will be made more comfortable by some energetic cadets who spread their blankets on the ground for seats and arrange camp stools on their sides for backs. The band is conspicuously placed on a concrete stand, whose brilliant lights cause the iron supports to cast weird shadows over the listening crowd.

On concert nights the camp is much more animated than on hop nights. Many cadets do not go beyond the hedge or frequent the visitors’ seats, but remain in their tents stretched out lazily upon their blankets, where they “laugh and joke, and talk and smoke, and turn to boys again.” Here, clad chiefly in their underclothes, they comfortably enjoy the music, reveling in the freedom from the stiff uniform.

Occasionally, to add to their pleasure, a squad of plebes is summoned and ordered to prepare for Olympus a delicious “brew.” One upper-classman who takes the rÔle of Zeus directs the plebe messengers of the gods how to brew the libation. Having detailed one plebe to perform the duties of Ganymede, Zeus orders him to get his own G. I. (galvanized iron) water bucket, clean it thoroughly, squeeze the lemons, add the sugar and water, and taste it until pronounced perfect. To give the brew a proper color and add a little pungency, a bottle of grape juice is recklessly poured into the delectable drink. With the strains of the music floating over the camp and dippers full of “brew” constantly at one’s elbow, the upper-classmen reclining at their feast rival the luxury of the Romans of old. Nor are the “messengers” forgotten. They are permitted, as a reward for their services, to drink their fill from the brimming bucket. Of course, there are a few “eats” too; nothing elaborate, but oh! how good! saltines, peanut butter, and jam! Words to conjure with!

Or perhaps, a roving crowd of Yearlings, restless and filled with adventure, go from company street to company street, visiting, playing pranks and jokes, poking their heads into some plebe’s tent, almost scaring him to death by yelling:

“Mister, what’s your name.”

“Mr. Ducrot, sir!”

“Who am I?” asks the Yearling.

“I don’t know, sir!”

“What!!! don’t know who I am? Well, Mr. Ducrot, you’re pretty ignorant, you get that; you ‘bone’ me up!”

On goes the gang from one tent to another, drawn to some parts of the camp by a “brew” fight, or to another part by the tinkling of some mandolins and strumming of some guitars. From the depths of each street strong voices call out to their comrades in other companies: “Oh-h-h-h-h! Scott Fulton-n-n!” More often the night is startled by the frequent call:

“Turn out a plebe!”

Out of the tents bound a dozen plebes to find out the wishes of the Mighty One.

In the camp there are many sharp contrasts. Strangest of all is to see some serious-minded cadet seated in his tent calmly reading, enthralled by the contents of a book, while all around him are disturbing distractions. Neither the fluttering of the moths and lady bugs around his electric light, the attentions of the mosquitoes, nor the laughter and chatter of his comrades, nor the crashing music of the band seem to draw him from his imaginary world. Not even the cry of “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o ...!” so oft repeated by the Yearlings, makes any impression upon him. Whenever a Yearling has a little surplus energy that he must get rid of, he sticks his head out of the tent and yells:

“Yea! Furlo-o-o-o ...!”

From all parts of the camp, voices echo the call, and for a few seconds the air vibrates with the sound of hopeful voices.

After a plebe has been recognized and has become a Yearling, the one engrossing thought of his life is his furlough. This furlough, coming at the end of his second year, is the only vacation accorded the cadet in the four years, and is anticipated by him with the keenest yearnings. For two years he has been living under the severest discipline and restrictions and separated from the loved ones at home. The thought of returning again to the family circle and of picking up all of the old threads of friendship causes a lively feeling of joy to fill his manly young heart. It is no wonder that “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o ...!” finds a sympathetic response in the hearts of all who have been cadets.

On Sunday evenings, usually a dull time in camp, the regular concerts by the Military Academy Band are replaced by a concert given by the cadets themselves. This entertainment is known as the Color Line concert. A canvas is made of the plebe class and all of these who admit any musical talent are ordered to practice. Mandolins, guitars, violins are all brought out and the whole aggregation, plebes and upper-classmen, assemble in front of the hedge. For an hour or more they play and sing for their comrades and friends, who sit around on blankets or camp stools, and wave burning Chinese joss sticks to drive away the tormenting mosquitoes. The simplicity of the entertainment gives to these little Color Line concerts an intimate and charming atmosphere.

As soon as the concert is over the crowd quickly disperses, the girls going to the hotel or wherever they happen to be stopping, and the cadets to their company streets. The quiet of Sunday evening is then for half an hour broken by the shouts of the men as they litter up the company streets trying to assort their clothing for the Monday wash.

“Turn out a wash list, you plebes!” “Step out, Mr. Ducrot!” are heard on all sides.

There grows thereupon before one’s eyes small piles of drawers, undershirts, socks, towels, and white duck uniforms. Each article is carefully counted and listed because if the laundry discover an error on the slip, or find the garment of some other cadet in the bag, a report is entered against the offender for which he receives a demerit. Furthermore, the name of each cadet must be distinctly marked upon each article of clothing.

It is not to be supposed that any such fortunate set of circumstances would escape the attention of the practical jokers among the cadets. Often the surnames of certain men are identical with the given names of girls, as for example, Grace, or Bell(e) or Nelly. Naturally, their garments are all marked in this way. The jokers surreptitiously steal an article or two from each of the above and slip it in the bag of the most Y. M. C. A. man in the company. The following day when the delinquency list is read out the Corps is thrown into gales of laughter by the following reports:

“Cadet Prude: one pair of drawers in wash marked ‘Grace’”; or “Cadet Helldodger: one undershirt in bag marked ‘Nelly.’”

The legitimate amusements of the day are at an end. Taps comes and plunges the camp into darkness and all turn in for their much needed rest. It is then that the practical jokers begin to think of their nefarious plots. They remain quiet for some time until the inspections are made and the company commander has retired after his half-hour solitary patrol of the company street. When all the camp is apparently asleep, dark forms steal forth to their rendezvous and proceed in a body to the tent of some classmate to “drag” his cot. Cautiously they approach the tent, grab the ends of the cot with the sleeping form, and quickly drag it to the center of the street. Just as the occupant of the cot is rudely awakened, and tries to arise bewildering to defend his rights, some one of the gang treats him to a cold bath from a bucket of water provided beforehand. In the days of hazing this form of amusement was practiced almost exclusively upon the plebes, but today the men leave the plebes alone and devote their attention to their classmates and friends.

When one is busy and happy the time flies by rapidly so that before the cadet is aware of its flight, the summer camp is brought to a close with a Color Line entertainment. The spare moments of the Corps are for days beforehand spent in preparation for this event that marks the end of a happy summer. The Practical Military Engineering squad now comes into its own. They build roller coasters, triumphal arches, small theaters with cabarets, Japanese gardens, with the greatest ingenuity and skill. The company streets are transformed into bits of New York, Tokio, and Chinatown. Upon the parade is erected a large open-air dancing platform smothered in the flags of all nations, where the cadets and their guests dance away the last evening in camp. They make the most of their opportunity, for the next day they must return to the barracks and commence the Academic term.

Once the studies have been resumed, the time for diversion of any sort is limited. The entire day from 6:00 until 10:00 P.M. is employed with studies, drills, and necessary personal duties, so that there is nothing for the cadet but work, work, work. There are, however, two weekly breaks in the severe routine. One of these lulls is on Wednesday afternoon when there are no drills, an arrangement that gives two hours of leisure to the cadets.

There are many ways of driving away dull care during these two hours. The Second and Third Classmen, who have riding privileges, ride on the roads around West Point where they enjoy, in the autumn, a variety of scenes of surpassing beauty. Clad in their riding clothes, they impatiently await in the barracks, usually in the lower hall, the first note of “release from quarters” that is blown at 3:50 P.M. The moment the bugler raises his instrument to his lips and sends forth the first sound of release from quarters the “ridoids,” except First Classmen, burst from the hall and race to the stables in order to secure their favorite mount. Each First Classman has his mount assigned to him, so that he can be more leisurely in his movements.

Other men who prefer the society of books spend all of their leisure at the library where they seek out a quiet corner and a big leather arm chair and lose themselves in their surroundings. They enjoy the atmosphere of calm dignity and peace that pervades the reading rooms in refreshing contrast to the noise of barracks where the men are constantly running in and out, calling to one another.

The noise in barracks, however, makes no impression on the men who spend their leisure catching up with sleep. An inspection of the rooms on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons would disclose many a cadet “pounding joyously his ear.” Grown weary by the routine, he does not resist the overpowering feeling of fatigue, but abandons himself to a delicious slumber.

Meanwhile, numbers of his comrades are out on the athletic field engaged in tennis, golf, or if not playing, encouraging by their presence the work of the football team. The leisure moments of a large percentage of the cadets are given over in the fall to practicing football songs and yells. Usually, some cadet who lacks self-consciousness and who is popular with his fellows, is selected as cheer leader. Under his direction the cadets practice their songs and yells, while the team perfects its play in front of them on the gridiron. At no institution of learning does there exist among the students a greater esprit de corps than among the cadets. In the fall, all sorts of personal wishes and inclinations are stifled in order to attend the cheering practice, and bring it to a high degree of perfection for the Saturday afternoon games on the home grounds, and chiefly for the contest with the Navy. Few of the cadets fail to turn out for the cheering, because these are accused of lacking in spirit, and thereby lose prestige with their comrades.

Cadets who elect to devote their time to other forms of athletics, however, are regarded with no reproach, but men who absent themselves in order to attend teas or to go “spooning” are looked upon with some disfavor. Corps spirit ranks everything in the eyes of the cadet, and he justly demands that it come first.

Such is the way that cadets spend their two hours of leisure on Wednesday afternoons. After the 1:30 P.M. inspection on Saturday the cadets are also at liberty for the remainder of the day. They spend their time as described above, the various diversions changing slightly with the seasons. Saturday is anticipated with the greatest pleasure, for in addition to the afternoon leisure, the evening is free to do as one pleases. How welcome is the relaxation from incessant study! There are so many things to do. Some men attend the hops that are held twice a month; others dine out at the officers’ quarters; still others go to the “Movies” which have become a stock entertainment every Saturday evening in the gymnasium. Advantage is taken of the freedom to visit one another’s rooms in the barracks, to laugh, to talk, to “knock,” possibly to make some “fudge” on the electric stove that spends the week days hidden in the recesses of some mattress. Perhaps one of the men has received some money from home, unknown to the authorities, and has treated his comrades to unlimited quantities of Huyler’s from the Boodlers, or maybe an invitation has been received to a real “party” after taps where cold turkey, jams, nuts, sandwiches, smuggled into quarters, are eaten by an eternally hungry crowd. After such a feast the condition of the room can better be imagined than described. The next morning the occupants make the most frantic efforts to remove the grease spots from the floor and table before the Sunday morning inspection. All of the previous night’s feasters lend a hand in the scrubbing and polishing; the plebes are called in to wave towels in the air, or anoint the furniture with bay rum to drive out all odors of food that hung over the room from the previous evening.

The two weekly breaks of Wednesday and Saturday are increased, however, when the snows come in November. Drilling out of doors then becomes impossible so that from 4:00 until 6:00 P.M. daily, the cadets are at liberty. Most of the men spend these gray afternoon hours in the gymnasium, or in reading. The Second Class has its riding class during this period.

After the football season, the diversions of the winter months are few. The “spoonoids” whose acquaintance we made in camp recommence their activities, chiefly visiting the quarters of officers. The most pernicious ones are called by their comrades “Tea Hounds” or “Parlor Snakes,” in a good-natured spirit, of course. The percentage of cadets who meet the officers’ families socially is small. The men who do most of the visiting upon the Post are army officers’ sons who have known some of the instructors at other Posts.

It is regrettable that so many men go through West Point without having known any of the officers or their families socially. They meet the officers only in an official way where the demands of discipline require formal relations. This has a tendency to remove the officer too much from this large number of cadets who lack the opportunity of knowing informally men with whom they will later serve. Many cadets in consequence form altogether erroneous impressions of their instructors that they carry with them through their entire service, unless they are fortunate enough to meet these gentlemen later on. While at West Point had they conversed informally for a few minutes only over the dinner table, or at a dance, this impression would have been eradicated.

The great gulf that has always separated the cadet from the officer is, however, yearly becoming narrower. I have observed lately a different attitude of the officers toward the cadets. Their manners are more cordial, more sympathetic, and more informal. They treat the cadets more like men instead of schoolboys; their manner is more that of a superior officer toward a junior. The result is that the old defensive attitude of the cadet toward his instructors is gradually disappearing, and he now regards his officers as instructor coadjutors instead of instructor tyrants. This spirit is highly beneficial to both officer and cadet, because the latter, feeling that his instructor is ready to aid him, becomes very receptive and consequently calls forth from the former a natural response unhampered by self-consciousness.

Graduates of the Academy have often expressed their opinion that the transition from a cadet to an officer is too abrupt, and have regretted that before graduation a cadet did not acquire more the viewpoint of an officer. It is not possible for a cadet to gain, simply through official contact with an officer, ideas regarding the service and little points concerning the command of enlisted men. Instruction in these matters is provided, but it must be remembered that time is limited, and that all recitations, lectures, talks, are in general marked by formality and a certain degree of restraint.

In order to make a distinction between the First Class and the under classes, the authorities have established a social organization called the “First Classmen’s Club.” Its object is to segregate the First Class from the remainder of the Corps, entrust to it greater powers of command over the other cadets, and to put into its hands more fully the discipline of the rest of the Corps. In other words, its object is to inculcate in its members a greater feeling of responsibility by giving them greater powers accompanied by greater privileges. The privileges that are accorded thereby make them feel that they have passed the schoolboy period, and prepare them to accept properly the greater privileges of an officer. Although it is called the “First Classmen’s Club,” it is in no sense a club as known in civilian life. Nothing to drink, or to eat, is permitted, nor are there pool or billiard tables. The Club has a spacious hall over the north sally-port of the new barracks; it is supplied with papers, magazines, a phonograph, a piano, and games such as dominoes and chess, and comfortable lounging chairs. This meager equipment may appear ludicrous to the college man who is accustomed to the comforts and luxuries of his fraternities, but to the West Pointer who knows nothing but Spartan simplicity for the past three years, it means a great deal. The First Classmen have the privilege of using the Club at all times during the day, during call to quarters as well as during release from quarters, but men who are deficient in their studies are denied its use during study periods. The affairs of the Club are regulated by a Board of Governors, of which the first captain is a member ex-officio.

With the exception of the First Classmen’s Club the authorities do not permit any social organizations such as fraternities among the cadets. In the first place, such bodies are in conflict with the principles of democracy upon which the institution was founded and which still characterizes every act of its administration; and in the second place, the cadet’s time is otherwise employed to a greater extent than that of any other university student in the country. West Pointers have no time for much else but to study their profession and develop their bodies. The relaxations provided for their spare moments are simple, healthful, and democratic.

There is, however, an organization at West Point called the Dialectic Society. This body was originally organized as a literary club in 1824 for purposes of discussing subjects more or less profound, and of affording members an opportunity to read their literary efforts. Today, it is an assembly room open to all upper-classmen who gather there either to read or chat, or to enjoy the good fellowship of their comrades. It is also used as a gathering place whenever the Corps wishes to deliberate upon some weighty question that affects their body and that calls for a solution by a referendum. Its rooms are now over the east sally-port of the north barracks. Old graduates will remember its location as the hall over the north sally-port of the old barracks. The present room is larger and better adapted for the increased number of the Corps.

As the fall wears on the principal topic of conversation wherever the cadets are gathered, whether in the Dialectic Hall or in the First Classmen’s Club, is the approaching Christmas leaves. All thoughts center on the mid-winter vacation, and efforts are bent to keeping off the delinquency list. Not all cadets get Christmas leave. Those of the upper classes are granted leaves from December 23d to 4:00 P.M., December 31st, provided that they are not undergoing examinations, or special punishment, and that their number of demerits for the preceding year has not been greater than nine per month in barracks and twelve per month in camp. There are other provisos attached, chief of which is the condition that a cadet must visit relatives or friends. This regulation prohibits them from going to New York and staying at the hotels. This restriction works a great hardship upon cadets from distant States who have no relatives nearby, or who do not happen to have made friends in the East; but its promulgation was found necessary to prevent the cadets from going to the hotels where they borrowed money and got into debt.

The tendency at West Point is to be more and more liberal about granting leaves of absence. I personally feel that the new policy is the correct one. The First Classmen especially should have the privilege of going to New York occasionally during their last year. Their close restriction to the Reservation at West Point where everything is done for them makes them too dependent and not sufficiently self-reliant. Their appreciation, however, of the vacation is indeed keen. No more happy faces could be imagined than those of the cadets going on leave as they descend the hill to the station. Not even the woe-begone and dejected attitude of their less fortunate comrades can detract one bit from the exhilaration of their spirits. Those left behind, either on account of studies or conduct, spend their time tramping in the woods, or skating, bobbing, riding, reading, or else “boning” for the dread ordeal of the examination.

The vacation ends on December 31st when the men on leave return to the Post. That night is held the New Year’s hop for which the girls in shoals come to West Point. It has always remained a mystery to me where these girls come from. All of a sudden they descend upon the Post like a swarm of locusts, and the next day as quickly disappear.

The characteristic feature of the New Year’s hop occurs at midnight. A few seconds before twelve o’clock, a musician in the orchestra sounds the “attention.” An impressive stillness falls over the ball room, while the trumpeter blows “Taps” just as the old year dies. Not a person in the whole room stirs. At the first stroke of twelve, the trumpeter blows the “Reveille,” a signal that another year has awakened.

The cadets of the upper classes then rush to the center of the ball room, form into class groups, and give their class yell. The under classes yell for the First Class which politely responds with a class yell for each. The First Classmen then end the incident by a yell, adding three prolonged and joyous cries:

“Never again! Never again! Never again!”

They mean that never again as cadets at West Point will they attend a New Year’s dance. They are announcing to all present the completion of a definite period, the closing of one chapter of their lives that can never again be relived. The music starts up, the dancers float off, and the incident is soon forgotten, but to one standing by who takes the trouble to reflect a little there is an element of sadness in the almost debonair manner that these young men renounce a portion of their lives that has not been lacking in benefits and in happy associations.

After the mid-winter break nothing interrupts the routine of the cadets’ ordinary diversions until the annual play on the 20th of February. The upper-classmen give the Hundredth Night Play. It is ordinarily a satire upon conditions at the Academy. The setting is invariably West Point, and the principal characters are the officers on duty. The other characters satirize the type with which West Point abounds: the cadet girl, her friend, the chaperone, the cadet “spoonoid,” the professors and instructors. Shouts of laughter greet the appearance of the impersonations of the officers, and rounds of applause follow jokes gotten off at their expense. There is nothing assumed or counterfeit about the genuineness of the cadets’ enjoyment. There is, of course, an officer who censors the play before its production, for although there is no more polite body of men in the world than the Corps of Cadets, yet their enthusiasm and eagerness might lead them to indulge in personalities that would offend. The Tactical officers who are immediately over the cadets are most generally impersonated; the exaggeration of their little weaknesses is not more enjoyed by the cadets than by the officers themselves. In fact, whenever any one of them is left out he rather regrets it.

The approach of spring leaves but little time for pleasure. Drills are resumed after study hours, followed by parade and guard mounting, then more study hours after supper. The Battalions must be whipped into shape for June week; each class must be given drills to prepare the individuals for their coming task in June. Many things occupy the cadets’ attention. The First Classmen can think of little else except graduation. They are busy looking over samples of uniforms, boots, civilian clothing, or ordering same, or trying on uniforms. Some few have the added responsibility of planning for their approaching marriage. Naturally, the interest of First Classmen in cadet activities begins to wane. The Second Class anticipate their First Class camp when the reins of power pass to them, the Yearlings dream and dream and dream of furlough. Every spring evening during the half-hour after supper they gather upon Battle Monument to sing their furlough songs. Little snatches float across the Plain, partly unintelligible, but from which the words “love” and “girl” and “moon,” sung with greater emphasis apparently, can be clearly distinguished. Only the “call to quarters” drags them back to earth, whereupon with a vociferous “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o!” they break up the meeting and march back to barracks, arm in arm, singing of the pleasures to come when they will leave the Academy for two months and return to the bosom of their families.

Not least of the pleasures at West Point is the camaraderie. There are always plenty of friends to be had, fine manly fellows with clean thoughts, affectionate and kind. A cadet rarely fully appreciates what this comradeship means until he is about to graduate. Then he reflects upon his four years spent in the society of so many fine men, and he feels a poignant regret at leaving their midst. The recollections of the hardships endured and overcome together, of the mutual confidences, of the sympathy when needed, of little sacrifices made for him, fill him with tenderness and sadness. He finds it hard to say good-bye to the truest friends that he will ever have.

The last few months, however, are so filled with duties and obligations that he has few moments for reflection. Before he knows it June and graduation are upon him. He then attends his own Graduation Ball. Just prior to the last dance, once again the First Class assembles in the center of the room, gives its class yell followed by the three cries:

“Never again! Never again! Never again!”

A little lump comes in his throat as the echo dies away. Never again will he be a cadet at West Point. A yell that has heretofore been most musical has all of a sudden become most melancholy.

Never again!