HAD Tom been allowed to have his own way, he would have packed his trunk and left the academy with the least possible delay. He was already very much disappointed in it, for he had found it widely different from what he imagined it to be. He had hoped that he should find the students far below him in their studies, (although he himself did not know how that could be possible,) so that he could, without the least trouble or exertion, take his shoulder-straps and assume the honors of an officer, without having any one to oppose him. But the parade he had just witnessed had discouraged him, and had also convinced him that if he expected to take a high position among those sharp, lively students, he must work hard for it. He was quite willing to believe what his friends had told him—that the officers owed their positions not to the number of merit marks they obtained, but to favoritism; and, after thinking the matter over, he was induced to make a slight change in his programme. He had assured his father that he would work hard for a commission, but that was entirely unnecessary now, for his great object must be to secure the good-will of the principal. Without that his efforts would be utterly useless. But how should he accomplish this? The remark his friend Rich had made, clearly pointed out the way, and he determined to win the favor of the principal by playing the contemptible part of tale-bearer. In order to further his designs, he desired to make the acquaintance of the adjutant. He resolved to be with him as much as possible, to listen to every word that fell from his lips, and, if he could detect him in making any disrespectful remark about the teachers or the academy, he would carry it straight to the colonel. By this means, he was confident that he should be able to disgrace the adjutant; and the principal, to reward him for keeping so close a watch upon the interests of the academy, would certainly appoint him in his stead.
“That will be the way to do it,” said Tom, delighted with the idea. “Push yourself up in the world, even if you have to pull somebody down in doing it. That’s my motto.”
A few moments serious consideration ought to have shown the new student that his plan never could succeed. Suppose the principal did break the adjutant! What chance was there for Tom to receive the appointment, when he did not even understand the manual of arms? But Tom did not stop to think of this. He wanted to be an officer, the highest in rank in the academy; and, having decided upon the course he ought to pursue in order to accomplish his object, he held to it with the tenacity of a bull-dog.
Tom walked with his companions toward the gymnasium, and, as they entered the building, the first object that attracted his attention was the adjutant, who, having performed some evolutions on the parallel bars, stood leaning against a post with his arms folded, waiting to recover his breath after his violent exercise.
“Rich,” whispered Tom, “give me an introduction to that officer!”
“What, that Spooney?” exclaimed Rich, in surprise. “If that’s your game, Newcombe, we might as well break ranks first as last. If you are going to be friends with those fellows, we don’t want any thing more to do with you. The set won’t like it.”
Under almost any other circumstances, Tom would have hesitated before incurring the displeasure of Rich and his companions; but if he accomplished the object he had in view, it would, he thought, more than make amends for the loss of their friendship. So he replied:
“I don’t belong to the set yet, and I don’t care whether they like it or not. I know what I am about.”
“So do I,” said Miller. “You’re going back on us; that’s what you are about. I didn’t think that of you, Newcombe.”
“Better keep away from every one that wears a shoulder-strap,” said Martin; “you’ll only get yourself into trouble if you do not.”
Tom, seeing that they were not disposed to assist him in making the acquaintance of the adjutant, walked off, leaving his three friends vexed and disappointed. They disliked the idea of his becoming intimate with the young officer, for he was one whose influence and example had won more than one student from the “set;” and knowing that Tom could be easily led in any direction, besides being unacquainted with the object he had in view, they feared that they were about to lose him forever. It was too late to recall him, however, for Tom walked straight up to the adjutant, who extended his hand, saying:
“Your name is Newcombe, isn’t it? I thought so. I have heard of you,” he continued, as he led the new student to a seat; “and a few moments ago the colonel ordered me to take charge of you. I am to drill you in the broadsword exercise. I know it isn’t exactly my place to act the part of a drill-master, but I am comparatively a new student here; and, as I am working for something higher, I want to improve every opportunity to learn my duties.”
“You are working for something higher!” repeated Tom, in surprise. “Why, I thought you were the highest officer in the academy.”
“O, no!” replied the adjutant, with a laugh. “A captain ranks me. Look here!” he added, taking his coat down from a nail over his head, “I have only one bar in my shoulder-strap, you see, while a captain has two. I am only a first lieutenant.”
Upon hearing this, Tom thought that he had no desire to become better acquainted with the adjutant. If he was nothing but a first lieutenant, he might keep his position, and welcome. He did not want it; he must have something higher. His next step must be to scrape an acquaintance with some captain, and try his designs upon him. As he arose to his feet, intending to act upon his resolve without delay, an idea struck him; and, turning to the adjutant, who was somewhat surprised at his strange behavior, he asked if the rank of captain was the highest in the academy.
“O, no, not by a long way!” was the answer. “First comes the colonel—that’s the principal, you know. If he wore a uniform, he would have eagles in his shoulder-straps. But, as he never wears any thing but citizen’s clothes, he allows the lieutenant-colonel to sport the eagles. The lieutenant-colonel is the best scholar in school, and the highest in rank. I tell you, it takes merit-marks, and the hardest kind of study, to get that position. Every body is working for it, but George Smith holds the honors and the eagles in spite of us. Next comes the major. He’s the second best scholar, and wears a silver leaf. Here comes the colonel now!” he continued, as a tall, pale-looking youth advanced toward them. “He’s a fine fellow, and I know you’ll like him.”
When the colonel came up, the new student was introduced to him; and, when Tom saw the silver eagles he wore on his shoulders, he made up his mind that he had got hold of the right man at last. The young colonel appeared to be a very jovial fellow, and talked and laughed at such a rate that Tom soon began to feel perfectly at home in his company.
The hours from four until six in the afternoon were devoted to recreation, and all the students were then off duty. No respect was shown to rank during “play-time,” but the boys all met on a footing of perfect equality. To the officers, especially, this was a season of relief; for, being free from military restraint, they were at liberty to throw off their assumed dignity, and mingle freely with their companions. Tom, however, had not been at the academy long enough to understand this, and he was astonished that one so high in authority as was the colonel, should condescend to laugh and joke with his inferiors. He thought that when he should be entitled to wear the eagles, he would stand more on his dignity.
Tom could be a very pleasant companion if he chose, and, having now laid his plans against the colonel, he exerted himself to the utmost to work his way into his good graces. He resolved to carry out his ideas immediately, and commenced by requesting the officer to give him some instructions in his duties, hoping that he would accidentally let fall some word derogatory to the character of the academy or of the teachers. He watched him as closely as ever a cat watched a mouse, but all in vain. The colonel uttered no expression that could be used against him; but, on the contrary, he appeared to be perfectly contented, and satisfied with every thing in and about the academy. Finally, becoming weary of exercise in the gymnasium, the colonel put on his coat and strolled about the grounds with Tom, who, thinking that if any thing was said that would be of use to him, it would be necessary to have a witness to prove the fact, managed to keep the adjutant with him. The two officers, who, of course, never imagined what was passing in Tom’s mind, good naturedly answered his questions, gave him all necessary instructions, and not a little good advice. While thus engaged, the ringing of a bell called them in to supper.
“Now go to your dormitory and march down into the dining-room with your company!” said the colonel. “Don’t forget what we have told you. Study hard, obey all the rules and regulations, and go in strong for a commission. I would like to see you an officer.”
“So would I,” said Tom to himself, as he ran up the stairs toward his dormitory. “But I’ll bet I don’t study very hard for it. I know an easier way to get it; and, if you don’t look out, Colonel Smith, I’ll have those silver eagles on my shoulders in less than a month.”
When the students belonging to dormitory H had all assembled, they were formed in line by a sergeant, and marched two abreast down into the dining hall—a large room, in which there were spread a sufficient number of tables to accommodate all the boys at once. When Tom had been shown to the seat he was to occupy, he looked about him, and discovered that his mess-table was but a short distance from the one occupied by the officers. The lieutenant-colonel sat at the head of the table, the major on his right hand, the ranking captain on his left, and so on down to the foot. Tom thought that matters could not have been arranged to suit him better, for, after listening a moment, he found that, in spite of the clatter of knives and forks, and the conversation going on all around him, he could distinctly hear every word uttered by the lieutenant-colonel. The latter, little dreaming how closely he was watched, talked and laughed with the officers, but, to Tom’s disappointment and disgust, said not a single word against either the teachers or the academy. This was very discouraging, for Tom, having decided to be a colonel, wished to assume the honors as soon as possible.
At length there was a lull in the conversation, and the major, who had been closely examining his glass of milk, set it down before the colonel, saying:
“Smith, don’t you believe there’s water in that milk? Just see how blue it looks.”
The colonel took the glass, and holding it up to the light, slowly turned it about, and finally, set it down on the table again, Tom all the while closely watching his motions, and impatiently waiting for his reply. It came at length, and the new student almost jumped from his chair with delight.
“I know there is water in it,” said the colonel. “That milk-man is swindling us. Let’s catch him some day, and duck him in the harbor.”
“That would be unofficer-like conduct,” said the major, “and a court-martial would be the result.”
“O, hang your courts-martial,” said the colonel, who had engaged in so many that he was really tired of them. “I wish such a thing wasn’t known in this academy.”
Here the subject of the conversation was changed; but Tom, who had listened almost breathlessly to every word of it, had, he conceived, heard enough to warrant him in making an effort to dislodge the colonel from his high position. The officer had said that there was water in the milk, had proposed to duck the milk-man, and had exclaimed, “Hang your courts-martial!” and, if that was not speaking ill of the academy, Tom thought he would like to know what was. Improbable as it may seem, he was highly elated, and he fully expected that he would soon be occupying the chair at the head of the officers’ table. If he was foolish, he was but a type of a large class of boys—and men, too—who, upon equally insignificant grounds, have reared just such great expectations.
Tom was hungry when he sat down to the table, but that had all passed away now, for he had something better to occupy his mind. He resolved to seek the principal immediately, and lay the matter before him. So, pushing his chair back from the table, he was about to walk out of the room, when a sergeant, belonging to his company, exclaimed:
“Newcombe, where are you going? Sit down!”
“I have business with the principal,” answered Tom, “and I am in a great hurry to see him.”
“Well, it is not customary for students to go out in that unceremonious manner,” said the sergeant. “We’ll all go before long; but, if you want to go now, you’ll have to ask the lieutenant-colonel’s permission.”
“I won’t do that!” said Tom to himself, as he reluctantly returned to his seat at the table. “If I don’t request favors of him now, he can’t ask them of me when I become colonel. I’ll fix you,” he muttered, looking toward the sergeant, who, he thought, had addressed him rather too abruptly. “I’ll take those stripes off your arm the very first thing I do. You are not fit to be an officer.”
Tom was very indignant at being obliged to remain in his seat until all the students had finished their suppers. It was a regulation he did not like, neither could he see that it was of any use. As soon as the colonel’s straps were on his shoulders, he would ask the principal to abolish the rule. This, he thought, would serve to render him very popular with the students, several of whom, he noticed, having satisfied their appetites, were impatient at being required to wait for their companions. They were not compelled to wait long, however, for presently the order was given for the students to return to their quarters. Tom’s company was the last that marched out; and, as soon as they reached the dormitory, and the command had been given to break ranks, Tom started below, to see the principal.
“Newcombe!” shouted the sergeant, from the head of the stairs, “where are you going?”
“I told you once before to-night that I wanted to see the principal,” said Tom, impatient at being delayed.
“It is time to begin study, now,” said the sergeant. “Is your business important?”
“Yes!” answered the new student; “it is very important.”
“Go ahead, then; but return as soon as you can, for I am responsible for you now until you make your appearance in the school-room.”
“I’ll break that fellow the minute I am colonel,” said Tom, as he hurried along the hall. “He sha’n’t be an officer any longer.”
Arriving at the principal’s apartment, he pounded loudly upon the door; and, after a few moments’ delay, a voice from the inside bade him enter. The new student opened the door, and found himself in the presence of the principal, who greeted him with:
“Newcombe, this is a very unusual hour for a student to visit me. You ought to be at work at your lessons.”
“I know it, sir,” replied Tom; “but I have something very important to say to you.”
The principal did not exhibit the curiosity that the new student had imagined he would, for he answered:
“I will listen to you this time, but hereafter, when you wish to see me on business, you must do so when I visit your dormitory in the morning. But what were you going to say?”
Tom’s expectations were considerable dampened by the stern, dignified demeanor of the principal, and, for a moment, he wished that he had never envied the colonel, for he began to fear that, perhaps, his success was rather doubtful after all. But it was too late to retreat; and, summing up all his courage, Tom replied:
“I have been informed, sir—the fact is, the lieutenant-colonel says your milk-man puts water in the milk.”
The principal was evidently very much astonished at this revelation, for he settled back in his chair, and looked at the new student without speaking.
“Yes, sir; he said it!” continued Tom, who fancied that he saw something encouraging in the principal’s look. “I heard him, and I can bring plenty of witnesses to prove it. He also proposed to catch the milk-man and duck him in the harbor; and when one of the boys told him that he would be court-martialed if he did, he said, ‘Hang your courts-martial.’ I don’t like to hear any body run down the school; and if you will give me those eagles, I’ll make the boys stop talking that way.”
Tom had reached the point at last. In so many words, he had requested that the lieutenant-colonel might be broken, and the eagles given to him. He imagined that he had done the principal a great kindness in thus exposing an unworthy officer, and he hoped that the zeal he had manifested in watching over the interests of the academy, would insure him the coveted eagles. He fully expected that such would be the result, for he did not see how it could be otherwise. If the colonel wished to reward honest, well-meaning pupils, that was the time to show it.
“Newcombe!” said the principal, sternly, “you have made a very bad beginning. You have been in the academy scarcely three hours, and yet you begin to carry tales. If you hoped to gain any thing by it, you will be sadly disappointed. I will see you again tomorrow morning. That will do, sir.”
Tom was utterly confounded. He had staked all his hopes on the result of this interview with the colonel, and he had, indeed, been most sadly disappointed. Choking back a great lump that seemed to be rising in his throat, he picked up his cap, walked slowly out of the principal’s room, and ascended to his quarters.