Black Knights of the Hudson
Book IV: Long Gray Line
by Beverly C. Gray
Published by Beverly C. Gray at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Beverly C. Gray
This eBook is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Author’s Note: This work of historical fiction is intended for mature audiences and contains adult language, graphic scenes of battle, and adult situations.
For Katie, Kevin, and Sophia
Chapter 1
West Point, March 1901
On a warm Saturday afternoon, the train from New York City stopped at the tan brick station house at West Point and disgorged a party of three. One of the women sighed in relief to be off the train and leaned heavily on a stout cane while the tall young man in the group steadied her at the elbow.
“Stop fussing, Fitzjames,” ordered Adria MacKendrick. “I’m not senile. Please go see about the luggage.”
Fitz took himself off although his gray eyes seemed rather hurt at her determination not to be coddled. Adria grinned at her sister-in-law. “Fitz and Timothy have both been driving me crazy all spring. I swear, Gwyneth, gallantry is all very well but it has its limits.”
Adria had slipped on the ice the previous February and broken her hip. In spite of Doctor Miles Remmie’s care, it had not healed properly and had left her dependent on the cane that was now her constant companion. At fifty-eight, she had developed the air of a dowager duchess which the cane enhanced. Gwyneth MacKendrick, who had heard similar complaints all the way up from the city, squinted up at the high-pitched roof of the station.
“Does it seem to you that the roof is getting higher, Adria?”
“I never look at it. It’s an offence to the eye,” Adria ignored the comical edifice to peer at some cadets instead. If I had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t have to look at ever again. I’m still not happy about this. West Point destroyed my eldest son. Must I really throw another onto the altar of the military? “I do believe the welcoming committee has arrived.”
Four gray-clad young men marched quick time to the station. Even at that distance, Adria picked out her tall nephew whose proud height and carriage had only been perfected by his two years at the Academy. Jackson Lee MacKendrick resembled his dead father to a startling degree. He had James MacKendrick’s dark hair and gray eyes. He also had James’ serious demeanor. There was very little of his red-haired, Irish mother in his physical appearance. Following family precedent, Jack received his appointment a year early and was the youngest member of his class. Gwyneth hesitated only a moment and then threw her dignity to the wind and walked briskly to meet her son. Jack lengthened his stride and outdistanced the others to meet her at the edge of the platform.
“Hello, Mama,” he enveloped her in a big hug.
Gwyneth emerged from the embrace, as pink-cheeked as a girl, and looked up at Jack with happy tears sparkling in her dark green eyes. “You’ve grown.”
“Nonsense, I stopped growing at least a year ago.”
“Doesn’t he seem taller to you, Adria?”
“Enormous,” Adria agreed with an affectionate kiss on Jack’s smooth cheek.
The other three cadets stood politely to the side and were introduced as Cadets Ulysses S. Grant III, grandson of the former President and General of the Army; Philip Sheridan Jr., son of General Philip Sheridan; and Douglas MacArthur, son of General Arthur MacArthur. Cadet MacArthur, who was a tall, dark-haired young man with the ruddy good looks of the outdoors, impressed Adria especially. She also made it a point to give Cadet Sheridan a special smile for the sake of her husband’s and his father’s old comradeship. Fitzjames appeared then with the luggage.
It never fails to amaze me how much Jack and Fitz resemble each other. More like brothers than cousins for all that Fitz has Timothy’s light brown hair and that radiant grin that still makes my heart stop whenever he smiles. He’s so much like Timothy when he was young. Why, the boys are the same height now. When did THAT happen? Fitzjames is a year younger than Jack.
With four willing helpers to assist Fitz, it was not long before they crossed the Plain to Trophy Point and followed Flirtation Walk to Craney’s Hotel. The hotel was an antebellum structure of warm yellow brick with a wide wooden verandah.
Adria’s gray-green eyes flashed a warning at Fitz as he seemed unable to contain himself in such close proximity to the coveted gray uniform that Jack wore so effortlessly.
~~~
Two ladies sat on the verandah and viewed the approaching cadets and the guests.
“That looks like Gwyneth MacKendrick,” observed Mrs. Frederick N. Grant to her fellow cadet mother, and most serious rival, Mrs. Arthur MacArthur.
“It does indeed.”
“Dougie is looking very well today; he seems to have a bit more color in his cheeks. I’m so glad that his cold was only a slight one,” said Mrs. Grant, in deepest sympathy.
“Your young cadet seems to be limping a bit. Are his shoes too tight again?” Mrs. MacArthur retaliated, with oozing concern.
Mary Pinkney MacArthur, or Pinky as she was called, had taken up residence at the Craney Hotel to be near her ‘Dougie’. Douglas’ father was off making himself useful in the Philippines while her elder son, Arthur MacArthur III, was with the Navy. Pinky had planned to use her presence at West Point to further her son’s cadet career and had been somewhat thrown off balance when she discovered that Mrs. Grant was employing a similar strategy to the future Army career of her own son. After one careful scrutiny of her opponent, each of the ladies settled into an effusive friendship that was strained only occasionally when one or the other son seemed to be in the ascendancy. No one was fooled by the velvet-glove covered steel of these determined maMAS; least of all their sons. Douglas took it in stride although Cadet Grant tended to mutter about his mother’s presence. Mrs. Grant had a head start on Pinky simply by virtue of the fact that the MacArthurs did not belong to the Army’s Four Hundred on the Grant level.
Mrs. Grant stared hard at the tall, elegant woman who walked beside Mrs. MacKendrick. “Good heavens, I do believe that she is Lieutenant General MacKendrick’s wife.”
“Not really!” Mrs. MacArthur had not yet been privileged to meet that illustrious military couple. “What has brought her here, I wonder?”
“Well, Jackson Lee is her nephew and it’s obvious to me that they’re here for a visit. What a nice looking young man, the one speaking with Cadet Sheridan.”
Phil Sheridan Jr. was not in contention for the high spot in Academy honors for which MacArthur and Grant vied since he was a year ahead of them. The manipulating mothers did worry about Jackson Lee who was always right up there with their sons in class standings so that he was the troubling dark horse.
Mrs. MacArthur fanned herself daintily while she studied the young man. “My, he is a nice looking boy. Looks rather like Cadet MacKendrick, don’t you know.”
“Timothy and Adria do have a son about that age,” Mrs. Grant shot a glance at Mrs. MacArthur as she freely used the given names of the aristocratic MacKendricks.
“Do tell,” Pinky MacArthur snapped the fan shut.
The group paused as the two mothers were sighted. Cadets Grant and MacArthur peeled off to attend to their duties. MacArthur was all polish as he introduced Adria MacKendrick and her son, Fitzjames, to his mother and Mrs. Grant. Adria, who would not have been intimidated by Queen Victoria, assumed her role as gracious Mrs. Lieutenant General Timothy MacKendrick without any visible effort at all; much to the amusement of Gwyneth who was something of a disappointment to the other mothers for her refusal to engage in their continuous game of one-upmanship. Adria would win it and not even know that she had been in a contest. After a polite chat, the visitors headed for their rooms to get settled while the cadets returned to barracks in order to get ready for dinner with their mothers and a hop afterward.
~~~
Mrs. MacArthur, ever the conniving Southern belle, beat Mrs. Grant to the finish line and secured the visitors as her guests for dinner. Fitz kept glancing at the door.
“Fitzjames, stop fidgeting,” Adria commanded as his wistful gaze went to the large double doors for the third time. “Jack will get here when he gets here. Mrs. MacArthur asked you a question.”
Fitz turned his attention to his hostess and endured her catechism of his age, interests, and year in school. He faltered when Jack and Douglas entered and his gray eyes went straight to his beloved cousin.
Mrs. MacArthur looked questioningly at Adria who smiled with exasperated affection at her offspring.
Gwyneth took over the conversational ball. “You’ll have to forgive Fitz but he has some very exciting news to tell Jack. That’s one reason we came up today.”
Pinky nodded understandingly. “I know how a boy’s enthusiasms can carry him away. That is one reason I’m here at West Point to make certain that my Dougie concentrates on his studies.”
It was a few minutes before Jack had paid sufficient attention to his manners to indulge his cousin. Fitz sounded like a demented steam engine, close to boiling over or exploding. “Was there something in particular you wanted to tell me, Cousin?” Jack asked casually with a wink at Gwyneth. “I have a pretty good idea what has you in such a dither.”
“I got my appointment. I’ll be starting this summer,” Fitz announced proudly.
Jack’s face was illuminated in his rare broad smile. “That’s grand news. You’ve worked hard for it and I’m very proud of you.”
MacArthur gave the youngster a careful scrutiny. “You are coming here?”
“Yes, Sir,” Fitz replied, apparently a little awed by the other cadet.
“Why how wonderful,” exclaimed Mrs. MacArthur. “General MacKendrick must be very proud.”
“General MacKendrick is off in the wilds of the Kansas Prairie and doesn’t know as yet. Fitzjames couldn’t wait to tell him or Jack so we came up here for the weekend,” Adria said dryly. Typical that Timothy isn’t here when I need him. Fitz is so happy. Unlike James, Timothy never received the Medal of Honor so Fitz wasn’t granted an automatic appointment as Jack was. Even with Timothy as his father, there was no guarantee that Fitzjames would be accepted to West Point. He worked so hard at school these last four years to earn this appointment. I can’t quash this by myself much as I want to. West Point turned my poor Randolph into a little tin soldier. I don’t want that to happen to Fitz. He’s my youngest and the most like Timothy. To risk losing him as I lost his brother, I’m not sure that I can bear it. Timothy knows I don’t like this. He should be here to convince Fitz to give up on the idea. With his grades Fitzjames could go to any University in the country. Harvard, Princeton like his brother Philip, I’d even be happy with William and Mary or the University of Virginia. “I understand that you live here year round, Mrs. MacArthur.”
“Do call me Pinky,” Mrs. MacArthur urged. “And I shall call you Adria. Yes, I do live here. General MacArthur is still in the Philippines, don’t you know, and I just wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t be near Dougie. He is often allowed to come to tea, especially now that he’s a Yearling, and he’ll have even more freedom next year as a Second Classman. I can even see his lamp at night.”
Gwyneth got busy with her coffee cup while Douglas and Jack refrained from telltale looks at each other and concentrated on their desserts.
Adria glanced around the cheery dining room. “That must be a great comfort to you. You aren’t really losing your son to the Army that way. Of course, I don’t know that I would be able to stay all of the time as you do; I have so many social commitments in New York.”
Fitz stared at his mother in horror.
Adria’s brilliant gaze shifted to Fitz’s transparent face and she had to stifle a real belly laugh. Silly boy, I know what you’re thinking. I know you love me dearly but you have absolutely no desire to have me living here while you are trying to adjust to West Point. I know it will be difficult enough to live down your Father’s legacy without being labeled a Mama’s boy as well. As if I would ever embarrass you in such a fashion. If such an arrangement was good for a cadet, Gwyneth would have yielded to temptation months ago to be near Jack instead of maintaining her life in Washington. Adria smiled. “Still, I would miss the concerts and the theater and Jack seems to be thriving on his own. I have confidence that Fitzjames can weather West Point on his own merit.”
Mrs. MacArthur’s mouth pursed as if she realized that Adria MacKendrick had just taken a pot shot at her. It was so smoothly done, however, that there was nothing to which she could take offense.
~~~
Jack polished off his dessert. “Would you like me to take you on a tour, Fitz?”
“Could we?” Fitz jumped to his feet and caught the chair he almost upset in the process.
“Fitzjames,” Adria sighed.
“Are you still knocking things over, Fitz?” Jack snickered.
“Only when he’s excited,” teased Gwyneth.
“He seems like quite a fellow,” Fitz said as he and Jack headed over to Trophy Point where they had a good view of the grim, granite buildings that enclosed the cadet barracks.
“Doug? Yes, some of the cadets believe that he is the embodiment of the ideal cadet, rather like Cousin Robert E. Lee was in his day. A few of the others believe he must have been arrogant from the age of eight. I’ll say this for him, to know MacArthur is to love him or to hate him. A person can’t just dismiss him.”
“What about you, Jack? Love or hate?”
“I have a great deal of respect for him, Fitz, and I like him. Whatever the instructors dish out he soaks up like a sponge. He is arrogant but he does have some call to be. He isn’t a prig, though, and can get into deviltry with the best of them. He’s just better at not getting caught. But what he went through last year, especially during Beast Barracks...God, I couldn’t have done it. My ordeal wasn’t too bad. I’m just the nephew of a war hero instead of his son. Besides, my own origins are rather obscured by the presence of Grant and MacArthur.”
“Your Father was a hero too, Jack. Daddy says he walked with giants,” Fitz declared stoutly. Lamplight brought out golden highlights in his brown hair.
“Giants in gray, Fitz, although, the Southern cadets agree he was special.”
“Jackson’s aide, Robert E. Lee’s aide, friends with Stuart, Cousin Fitz Lee; yes, Uncle James was special. Besides, he was a lieutenant in the 3rd Cavalry during the Indian Wars and proved his soldiering skills there, too. He gave his life to save his men and received the Medal of Honor for it. So I don’t understand why you believe you’re somehow lesser than someone like Cadet MacArthur.”
“Not lesser, Fitz, just not a target. It’s what I mentioned before about MacArthur having a rough time last year. Fitz, that isn’t half of what you’re going to go through. Uncle Timothy is even more famous than General MacArthur. The Yearlings will be out to wipe your face in it, probably a few of the upperclassmen as well. I’ll do what I can to make it easier on you.”
Fitz gave Jack his uncomplicated grin. “No you won’t.”
“What?”
“I can take it, Jack, I don’t need coddling.”
Jack, sensitive to the younger boy’s mood, grasped his cousin’s arm. “Fitz, please tell me that you will.”
Fitz’s eyebrow slanted in the identical fashion of his father’s. “Will what?”
“Will take the easy path and keep a low profile.”
“Did you?”
“I didn’t have to, for some reason they didn’t like baiting me although I can’t imagine why.”
Fitz tilted his head and smiled at Jack; his clear eyes sparkling with affectionate humor. “I can. Even the worst bully could probably see that you were too good for such childishness. There is a steadiness in you, Jack.”
“Good Lord, you make me sound like a very dull boy indeed.”
“Not dull, just solid and dependable. You’re the way I always imagined Cousin Robert E. Lee must have been when he was a cadet.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. As I see it, I have two choices. I can play the sniveling coward and hope they don’t notice me; which is pretty unlikely considering Daddy is the legendary ‘Mothy MacKendrick. Or I can pull out all stops, just be myself, and the ‘divil take the consequence’. I rather fancy following in Cousin Fitz Lee’s boots anyway.”
“He was nearly kicked out!”
“Oh, I won’t take it that far. I’ll work at my grades and I won’t deliberately court demerits or play practical jokes. I’m just not going to whimper my way through Beast Barracks and give anyone the satisfaction of beating me down.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. If you go in with a chip on your shoulder...”
“I’m not going to do that, Jack, when have I ever? I won’t brag about Daddy but I won’t disown him either. If someone asks me if he’s my father, I’ll simply answer that he is.”
“Maybe I should stick around this summer after all,” following tradition, Jack was slated for a summer furlough that year. He planned to spend it with his Mother and his cousins, Philip and Margaret MacKendrick, on a tour of England and the Continent. “Uncle Timothy might like to have someone around to pick up the pieces; if there are any left.”
“It’s just simple hazing.”
“Simple! Fitz, we’ve just been through a year of scandals because men have died. Poor Oscar Booz died of tubercular laryngitis a year and a half after he resigned and quite a few people believe that hazing caused the physical weakness that contributed to his death. It’s bad, Cousin, can’t you get it through your head? No matter how the authorities try to stop it, the cadets find ways to continue.”
Fitz, who lacked something of Jack’s maturity and somewhat Olympian view of life, grinned. “If the cadets, who have all been through the system, are so determined to perpetuate it there must be a reason.”
“Some hazing is essential to the Academy since a man’s spirit and abilities can be tested. It’s also a great leveler and serves to weed out the pampered aristocrats, mama’s boys, bullies, and whatnots. Believe me, when you’re being hazed you learn to obey orders which, I suppose, is the basic grounding for a soldier. Most of the cadets also believe it adds a prolonged initiation into the mystique of the Corps. Even though Congress keeps threatening to shut us down because of the hazing, its individual members are not above reinstating men who have been dismissed for doing it. I’m not worried about the mild stuff, Fitz. I’m concerned that they’ll go after you with the big guns.”
“Jack, the only way I can avoid it is to attend a different school or work for Brother Philip’s newspaper. Besides, I’ve known all along I’d get hazed unmercifully and not just because of Daddy. I have to follow in your splendid footsteps too.”
Jack stared at him in horror. “God, that never occurred to me.”
“Didn’t you see how MacArthur was watching me just now; weighing every blessed word I said? He wasn’t measuring me against Daddy. He was comparing me to you.”
“Maybe I’d better stay,” Jack decided after a slight silence.
“I don’t want you here. I have to face this on my own.”
“If you get into trouble while I’m not here...”
“I won’t, at least not deliberately. Don’t worry, Jack, I won’t disgrace you.”
“Disgrace me! Fitz, I’m not worried about that,” Jack gave it up. There is no way to explain to my oblivious cousin that hazing is not just a comical series of practical jokes. It is a deadly business that the Booz scandal has done nothing to mitigate. Fitz, by virtue of being Timothy MacKendrick’s son, is really going to be up against it; probably even worse than MacArthur and he was brought to convulsions by one particularly vicious session. I’d better drop a few well-chosen hints to some of the men who will be here this summer. Sheridan will be a Firstie and will keep an eye on him for me. Oh, I won’t put Fitzjames off-limits; that would hurt him far worse than a few bruises. But it’s a good idea to have someone on alert just in case matters get out of hand during Beast Barracks. Maybe have Doug talk to him about his own hellacious experiences.
Jack nudged his cousin who gazed misty-eyed at some cannons. “Come on, Fitz, let’s go on in. Since Mother is here, I’ve got a drag for the hop after all.”
“Don’t look so worried, Jack. Beast Barracks holds no terror for me!”
Chapter 2
West Point, June 1901
Beast Barracks is a damned good word for it, Fitzjames reflected ruefully as he sweltered under the canvas of his tent. It was one of many which dotted Clinton Field across the parade ground from Trophy Point. He had learned rapidly just how inventive the new Yearlings could be. As Jack had feared, Fitz’s connection to one of the most illustrious figures in the Army had made him the primary target for those who had just finished their own Plebe term.
On his very first day, Fitz was cornered by a group of Third Classmen before he even had time to look around the tent that would be his first home at West Point. This initial session had not involved any physical abuse. Instead, the Yearlings had ordered him to recite the full record of Timothy’s career. They corrected him when he mistook a date or jeered when he left out an event. Since recitation was still at the heart of most of West Point’s instruction, the Yearlings insisted that Fitz acquire the skills that would make him letter perfect in all future academic endeavors. So, they made him recite Timothy’s record again. And again. And again. Until Fitzjames’ tongue stumbled over the simplest of words and his head ached with fatigue. The boy sharing the tent with Fitz ungallantly hoped that MacKendrick’s presence would draw fire away from him for no one had prepared him for the horrors of Beast Barracks. This stalwart, in fact, lasted only three days before he opted for resignation and the less demanding regimen of ROTC at Michigan State. The defection of his tent mate was a serious disadvantage for it meant that Fitzjames had no one to share the housekeeping chores which increased daily due to the tender attentions of the Third Classmen. Molasses or honey would appear in puddles on the ground during the night. Blankets would be soaked and tied in numerous knots. Possessions would be strewn from one end of the tent to the other. Fitz got up an hour before Reveille just to have time to square his quarters before inspection.
Summer camp was a long business of drill, rudimentary field problems, hiking with packs, guard duty, and target practice on the range. That part was easy and Fitzjames thrived on it. He demonstrated a flair for tactics which attracted the notice of more than one instructor. His determination to be at West Point did not fail him and he remained cheerful and enthusiastic; even as the first week petered out and the Yearlings shifted their attention to physical tortures of his person. Fitz had been forced to run a gauntlet of Third Classmen while they threw cold water on him. Bracing and dipping became standard fare for him until his muscles ached and he dreaded hearing a voice behind him telling him to drop and execute ten. Often during the dipping, or push-ups, he was required to put his hands on a box so that his back was arrow straight and he raised his body by his arms alone.
Unbeknownst to the boy, several First Classmen, including Phil Sheridan, kept an eye on things as a favor to Jack. Things were not good for Fitzjames but neither had the situation reached a point where the Firsties believed that intervention was justified. MacKendrick did not cry quarter or seek help and, unless Fitz seemed to be near breaking, the older cadets believed it was better to leave well enough alone. As the dreary days progressed, even Fitzjames’ bright spirit began to dim slightly. Alone in his tent, his body stiff and bruised, he cried himself to sleep more than once. It was terribly hard to be the butt of an entire class when he had always gotten along so splendidly with his peers. The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that no hell lasts forever and the instinctive surety that if he survived this he could live through anything. Fitzjames refused to break and tried to bend instead; striving to maintain his pleasure at just being at West Point while he mentally counted each day survived as a personal victory.
This particular night, which marked the middle of his third week in Satan’s little corner of New York, Fitz was given the onerous task of cleaning five pairs of boots that were slimy from having been tossed into the manure pile. As hazing went, this exercise was not too bad and Fitz, with a horseman’s tolerant nose, attended to his duty with the attention to detail which would one day mark him as an exceptional officer. He had just finished his third pair of boots when three Yearlings strolled in. Taps had not yet sounded and it was the time of the evening when the deviltry began.
“Phew, what a stench, been out picking buffalo chips, Beast?”
“No, Sir,” Fitz answered and was at attention before they could even order him to stand.
Billings, Schwartz, and Dalrymple were three of his milder tormenters; content usually with verbal hazing or the less rigorous physical demands. Cadet Billings had a healthy respect for Jackson Lee and was becoming genuinely fond of Fitzjames; whose agility and speed at snapping to attention from whatever position he happened to be in was a marvel to behold. The boy’s determined optimism in the face of whatever the Third Class dished out had earned him some praise from that quarter.
“In what year and where did Lieutenant General MacKendrick join General Philip Sheridan?” demanded Cadet Dalrymple.
“Sir, 1862 at Louisville, Sir,” Fitz responded promptly.
Cadet Schwartz, a beefy young man from Wisconsin, scratched at his jaw. “What was the first action they saw together?
“Sir, the Battle of Perryville, Sir.”
Cadet Billings switched to a West Point classic. “What is the definition of leather, Beast?”
“Sir, if the fresh skin of an animal, cleaned and divested of all hair, fat, and other extraneous matter, be immersed in a dilute solution of tannic acid, a chemical combination ensues; the gelatinous tissue of the skin is converted into a nonputresible substance, impervious to and insoluble in water; this is the definition of leather, Sir.”
“How is the cow?” Cadet Schwartz went for another classic; while he tried to ignore the fact that MacKendrick had not flubbed a syllable of the definition that he himself had never been able to manage on a single attempt.
“Sir, she walks, she talks, she's full of chalk, the lacteal fluid extracted from the female of the bovine species is highly prolific to the nth degree, Sir.”
“Does the little Beast look tired, Gentlemen?” Cadet Dalrymple inquired.
“No,” Billings answered although Schwartz nodded enthusiastically.
Two against one. But thanks for trying Billings.
Billings gave the order with a small sigh. “Assume the position of Plebe’s Rest, Beast.”
“Sir,” Fitzjames complied and stood on the toes of his left foot. He raised his right leg, put his elbow on his knee, and rested his chin in his right hand. They kept him standing for only a minute.
“Carry on, Beast,” the three cadets departed and left Fitz gaping at the brevity of their visit. That was pretty mild. Maybe, I’ve proved myself to them and am over the worst.
Two minutes later, Fitz was ordered out to run the company street by another trio. When he got to the end, four cadets waylaid him and ordered him to eagle. Of all the demands, Fitz hated eagling the most. He set his jaw, extended his arms and went into deep knee bends; flapping his arms in the prescribed manner. They let him stop after five and sent him on his way. Almost before he had left them, a pair of Yearlings stopped him and instructed him to give them ten eagles.
So much for easing off.
Two more groups of cadets caught him. One wanted the definition of leather while the other Timothy’s entire war record. I still have to finish those boots. Can’t they just let me have a fifteen minute breather? It was the beginning of one of the most wretched nights in Fitzjames’ young life.
~~~
None of the cadets knew that a little party of Congressmen had arrived for a surprise investigation of the hazing issue. There had been such an outcry in the last few years over hazing at all the colleges that Congress had decided yet again to do something about it. As always, the Senators and Representatives singled out West Point as the most notorious perpetrator of the hateful system. In point of fact, the cadets were no worse than their civilian counterparts at Yale or Princeton where the fraternities and other organizations were as zealous in their attention to the new man as any Yearling. However, since West Point and Annapolis were beholden to the government, they were always the first to suffer from Congressional wrath. Two Senators and three Representatives headed straight for the Superintendent’s quarters after they detrained. Accompanying them was Lieutenant General Timothy MacKendrick who had been delegated the unpleasant duty by Commanding General Miles. The Superintendent, Colonel Albert Mills, who had been struggling since 1898 to revitalize West Point and bring its standards up to the rest of the finer universities, greeted his distinguished visitors with a fair amount of trepidation. Hazing was always at its worst during these weeks under canvas on the Plain and it was most unfair of the War Department to spring an unannounced Congressional inspection on him. He was only a little reassured by the presence of Timothy MacKendrick who had been his most stalwart supporter in his efforts to modernize the Academy.
The Congressmen insisted on beginning their tour immediately rather than waiting for morning. Colonel Mills was able to begin at the academic buildings and sent Sergeant Marty Maher post haste to the instructors so that word would reach the cadets and perhaps postpone any high jinks set for the night. While the visitors were conducted around the gothic buildings, officers and First Classmen hurried to contain the boisterous Third Classmen.
~~~
For Fitzjames, the emergency halt came too late. He was in the middle of his eleventh eagle for the worst tormenter of the Yearling Class. Cadet Beauregard Pickett Burnside Caulfield was the scion of a fine old Mississippi family and prided himself on being the biggest, meanest Southerner to ever attend West Point. He had systematically worked his way through the small fry and was now primed and ready to turn his unflattering attention to new Cadet MacKendrick. To add a bit of spice to the exercise, Caulfield had strewn broken glass all around Fitzjames so that the boy was in danger of cutting his knees or hands if he fell. Caulfield’s other refinement was to have his victim count.
“...twelve...” gasped Fitz as he went down into a deep squat; his arms flapping more for balance now than effect. “...th...thirteen...”
“You’re slowin’ up, Beast. Looky there, tears. You cryin’ for Pappy?”
“...four...teen...”
Cadet Tarrington, one of Caulfield’s confederates, plucked at his leader’s cuff. “Caulfield, he’s had enough.”
“No, he ain’t. Not ‘til I say,” Caulfield, his mouth slightly open, watched with hard eyes as Fitz went down for the sixteenth count.
Billings, Schwartz, and Dalrymple hurried up just then.
“Halt,” ordered Schwartz. “Stop it! Haven’t you heard? The place is crawling with Congressmen!”
“What’s that got to do with me?’ shrugged Caulfield.
“Don’t be more of a fool than you are by nature. They’ve been trying to nail us about the hazing for years.”
While they argued, Fitz went down for the seventeenth eagle. He wobbled as his exhausted body refused to accept this last stress. He threw out a hand to brace against a fall and cried out as glass sheared across his palm. Billings whirled and pulled the injured boy against him. Fitz curled over his lacerated hand and sobbed.
“You bastard,” Billings swore when the moonlight picked out the shimmering bits of glass.
“Let me see, Fitzjames,” Schwartz ordered; not seeming to notice that he had committed the unpardonable social sin of recognizing one of the little beasts by his given name.
Fitz, nearly hysterical from pain and exhaustion, just wound tighter around his hand.
Dalrymple lifted his head. “Someone is coming.”
Caulfield and his cronies fled and left Billings, Schwartz, and Dalrymple to cope with MacKendrick. Voices, stern Congressional voices, descended on the trio and the injured youngster.
“Over there,” Dalrymple squeaked in his broad, West Texas twang. “Get him behind that hedge.”
“They’ll hear him,” worried Schwartz as he and Billings got Fitz on his feet and over to the shrubbery.
Fitzjames pulled himself together with a wrench and solved the problem by stuffing his own handkerchief in his mouth. The cloth muffled the tiny whimpers that escaped no matter how hard he tried to stifle them.
“So, where are all of the cadets?” demanded the Senator from Missouri.
“They are in their tents, of course, Senator. Taps will be blown any time now and I explained that you had arrived too late to see any of them,” Colonel Mills said; sounding a bit testy.
“Well roust them out,” another man suggested.
A calm, low voice countered that idea. “Summer camp is very demanding for the cadets, Gentlemen. They need their rest. We can wait until tomorrow to inspect them.”
“Now see here, General MacKendrick.”
Fitz moaned and his teeth clenched harder on the handkerchief.
Billings, Schwartz, and Dalrymple stared in open-mouthed shock at each other.
“THE General MacKendrick? Here? Now!?” whispered Schwartz agog.
The inspection team moved along and the Yearlings got Fitzjames to his feet and discovered that the boy’s legs were trembling so badly that he could not stand unaided. Schwartz pulled his arm across his own broad shoulders while Dalrymple wound his handkerchief around Fitz’s bleeding hand.
“Come on, Beastie,” Billings said with real affection. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”
Fitz was shaking uncontrollably by the time they reached the infirmary. He was not exactly suffering from convulsions but his thigh muscles kept going into spasms as his companions half carried him. The doctor was rather annoyed with Fitzjames when he refused to elaborate on the source of his injury.
“Sir, I told you. I tripped, fell, and cut my hand on some glass.”
“Now look here, MacKendrick, there’s no reason to protect them like this,” Captain Monroe glared at the three Yearlings who huddled near the examination table.
Fitz shook his head.
“Well, have it your way but I know the signs of eagling when I see it,” muttering over the obstinacy of cadets in general, Monroe cleaned out the cuts.
The hand was not as bad as the Yearlings had feared. The bone deep slashes they had envisioned were little more than superficial gashes. Fitz had been very lucky that the glass had been in chunks instead of slivers.
“Keep it clean, young man. Even minor cuts can become infected.”
“Yes, Sir,” Fitz’s voice was still a bit shaky but at least it had returned to its normal register.
“Listen, Billings,” Monroe said casually as he bandaged MacKendrick’s hand. “I want it understood that he’s had enough. No, don’t say anything. If this man is brought in here again in the next two weeks, I’ll bring your entire class up on charges. I know you aren’t all guilty but enough is enough. Tell the rest of ‘em to lay off the heavy stuff.”
“Yes, Sir,” Billings started to say more as the Congressional tour tromped in without so much as a knock.
~~~
Timothy MacKendrick froze at the sight of his whey-faced son.
“What is going on here?” demanded the Senator from Missouri.
No one answered. Timothy eased over to the table on which his son perched. Fitz gave him one agonized look of appeal before bowing his head over his bandaged hand.
Monroe finished tidying up. “Just a little accident, Sir, the cadet cut his hand.”
Timothy’s glance flicked to the three older cadets and then back to the Army doctor. “How was he injured, Captain?”
Fitz sighed, slid off the table and faced Timothy. “I tripped, Sir.”
“Tripped?”
“Yes, Sir, I was hurrying, stumbled, and put my hand right on some glass.”
Sure you did. I know you used to be clumsy, Boy, but I thought you had outgrown the tendency. Timothy, who could usually detect a fib from Jack or Fitz, merely raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Do you really expect us to believe such patent nonsense, young man,” blustered the Senator from Connecticut.
“I am a cadet of West Point, Sir. I am compelled by the code of honor to never lie,” Fitz replied; very much on his young dignity.
Timothy shifted his penetrating gaze to the three Yearlings. Billings, Schwartz, and Dalrymple were frozen at attention under General MacKendrick’s considering eye. Hmmm, this trio doesn’t look like they believe a word of this nonsense either. In fact, they look scared to death as if in imminent danger of dismissal from the Corps, court-martial, or simply a sound thrashing.
Fitz shifted his weight as if trying to brace to attention. He started to topple and Schwartz moved fast to catch him. Fitz clung gratefully to the older cadet.
“This boy can’t even stand without assistance. No simple cut on his hand would cause a swoon like that!” roared the Senator from Missouri.
“I quite agree, Senator,” Timothy said in the soft, low voice that indicated that he was very near to fury. His glittering gray eyes swept his son’s face. “Fitzjames.”
Fitz licked his lips nervously. “Sir.”
“You know this young man, General?”
“The cadet is the General’s son,” murmured Colonel Mills.
“Fitzjames Henry, I’m waiting.”
“Sir, I tripped. In addition to cutting my hand, I also twisted my knee. It isn’t serious, Sir, but it does hurt and...permission to retire, Sir.”
“Permission denied,” snapped Timothy. I love West Point as much as the next man, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this issue slide. Fitz is white to the lips, ill looking, shaken. “I want names, Fitzjames.”
“Sir?”
“You were hazed tonight. I want names,” Timothy insisted softly.
“The General is mistaken, Sir. I tripped, cut my hand, and twisted my knee,” Fitz clung desperately to his litany while he leaned on Schwartz’s solid bulk.
Timothy folded his arms and regarded his son. “You claim that you are bound to tell the truth?”
“Y...yes, Sir,” Fitz seemed to sense a trap and sent a harried look at his father.
Timothy was relentless. “Then I will ask you a direct question and you will answer it on your honor as a cadet of the United States Military Academy.”
Fitz swallowed hard.
“Were you forced to eagle tonight?”
Fitz was silent.
“Fitzjames Henry MacKendrick.”
“I was not forced to eagle, Sir.”
Timothy shook his head. “That is a lie.”
“Sir, I believe you have misunderstood,” Fitz contradicted his father doggedly. “I did not lie. No one forced me to eagle.”
Timothy stared severely at the young face. Good God, Fitz is as tall as I am now. “Let me rephrase. Did you eagle tonight?”
Fitz drew in a shaky breath. His face registered defeat. “Yes, Sir, but I was not forced.”
“I see. You’re saying that you eagled by your own choice?”
“Yes, Sir, I chose to eagle.”
“Your own choice,” Timothy scrutinized his son’s face. All right, Fitzjames. I dare you to pursue this idiocy. “Why?”
“Sir, I do not understand the question.”
“Why did you choose to eagle?”
Fitz took a deep breath. His uninjured hand rubbed along his thigh as if it ached. Then, he lifted his head with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Eagles are very good...for the thighs, Sir. As an experienced Cavalry officer, the General is surely aware of the importance of sturdy thigh muscles for a Cavalryman.”
Timothy glared at the three Yearlings who appeared to be exerting every dot of discipline to keep from guffawing. He looked at Colonel Mills who winked back. Timothy’s own mouth twitched. I suppose I could turn the obstinate little beggar over my knee. Strengthen the thighs indeed. This is pointless. We could be at this all night and still not get him to admit anything. I knew Fitz had guts as well as the intelligence and the sense of humor necessary to get through this first summer. If this is any indication, he is going to be a fine, fine soldier; provided he survives the tender attentions of the Third Class. There is nothing else to do but let the boy go back to whatever the Yearlings have planned. “As I recall, Reveille comes pretty early. If you Gentlemen hurry, you should make it back to camp before Taps, dismissed.”
Before the Congressmen could even grunt a protest, the General waved the four cadets on their way. The Yearlings got Fitzjames to his tent and put him to bed.
Fitz’s troubles were not over by any means although his determined stand against his famous father and refusal to denounce any of his tormenters earned him a “bootlick”, or vote of approval, from the entire Third Class. Word spread quickly that MacKendrick was a plucky little beast and had withstood even his impressive father. Even Caulfield expressed the opinion that MacKendrick was a credit to his noble Virginian and Carolinian blood for no Yankee would have been able to sass back a lieutenant general. Fitzjames was still expected to recite Timothy’s record at the drop of a hat and Caulfield added a new twist by wanting his Uncle James’ war record under Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee. Fitz was also ordered to eagle, dip, brace and all the rest of the annoying things a new cadet did. No one took it quite as far as Caulfield had, however, and he was spared any further nights like the one of his father’s visit.
Chapter 3
West Point, September 1901
When September finally came, Fitzjames was at last a Plebe and recognized by the rest of the Corps. Jack and the bulk of the Second Classmen returned from their summer furloughs at which time Jack was relieved to discover that his kinsman was still in one piece and already accounted as one of the more promising plebes. Since his “wife” had graduated that June, Jack invited his cousin to share his room. Fitz, in a haze of happiness, accepted and the two young men became closer than ever. He benefited especially from Jack’s help with his engineering courses; always a difficult subject for him. Due to his height, Fitz was assigned to Company A; one of the two “flanker” companies to which Jack was also assigned. Shorter men were assigned to the middle companies B, C, D, and E and were called “runts”.
Fitz, like his cousin before him, adapted swiftly to the Academy’s regimen. Reveille was at six o’clock with the Company roll call outside. At six thirty, the cadets had breakfast. After breakfast, the cadets cleaned their rooms. Then they attended their morning classes from eight o’clock to noon. After lunch, the cadets continued their academic work from one to four. Two hours of “free time” followed during which time the athletes had their practices. After dinner, the cadets studied until Taps.
More important to the cadets than Fitzjames’ academic prowess or rapid acclimation to the rigors of life at the Academy, however, was his talent for West Point’s newest passion, football. In the middle years of the 19th century, there were no athletics at West Point other than those associated with soldiering; such as riding, some calisthenics, and fencing. There was some interclass baseball and, as early as the 1840’s, an occasional cadet had been found kicking a ball around the Plain; including one Philip Sheridan who received a reprimand for kicking a football in barracks. Still, athletics were not encouraged or even practical since the authorities decreed that no matter what activity a cadet pursued, he was to remain fully buttoned and trousered. As handsome as the West Point uniform was, it was not designed for sports. On a day in 1888, the Commandant of Cadets spied two of his charges tossing a rubber ball back and forth. Lieutenant Colonel Hawkins, watching the stiff movements of the fully dressed cadets, asked them if they had white shirts on. When they replied in the affirmative, he authorized them to lay aside their jackets. Within a very short time, a number of other cadets had joined them. Hawkins then persuaded the Superintendent to ease the restrictions on dress so that the high-spirited cadets could at last vent some of their youthful vigor.
Within two years, West Point fielded an inter-collegiate baseball team. In 1890, the Midshipmen of Annapolis challenged the cadets to a football game. Football itself was under a bit of a cloud due to its roughness and brutality. Even so, many of the colleges had teams of professional players who did not actually study at the schools but merely made up their teams. Added to the problem was the fact that West Point did not even have a team when Annapolis made their challenge. Not wanting to be outfaced by the Tars, the Cadets, under the enthusiastic lead of Cadet Dennis Mahan Michie, threw a team together and marched forth to meet the Navy on November 29th. The final score was Navy 24 - Army 0. In the spirit of nothing ventured, nothing gained, the cadets set about learning how to play football. The contest between the two Academies riveted the attention of their respective services and quickly became the high social affair of the year for both the Army and the Navy. Unfortunately, feelings began riding so high, that fistfights and feuds began to break out between the members of the U.S. Military. In 1893, a rear admiral and a retired general became so worked up about the game that they came to blows and even called each other out for a duel. Disgusted, the War Department outlawed the Army-Navy Game by the simple expedient of banning both Academies from playing off their own grounds. Visiting teams could play Army at West Point or Navy at Annapolis, and for six years, the Academies only hosted schools in their immediate vicinities. Then, in 1899, Secretary of War Alger suggested that the inter-service contest be resumed and both Academies jumped at the idea. In order to keep things on more neutral ground, they accepted an invitation to play at Franklin Field; the new athletic facility at the University of Pennsylvania. From that year forward, the Army-Navy Game was an annual event.
In 1901, the cadets were excited by the arrival of a star player from Harvard, Charles Daly. For three years the canny Charlie Daly had quarterbacked the Harvard team so that it ran rings around its competition; including Army. Daly was appointed to West Point by Massachusetts Congressman John “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald. Once through Beast Barracks and settled into the Academy’s routine, Daly turned his attention to West Point’s football team with the eye of a surgeon and the tyranny of a Prussian field marshal. Most of the players were upper classmen whom he retained on the team; although he did a little swapping in their positions.
One of his fellow plebes caught his eye from the first and he soon had Fitzjames out to show his stuff. He tried him as center but decided that he lacked the weight for that as Fitz was tall but slender. Charlie discovered he had good eyes and tenacity when it came to advancing the ball. He had terrific reflexes and his quick mind did not stop functioning just because a play had been set. He also had the disconcerting ability to insinuate his way through two blocking players. Even after seeing him perform, Daly still did not quite believe it. Fitz did not dig in like a bulldog. He did not out-grapple his blocker. He just ducked, twisted, and bolted through space a flea could not have found. It did not make sense to Charlie Daly. He was too tall and slow for that kind of maneuver that was more typical of small, fast, agile men.
“How does he do that?” Daly demanded of Jack when Fitz slipped past two burly guards for the third time and headed for the goal posts.
Football was a little rough for Jack’s tastes and he could never quite see why Fitz liked it so much. He had been watching his cousin’s tryout with some anxiety.
“Yes, Slammer, how does he?” MacArthur inquired; using the name Jack had earned the preceding May when Army defeated Navy 4 to 3 during a memorable baseball game.
“I have no idea. Fitz was always kind of clumsy as a kid.”
“He’s not clumsy now,” although he was a Plebe himself, Daly’s status as one of the preeminent collegiate football players in the country, afforded him special privileges on the athletic field. “Look at him go. He can wriggle through a hole like a fox getting into a hen-house.”
“He’s not very fast,” MacArthur observed as several men began to close on MacKendrick.
“No, and that is a shame. If he had more speed to add to his ability to wriggle loose...whoops, clever lad,” Daly nodded in approval as Fitz threw a lateral pass to one of his swifter teammates, turned, and blocked one of the very men who had been trying to catch him while the ball carrier crossed for a touchdown.
“Fitz does not seek personal glory,” Jack said proudly as he could see approval radiating on the faces around him.
“Team player,” Daly declared; paying the highest compliment he knew. “Yeah, I’ll use him as one of the halfbacks. He’s a nice, all-purpose man and should do just fine for us.”
Army’s initial games of the 1901 season proved to be easy victories for the cadets. Franklin and Marshall fell before the onslaught of the Black Knights of the Hudson, as did Trinity. Charlie Daly’s speed and strict quarterbacking had forged an indomitable team and the cadets faced the mighty Princeton Tigers with confidence. For the better part of the game, they outplayed their rivals, although not even Fitz was able to break loose of the Tigers’ staunch defensive line. Then, in the final twenty seconds of a scoreless campaign, Princeton’s great halfback, Bob Kerner, broke free to run a 60-yard touchdown. Daly was chagrined and accepted the blame for the overconfidence that cost Army the game. Daly and Army’s coach, Lieutenant Leon Kromer, got their heads together to try and figure out what had gone sour. Fitz, they decided, had been held too much to blocking. Perhaps they could give him the ball a bit more often, making sure that one of the faster men was near at hand to take advantage if he broke through the defensive line.
With that strategy in mind, Kromer drilled his team; varying plays so that he and Charlie could see just how much initiative MacKendrick had. It soon became clear that Fitz was a catalyst; a playmaker with a positive genius for tactics. He seemed to possess a sixth sense for the weakness of an opposing line and, when given his head, could usually slip right past via an odd combination of twisting, blocking, and just barreling forward. He was almost an entire squad in his own right and, while not particularly speedy, could make use of his long legs to lope over a great deal of ground. Daly developed the habit of paralleling him through the line until they were both in the clear. Then, as the opposing players converged on him, MacKendrick would toss the ball to Daly in a pass that was nothing short of pure artistry. Daly had only to turn slightly as he paced MacKendrick and the oval ball would somehow appear in his outstretched hands. Then, while MacKendrick slowed to block for him, Daly would take off with his impressive sprint. Defensively, Fitzjames was just as effective and very few men were able to get past him.
With the humbling experience of the Princeton loss behind them, Army met the brilliant Yale team and managed to tie that game. They then tied Princeton in a rematch and defeated Pennsylvania. In those early years of the Twentieth century, the only game that really mattered to the Cadets and the Middies was the Army-Navy contest. That year the Navy Tars had a magnificent team under the coaching of former Princeton star, Bill “Doc” Hildebrand. They had defeated all comers; including the nearly unstoppable Carlisle Indians. Hildebrand and his Tars, were not too concerned about the Black Knights, Daly notwithstanding. For all the excitement brewing over the big game, academics still remained the most important aspect of West Point’s existence. Thus Kromer did not have much time to work with his squad and they were allowed to suit up for two hours of heavy practice only on Wednesday afternoon. The rest of the week, the team only had about half an hour for practice after dinner and could only run through signals while wearing their cadet uniforms. Jack, studying beside his cousin before Taps, noticed with pride that Fitz could push the idea of football aside and ignore the growing pressure of the big game with Navy while he wrestled with radii, isosceles, obtuses and other incomprehensible mathematical critters. It was a mark of maturity that Jack had not expected in his enthusiastic cousin.
The Cadets and Midshipmen were not the only interested parties in the annual conflict. The 25,000 seats at Pennsylvania’s Franklin Field were sold out weeks in advance and turned a tidy profit for the scalpers who were able to sell their extra tickets for an unbelievable forty dollars apiece. Even President Theodore Roosevelt had decided to attend and was accompanied by many Washington notables. Timothy had secured seats for the family as soon as the date was set. Philip and Maggie, Timothy’s elder son and his wife, had wanted to come and watch Fitzjames, with some assistance from the other Black Knights, sink Navy. Gwyneth accompanied them up from Washington. Of the family, only Dorothea and Barnabas Randolph were missing; stationed way off in the Philippines. Dolly sent her brother a good luck telegram, however, in which she demanded a letter giving all details of his first historic battle against the Navy Eleven.
On Saturday, the 30th of November, the Army team suited up in the facilities provided them. They did not have much physical protection although Daly had insisted on a few new safety features that year. In addition to their black wool jerseys, the cadets wore well-padded trousers, rubber nose guards, shin guards, shoulder and elbow pads. The football players had even been permitted to let their hair grow down to their ears for a little additional protection for just the season.
~~~
Timothy, his lively family in tow, made his way to their seats; making sure a way was cleared for his wife. Adria had never been to a football game in her life, knew nothing about the matter, and immediately began asking questions that were fielded by her patient husband. When his wife had been temporarily satisfied, Timothy looked around and discovered that the rows of seats next to them were empty. He smiled as he realized that they were sitting right on the edge of the Corps.
“Timothy, when does the inning start?” Adria demanded; dislodging the blanket he had insisted on wrapping around her for greater warmth and to give her some padding on the hard seat.
“The half will begin in about thirty minutes. Innings are in baseball, Adria,” he tweaked the blanket back into place and spoke past her to Gwyneth who was having a lively discussion about Army’s chances that year with a know-it-all Army mother. “Are you warm enough, Gwyneth?”
“I’m fine, Timothy,” she assured him with a wide smile.
Philip, who was almost as famous a journalist as Timothy was a general, scrambled up and settled beside Maggie who was on the other side of Gwyneth. “The President has just arrived,” Philip announced and pointed over to the Navy side where Roosevelt, surrounded by Secret Service men, was talking enthusiastically to an admiral.
“He’s sitting with the Navy,” Adria huffed.
“He’ll change sides at the half,” Philip explained.
“Oh, well I suppose that’s fair. Oooh, look.”
Everyone’s attention turned to the field where the Midshipmen marched across it to their seats. They were soon followed by the Long Gray Line which marched all the way into the stands; orderly, precise, excitement held in check by their hard-learned discipline. Once seated, there was some relaxing amongst the cadets and Jack made his way over to the family.
“How is Fitz?” Adria demanded before Jack had finished giving Gwyneth a quick hug.
Jack grinned. “Thriving, he’s considered to be one of the best men of his class.”