Captain Jinks, Hero Ernest Howard Crosby (best management books of all time TXT) 📖

by, and he saw in this the promise of greater things. As he sat on the back seat of the wagon by himself behind the driver, he took from his pocket the old original “hero,” the lead officer of his boyhood, and gazed at it smiling. Now I am to be a real hero, he thought, and all the world will repeat the name of Sam Jinks and read about his exploits. He put the toy carefully back in his breast pocket. It had become the talisman of his life and the symbol of his ambitions.

The long railway journey to East Point was full of interest to the young traveler, who had never been away from home before. His mind was full of military things, but he saw no uniforms, no arms, no fortifications anywhere. How could people live in such a careless, unnatural fashion? He blushed with shame as he thought to himself that a foreigner might apparently journey through the country from one end to the other without knowing that there was such a thing as a soldier in the land. What a travesty this was on civilization! How baseless the proud boasts of national greatness when only an insignificant and almost invisible few paid any attention to the claims of military glory! The outlook was indeed dismal, but Sam was no pessimist. Obstacles were in his dictionary “things to be removed.” “I shall have a hand in changing all this,” he muttered aloud. “When I come home a conquering general with the grateful country at my feet, these wretched toilers in the field and at the desk will have learned that there is a nobler activity, and uniforms will spring up like flowers before the sun.” Where Sam acquired his command of the English language and his poetic sensibility it would be difficult to say. It is enough to know that these faculties endeavored, not without success, to keep pace with his growing ambition for glory.

Sam’s first weeks at East Point were among the happiest in his life. Here, at any rate, military affairs were in the ascendant. His ideal of a country was simply an East Point infinitely enlarged. His neat gray uniform seemed already to transform him into a hero. When he thought of the great soldiers who had been educated at this very place, he felt a proud spirit swelling in his bosom. One night in a lonely part of the parade-ground he solemnly knelt down and kissed the sod. The military cemetery aroused his enthusiasm, and the captured cannon, the names of battles inscribed here and there on the rocks, and the portraits of generals in the mess-hall, all in turn fascinated him. As a new arrival he was treated with scant courtesy and drilled very hard, but he did not care. Though his squad-fellows were almost overcome with fatigue, he was always sorry when the drill came to an end. He never had enough of marching and countermarching, of shouldering and ordering arms. Even the “setting-up” exercises filled him with joy. When cavalry drills began he was still more in his element. His old teamster days now stood him in good stead. In a week he could do anything with a horse⁠—he understood the horse, and the horse trusted him. When he first emerged from the riding-school on horseback in a squadron and took part in a drill on the great parade-ground, he was prouder than ever before. He went through it in a delirium, feeling like a composite photograph of Washington and Napoleon. When the big flag went up in the morning to the top of the towering flagstaff, Sam’s spirits went up with it, and they floated there, vibrating, hovering, all day; but when the flag came down at night, Sam did not come down. He was always up, living an ecstatic dream-life in the seventh heaven.

One night as Sam lay in his tent dreaming that he had just won the battle of Waterloo, he heard a voice close to his ears.

“Jinks!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here is an order for you to report at once up in the woods at old Fort Hut. The password is ‘Old Gory’; say that, and the sentinel will let you out of camp. Go along and report to the colonel at once.”

“What is it?” cried Sam. “Is it an attack?”

“Very likely,” said the voice. “Now wake up your snoring friend there, for he’s got to go too. What’s his name?”

“Cleary,” answered Sam, and he proceeded gently to awaken his tent-mate and break the news to him that the enemy was advancing. It was not easy to rouse the young man, but finally they both succeeded in dressing in the dark, and hastened away between the tents across the most remote sentry beat. They were duly challenged, whispered the countersign, and in a few moments were climbing the rough and thickly wooded hill to the fort.

“I wonder who the enemy is,” said Sam.

“Enemy? Nonsense,” replied Cleary. “They’re going to haze us.”

“Haze us? Good heavens!” said Sam. He had heard of hazing before, but he had been living in such a realm of imagination for the past weeks that the gossip had never really reached his consciousness, and now that he was confronted with the reality he hardly knew how to face it.

“Yes,” said Cleary, “they’re going to haze us, and I wonder why I ever came to this rotten place anyhow.”

“Don’t, don’t say that,” cried Sam. “You were at Hale University for a year or two, weren’t you? Did they do any hazing there?”

“Not a bit. They stopped it all long ago. The professors there say it isn’t manly.”

“That can’t be true,” said Sam, “or they wouldn’t do it here. But why has it kept up here when they’ve stopped it at all the universities?”

“I don’t know,” said Cleary, “but perhaps it’s wearing uniforms. I feel sort of different in a uniform from out of it, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” exclaimed Sam. “I feel as if I