Read Online North and South: The North and South Trilogy by John Jakes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Jakes
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vis-à-vis your section—the East, am I not correct, sir? Which of the three regions is in your view superior?”
George did his best to smile like a perfect idiot. “Why, the East, sir.”
“What did you say?”
Bent’s bad breath was sickening, but George kept smiling. “The East, sir. Nothing but farmers out West. Present company excepted, naturally, sir.”
“Would you make the same remark, sir, if you knew the Bent family had important and highly placed friends in Washington City, sir? Friends whose merest word could affect your standing here?”
Bloated braggart, George thought, grinning. “Yes, I would.” Before Bent could scream, he chirruped, “Sir.”
“Your name is Mr. Hazard, I believe, sir. Step forward! I shall use you to demonstrate one of the fundamental principles of marching to these gentlemen. Did you hear me, sir? I said step forward!”
George moved quickly. He had failed to heed the order because he’d been stunned by the spiteful light in Bent’s eyes. This was not mere deviling; the poor wretch drew pleasure from it. Despite the heat, George shivered.
“Now, sir, I shall demonstrate the principle of which I spoke. It is commonly termed the goose step. Stand on one leg, thus—”
He lifted his right leg but swayed; his weight unbalanced him.
“On the command front, the raised leg is flung forward, thus. Front!”
He couldn’t lift his leg very high because he was so heavy. Sweating, he held his position with difficulty. Then, shouting “Rear,” he tried to fling his leg downward and behind him. He nearly fell on his face. Someone snickered. With horror, George realized it came from the rank near Orry.
“You, sir. Our Southern hothouse lily. I believe you were making sport of me—of this military maneuver?”
“Sir,” Orry began, obviously startled.
“If you had been formally accepted as a plebe, sir, I would place you on report, and you would receive a score of demerits. You know, sir, that if you receive two hundred demerits in a year, you are sent down the Canterberry road”—that was the road to the nearest railroad depot and the familiar term for dismissal—“in disgrace. Even superior academics cannot save you. So curb your levity, sir.”
Awash in self-importance, Bent was enjoying himself. “And, more important, give heed to learning this maneuver. You shall practice it, sir—you and your roommate together. Step forward!”
George and Orry stood side by side. Bent strutted in front of them. In his fiercest hoping-for-corporal bellow, he cried, “On one leg, stand! Ready, begin! Front, rear. Front; rear. Front, rear.”
After a minute George felt pain in his right leg. He was damned if he’d let on. One of the regular officers strolled by, giving Bent an approving nod. Bent’s commands grew louder, the cadence faster. Sweat broke out all over George’s face. His leg began to throb, especially the thigh.
Two minutes passed. Two more. His ears rang, his eyes blurred. He figured he might last another ten minutes at most. He was in fine shape physically, but utterly unused to this wrenching exercise.
“Front, rear, front, rear!” Bent’s voice was husky with excitement.
Some others in the squad exchanged nervous looks. The fat cadet’s obsessive enjoyment was all too evident.
Orry fell first, pitching over and catching himself on palms and one knee. Bent stepped to him quickly, seeming to kick up some dust by accident. The dust struck Orry in the face.
Bent was about to order him to stand and resume the exercise when he noticed that the officer was still watching.
“Back to the ranks, sir,” Bent said. He sounded almost regretful. He gave George a scathing look. “You too, sir. Perhaps next time you will not treat a military exercise so frivolously. Perhaps you will not be so pert with a superior.”
George’s right leg ached horribly. But he made it back to the squad, trying to limp as little as possible. Plebes had their generous share
George did his best to smile like a perfect idiot. “Why, the East, sir.”
“What did you say?”
Bent’s bad breath was sickening, but George kept smiling. “The East, sir. Nothing but farmers out West. Present company excepted, naturally, sir.”
“Would you make the same remark, sir, if you knew the Bent family had important and highly placed friends in Washington City, sir? Friends whose merest word could affect your standing here?”
Bloated braggart, George thought, grinning. “Yes, I would.” Before Bent could scream, he chirruped, “Sir.”
“Your name is Mr. Hazard, I believe, sir. Step forward! I shall use you to demonstrate one of the fundamental principles of marching to these gentlemen. Did you hear me, sir? I said step forward!”
George moved quickly. He had failed to heed the order because he’d been stunned by the spiteful light in Bent’s eyes. This was not mere deviling; the poor wretch drew pleasure from it. Despite the heat, George shivered.
“Now, sir, I shall demonstrate the principle of which I spoke. It is commonly termed the goose step. Stand on one leg, thus—”
He lifted his right leg but swayed; his weight unbalanced him.
“On the command front, the raised leg is flung forward, thus. Front!”
He couldn’t lift his leg very high because he was so heavy. Sweating, he held his position with difficulty. Then, shouting “Rear,” he tried to fling his leg downward and behind him. He nearly fell on his face. Someone snickered. With horror, George realized it came from the rank near Orry.
“You, sir. Our Southern hothouse lily. I believe you were making sport of me—of this military maneuver?”
“Sir,” Orry began, obviously startled.
“If you had been formally accepted as a plebe, sir, I would place you on report, and you would receive a score of demerits. You know, sir, that if you receive two hundred demerits in a year, you are sent down the Canterberry road”—that was the road to the nearest railroad depot and the familiar term for dismissal—“in disgrace. Even superior academics cannot save you. So curb your levity, sir.”
Awash in self-importance, Bent was enjoying himself. “And, more important, give heed to learning this maneuver. You shall practice it, sir—you and your roommate together. Step forward!”
George and Orry stood side by side. Bent strutted in front of them. In his fiercest hoping-for-corporal bellow, he cried, “On one leg, stand! Ready, begin! Front, rear. Front; rear. Front, rear.”
After a minute George felt pain in his right leg. He was damned if he’d let on. One of the regular officers strolled by, giving Bent an approving nod. Bent’s commands grew louder, the cadence faster. Sweat broke out all over George’s face. His leg began to throb, especially the thigh.
Two minutes passed. Two more. His ears rang, his eyes blurred. He figured he might last another ten minutes at most. He was in fine shape physically, but utterly unused to this wrenching exercise.
“Front, rear, front, rear!” Bent’s voice was husky with excitement.
Some others in the squad exchanged nervous looks. The fat cadet’s obsessive enjoyment was all too evident.
Orry fell first, pitching over and catching himself on palms and one knee. Bent stepped to him quickly, seeming to kick up some dust by accident. The dust struck Orry in the face.
Bent was about to order him to stand and resume the exercise when he noticed that the officer was still watching.
“Back to the ranks, sir,” Bent said. He sounded almost regretful. He gave George a scathing look. “You too, sir. Perhaps next time you will not treat a military exercise so frivolously. Perhaps you will not be so pert with a superior.”
George’s right leg ached horribly. But he made it back to the squad, trying to limp as little as possible. Plebes had their generous share
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