The Riverpark Rebellion — Inside the Classic

“Battalion, right forward, fours right, march! Guide left!”

The command was sharp, distinct, soldierly. The first set of fours moved straight to the front with unhesitating firmness and uniformity of step; the orderly sergeant took his place to the left of the set with ease and rapidity. The remainder of the battalion broke into fours, wheeling to the right with promptness and precision, and in the next moment the entire column was on the march.

The Riverpark Academy corps of cadets were the best-drilled troops outside of West Point. The uniform was dark blue; the belts, gloves, and shoulder-belts were white, and the breastplates were of polished brass. The barrels of the cadets’ muskets glittered in the April sunlight, as they marched and counter-marched, wheeled to the right and left, marked time, and halted.

There was a short interval of rest. The boys in the ranks talked freely, laughed, shouted at one another, leaning out from the line to do so, making strenuous efforts, nevertheless, to keep one foot in place, according to the rule.

Major Drumlist, the drill-master, wiped the perspiration from his face, exchanged a few words with the members of his staff, and then called the troops to attention.

He divided the battalion into four platoons, and placed each platoon in charge of an officer, with directions to instruct the men more thoroughly in the art of wheeling. Upton’s infantry tactics, which had recently been adopted in the United States Army, had but lately come into use at Riverpark; and as the excellence of the new system depended largely on the perfection attained in the wheelings, it seemed necessary to give much time and attention to that particular branch.

The third platoon, in the absence of Lieutenant Smeath, of Company B, was placed in charge of Adjutant Brightly, who marched his men to the southerly part of the parade-ground, and began a systematic drill, as directed. The adjutant was a lad of sixteen years. He was well-proportioned, stood erect, and looked the typical soldier throughout. He was well versed in the tactics and an excellent drill-master, but it was apparent that to-day he had little heart in his task. The men in the ranks noticed his indifference, and took advantage of it. The major came down to them in his round of inspection.

“Lieutenant Brightly,” he said, “you are too easy with your men to-day. Give your commands as though you meant they should be obeyed, and see that strict discipline is maintained in the ranks.”

This admonition roused the lad’s spirit,--not so much a spirit of emulation as of impatience at reproof. As the major passed on to the next platoon, Brightly became more strict; but his severity was now apparently without effect. The loose discipline of the first ten minutes had so demoralized the men that they were awkward and slow, and it seemed impossible to keep them in good alignment while they were in motion. Now the centre would bow out and then in; now the pivot would turn too rapidly, or the flank break away and come crowding up with broken step. Nothing went well. The adjutant became heated, annoyed, impatient, and finally quite lost his temper.

There was one man near the centre of the line who particularly vexed him. He was constantly either too far to the front or to the rear, or breaking touch toward the guiding flank. Brightly had spoken severely to him several times. At last he said,--

“Belcher, if you don’t do better, I shall send you to the awkward squad. You are a disgrace to your company.”

The boy looked out angrily from the ranks, and made as if to reply.

“Stop!” exclaimed the officer. “Not a word! There’s no possible excuse for you. You have eyes; you can see. You have arms; you can keep touch. Now pay attention to your duties.”

Again the platoon was wheeled, and again Belcher pushed out ahead of the line, and broke it hopelessly in the centre. Brightly, who was at the pivot, watching the alignment, was exasperated beyond endurance. He passed swiftly down the front, and struck the flat of his sword against Belcher’s breastplate with force enough to make it clatter.

“Keep back!” he shouted; “keep back! An idiot would know enough to keep the line!”

The platoon was no sooner halted than Belcher stepped one pace to the front, and brought his hand up against his musket at the shoulder with a force that made it rattle, thus signifying his desire to speak.

“Step back into the ranks, sir!” ordered Brightly. “Take your place, I say!” as the lad hesitated. “I’ll do what talking’s to be done, and you’ll obey orders!”