protect a friend, that friend would be in honor bound to expose him to the authorities, and such things have been done. The corps was its own purifier.

But the practical workings of the system had their peculiar and, it must be admitted, comical features. The code of honor among the cadets as it existed from 1861 to 1866 was something unique,-something sui generis with a vengeance, yet we held it with all the punctilious reverence with which the Rhetts and Hugers surrounded the code of dueling in the ante bellum days in South Carolina. Fights were almost of weekly occurrence during the year, and almost daily during camp. The plebe was early instructed in the cadet ethics governing such affairs. No cadet could afford to be considered a "fighting man,”—i.e., a fellow always on the watch for a chance to pick a quarrel and have a fisticuff with another. He soon became known as a bully; and if once a man acquired that reputation-a fellow who fought merely for the sake of fighting—the whole corps would make common cause against him, and he would be ostracized. On the other hand, no cadet could shut his eyes to an intentional affront. With reference to fighting, his attitude should be that of "never seeking, ever ready." After the first year there was seldom a possibility of making a mistake; but the plebe year was surrounded by a system so delicate and intricate that the poor boy often went wrong. For instance, a plebe ought not, said the old cadets, to consider himself insulted (and therefore called on to fight) if addressed by any title or called any name or treated to any rudeness which the unwritten law of the corps of cadets made customary. This gave rise to rank absurdities. In '62 it was the habit of our "statesmen"-i.e., older cadets from the State from which we hailed-to take us to their rooms, or on long walks around the Point, and enlighten us on all these little matters. I had gone into the academy from Columbia College, and was disposed to pick flaws in the cadet system for the following reasons. It was no affront, said our exponents of the cadet code, to address a new cadet as a beast, a thing, an animal, etc.; that was customary. The salutation, "Step out here, you beast, and get me a bucket of water," was not, said my informant, a proper casus belli. "Although, of course, if you choose to challenge, he has to give you satisfaction;" but-and here came the nicety of the thing—let another cadet intimate in courteous language that your conduct was not that of a gentleman, and you must call him out forthwith. The incongruity consisted in your being at once a patient beast and a sensitive gentleman; yet that dual role was carried out not unsuccessfully.

Yanking, the modus operandi of which has been explained, was not to be considered an affront, unless you had had too much of it in one night and had given fair notice you would put up with no more of it. The next yearling to pull you out fully understood then that a fight

must come of it. Yanking in itself was not an insult; but if, after having slid you over the camp grounds, your persecutors were to gather up your pillow or blanket and hurl either in your face, that was an insult equivalent to a blow, and the neophyte was expected to resent it. In yanking, the old cadets dragged their victims through alternate dust and dew. Blankets and comforters were spoiled,-often ruined,-and the plebes were themselves covered with dust and dirt. This was not an insult of itself, and no stigma attached to the plebe who submitted in silence; but to empty a bucket of clear cold water over-or even to splash its contents on the person of-a plebe, was a dire insult. The fight must come off then and there. In our time, too, there was a ban upon touching a "plebe." It was considered unlawful to lay hand upon him. He might be worried indefinitely, and if he attempted to escape must shove his way through; but the hand could not be placed on his person,-that was an affront and called for a blow.

Now, as to the etiquette or formality governing the cadet affair of honor. It was very simple, and was the same for plebe and first classmen. A cadet feeling himself affronted by the language or conduct of another would go to some classmate-usually an expert in such matters and say to him briefly,—

"Smith of the third class called me a dd beast. got to stand the beast, but I won't stand the d-d. for me, will you?"

I suppose I've

You see him

Now, that means do the seconding, arrange all the preliminaries, etc., and by the laws of the academy subject yourself, if discovered, to court-martial and possible dismissal. The regulations read that cadets who challenge, accept a challenge, carry, second, or promote a challenge, or upbraid another for refusing a challenge, shall be court-martialed, and may be dismissed. But a first classman, on the eve of graduation, with his diploma and commission within his grasp, yet thus imperiled, would not hesitate an instant. At the call of a classmate, he would go to the offending party.

"Mr. Smith, my friend Mr. Brown feels aggrieved at your language of half an hour ago. You called him a dd beast. Will you apologize ?"

Very possibly Mr. Smith feels by this time that he was all wrong, but having put his foot in it, he is afraid of his apology being misinterpreted, and declines. The rest is speedily settled. Smith names some classmate as his second. The two seconds meet at once. Smith's second has the choice of ground and "style," as the challenged party. Two styles were allowed in our day, "rough-and-tumble," or "standup" according to the London prize-ring rules. The weapons never varied, they were always and only fists. If the affair happened in camp, Fort Clinton was the battle-ground; during supper, the appointed time. A referee was indispensable, and this functionary was always

chosen from the highest class,—a cadet captain, if possible,—and, having satisfied himself that "the quarrel was a very pretty one as it stood," and that the parties were nearly matched, physically, the cadet officer generally felt bound to grace the occasion with his presence, and so risk his chevrons at the very least. If not equally matched, it was his duty to warn the challenging party, and direct that either side produce a substitute of suitable weight. There was rarely difficulty about this when the affair proceeded from sufficient cause; and calling a plebe a d-d beast would rally the whole fourth class to resent the insult,-a dozen classmates of either party would offer service, and the referee's decision was sufficient. After that there was no appeal. Immediately after parade, when the battalion formed to march to supper, and the officers on duty in camp went off to the hotel, leaving only the cadet guard on duty, the officer of the guard, by some mysterious agency, would find himself compelled to write up the guard report at this particular moment, and be immured in the depth of his tent. The corporal of the guard might note with surprise the unusual number of cadets "reporting their departure to go swimming at Gee's Point," instead of going to supper. And mind you, every man so reporting would be bound in honor to go to Gee's Point and take a dip in the Hudson the moment the fight was over; and many a fellow has paid that price for seeing a good square fight on evenings when it rained torrents, and the north wind swept down the Storm King reach like a blast from the Arctic. And far down back of camp the sentinel on "Number four," no matter how old or young a soldier he might be, would find something requiring his attention at the south end of his post, while Messrs. Smith and Brown, accompanied by their seconds and one or two chosen friends, perhaps, scurried across the north end, sprang down into Fort Clinton ditch and scaled the parapet, if their scouts reported all officers out of sight. The crowd that went out by the guard-tents could hurry around to the river front and scramble over the grass-grown walls, and in less than three minutes there would be a silent but deeply interested gathering on the level sward at the foot of Kosciuszko's monument.

Promptly the principals would throw off uniform coats and caps, unsling suspenders, if they wore them,-few cadets ever did,-and then the seconds would see to it that rings were removed from the fingers. The referee would caution the crowd against the faintest cheer or noise and order them to keep well back, if "rough-and-tumble" was decided on, or to form a ring if it were "stand-up." The former was most in favor, as being quicker, sooner over among evenly-matched men, and less liable to interruption, so "rough-and-tumble" it generally was, unless a pair of scientific boxers were pitted in the ring. Kicking, gouging, biting, or striking below the belt were never permitted an instant. The fight was lost to him whose temper might

betray him into such a thing, and no cadet was bound to give him satisfaction in the future. These things were well understood. In three minutes from their arrival in the fort the seconds had their men in readiness; the referee quietly nodded "go ahead," the men were brought up face to face, and, with no other formality, let fly at each other's headpiece. For two minutes, perhaps, they would make the air lively with resounding thuds, the blows would be thick and fast, and the combatants would dance around at a lively rate. Then would come the clinch, the straining wrestle, and then the heavy fall to earth, with the seconds bending over and watching every move; and the excited crowd muttering-not shouting-cheer or counsel, the struggle would last until the exhaustion of one party proved him defeated. Then his second, not he, could call enough. A blow one instant after that was foul; a word of menace or abuse during the fight was punishable by the referee, and no man dare interfere so long as fair play was observed. I never saw more honest, fair fighting, than at West Point, and of the hundred or more that took place during my four years of cadet life, I can recall only two that were not pluckily and sturdily fought out to the bitter end. Then, and usually not until then, time and again have I heard the offending party, whether victor or vanquished, express his regret to the challenger for the word or deed that had caused the trouble.

(To be continued.)

CHARLES KING,
Captain U.S.A.

EDITORIAL NOTES.

GENERAL GRANT AND PRESIDENT JOHNSON.-The remarkable letter-concerning the official relationship between General Grant and President Johnson, during the troublesome times of reconstruction— which, during the past month, Mr. Chauncey M. Depew has given to the public, is one which has awakened, and will ever in the future awaken, until the question is definitely settled, the attention and interest of all wishers for the true and impartial history of that important period of our national existence.

What is now divulged has long been hinted at by the knowing ones. General Grant, so far as the public knows, never committed himself to these statements. But yet, how much unrevealed and unspeakable history may have been hidden within the breast of "the silent man," whose only wish, living and dying, was his country's welfare and pacification; and who may have felt that revelations of this character would only have provoked the very strife and discord he was so anxious to heal, if announced at a time when men's feelings and passions were embittered and heated by the excitement resulting from the bloody conflict through which they had lately passed.

His "Personal Memoirs" being yet unpublished to the world, the world has yet to learn and wait for what he may have had to impart on the subject. And yet we feel assured that what Grant said, or is credibly vouched for as saying, must have been so. Even his bitterest enemies attest to the innate truth of his character, his hatred and detestation of a falsehood of any kind; and even they must admit that he never would have stated, or permitted to be stated, as coming from him, what he did not conscientiously believe to be true.

Each day since his letter has been given to the public, we hear, from one side or the other, varying reports as to the truth and possibility of its statements. President Johnson's private secretary appears upon the scene, and contradicts many of them; other people sustain them wholly, or in part; and, in the mean time, Mr. Depew bides his time in silence, and announces that when all others have had their say on the question, he will produce proofs to substantiate what he has written.

The impartial history of the war and the immediately subsequent period has yet to be written. Probably it will not be done in this