Captain Jinks, Hero

To F. C.

I

A Bombshell

“Bless my soul! I nearly forgot,” exclaimed Colonel Jinks, as he came back into the store. “Tomorrow is Sam’s birthday and I promised Ma to bring him home something for a present. Have you got anything for a boy six years old?”

“Let me see,” answered the young woman behind the counter, turning round and looking at an upper shelf. “Why, yes; there’s just the thing. It’s a box of lead soldiers. I’ve never seen anything like them before”—and she reached up and pulled down a large cardboard box. “Just see,” she added as she opened it. “The officers have swords that come off, and the guns come off the men’s shoulders; and look at the—”

“Never mind,” interrupted the colonel. “I’m in a hurry. That’ll do very well. How much is it?”

And two minutes later he went out of the store with the box in his hand and got into his buggy, and was soon driving through the streets of Homeville on his way to his farm.

No one had ever asked Colonel Jinks where he had obtained his title. In fact, he had never put the question to himself. It was an integral part of his person, and as little open to challenge as his hand or his foot. There are favored regions of the world’s surface where colonels, like poets, are born, not made, and good fortune had placed the colonel’s birthplace in one of them. For the benefit of those of my readers who may be prejudiced against war, and in justice to the colonel, it should be stated that the only military thing about him was his title. He was a mild-mannered man with a long thin black beard and a slight stoop, and his experience with firearms was confined to the occasional shooting of depredatory crows, squirrels, and rats with an ancient fowling-piece. Still there is magic in a name. And who knows but that the subtle influence of the title of colonel may have unconsciously guided the searching eyes of the young saleswoman among the Noah’s arks and farmyards to the box of lead soldiers?

The lad for whom the present was intended was a happy farmer’s boy, an only child, for whom the farm was the whole world and who looked upon the horses and cows as his fellows. His little red head was constantly to be seen bobbing about in the barnyard among the sheep and calves, or almost under the horses’ feet. The chickens and sparrows and swallows were his playmates, and they seemed to have no fear of him. The black colt with its thick legs and ruffled mane ran behind its gray dam to hide from everyone else, but it let Sam pat it without flinching. The first new-hatched chicken which had been given to him for his very own turned out to be a rooster, and when he found that it had to be taken from him and beheaded he was quite inconsolable and refused absolutely to feast upon his former friend. But with this tenderness of disposition Sam had inherited another still stronger trait, and this was a deep respect for authority, and such elements of revolt as revealed themselves in his grief over his rooster were soon stifled in his little heart. He bowed submissively before the powers that be. From the time when he first lisped he had called his parents “Colonel Jinks” and “Mrs. Jinks.” His mother had succeeded with great difficulty in substituting the term “Ma” for herself, but she could not make him address his father as anything but “Colonel,” and after a time his father grew to like it. No one knew how Sam had acquired the habit; it was simply the expression of an inherently respectful nature. He reverenced his father and loved his father’s profession of farmer. His earliest pleasure was to hold the reins and drive “like Colonel Jinks,” and his earliest ambition was to become a teamster, that part of the farm work having peculiar attractions for him.

In the afternoon on which we were introduced to the Colonel, Sam was watching on the veranda for his father’s return, and was quick to spy the parcel under his arm, and many were the wild guesses he made as to its contents. The Colonel left it carelessly upon the hall table, and Sam could easily have peeped into it, but he would as soon have thought of cutting off his hand.

“What’s in that box in the hall, Colonel Jinks?” he asked in an embarrassed voice at supper, as he fingered the edge of the tablecloth and looked blushingly at his plate.

“Oh, that?” replied his father with a wink—“that’s a bombshell.” And a bombshell indeed it proved to be for the Jinks family.

The box was put upon a table in the room in which little Sam slept with his parents, and he was told that he could have it in the morning. He was a long time going to sleep that night, trying to imagine the contents of the mysterious box. Not until he had quite made up his mind that it was a farmyard did he finally drop off. At the first break of day Sam was out of bed. With bare feet he walked on tiptoe across the cold bare floor and seized the precious box. He lifted the lid at one corner and put in his hand and felt what was there, and tried to guess what it could be. Perhaps it was a Noah’s Ark; but no, if those were people there were too many of them. He would have to give it up. He took off the cover and looked in. It was not a farmyard, at any rate, and the corners of his mouth became tremulous from disappointment. No, they were soldiers. But what did he want of soldiers? He had heard of such things, but they had never been anything in his life. He had never seen a real soldier nor heard of a toy-soldier before, and he did not quite know what they were for. He crept back to bed crestfallen, his present in his arms. Sitting up in bed he began to investigate the contents of the box. It was a complete infantry battalion, and beautiful soldiers they were. Their coats were red, their trousers blue, and they wore white helmets and carried muskets with bayonets fixed. Sam began to feel reconciled. He turned the box upside-down and emptied the soldiers upon the counterpane. Then he noticed that they were not all alike. There were some officers, who carried swords instead of rifles. He began to look for them and single them out, when his eye was caught by a magnificent white leaden plume issuing from the helmet of one of them. He picked up this soldier, and the sight of him filled him with delight. He was taller and broader than the rest, his air was more martial—there was something inspiring in the way in which he held his sword. His golden epaulets were a miracle of splendor, but it was the plume, the great white plume, that held the boy enthralled. A ray of light from the morning sun, reflected by the window of the stable, found its way through a chink in the blind and fell just upon this plume. The effect was electric. Sam was fascinated, and he continued to hold the lead soldier so that the dazzling light should fall on it, gazing upon it in an ecstasy.

Sam spent that entire day in the company of his new soldiers—nothing could drag him away from them. He made his father show him how they should march and form themselves and fight. He drew them up in hollow squares facing outward and in hollow squares facing inward, in column of fours and in line of battle, in double rank and single rank.

“What are the bayonets for, Colonel Jinks?”

“To stick into bad people, Sam.”

“And have the bad people bayonets, too?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Do they stick their bayonets into good people?”

“Oh, I suppose so. Do stop bothering me. If I’d known you’d ask so many questions, I’d never have got you the soldiers.”

His parents thought that a few days would exhaust the boy’s devotion to his new toys, but it was not so. He deserted the barnyard for the lead soldiers. They were placed on a chair by his bed at night, and he could not sleep unless his right hand grasped the white-plumed colonel. The smell of the fresh paint as it peeled off on his little fingers clung to his memory through life as the most delicious of odors. He would tease his father to play with the soldiers with him. He would divide the force in two, and one side would defend a fort of blocks and books while the other assaulted. In these games Sam always insisted in having the plumed colonel on his side. Once when Sam’s colonel had succeeded in capturing a particularly impregnable fortress on top of an unabridged dictionary his father remarked casually:

“He’s quite a hero, isn’t he, Sam?”

“A what?” said Sam.

“A hero.”

“What is a hero, Colonel Jinks?” And his father explained to him what a hero was, giving several examples from history and fiction. The word took the boy’s fancy at once. From that day forward the officer was colonel no longer, he was a “hero,” or rather, “the hero.” Sam now began to save his pennies for other soldiers, and to beg for more and more as successive birthdays and Christmases came round. He played at soldiers himself, too, coaxing the less warlike children of the neighborhood to join him. But his enthusiasm always left them behind, and they tired much sooner than he did of the sport. He persuaded his mother to make him a uniform something like that of the lead soldiers, and the stores of Homeville were ransacked for drums, swords, and belts and toy-guns. He would stand on guard for hours at the barnyard gate, saluting in the most solemn manner whoever passed, even if it was only a sparrow. The only interest in animals which survived his change of heart was that which he now took in horses as chargers. He would ride the farm-horses bareback to the trough, holding the halter in one hand and a tin sword in the other with the air of a field-marshal. When strangers tapped him on the cheek and asked him—as is the wont of strangers—“What are you going to be, my boy, when you grow up?” he answered no longer, as he used to do, “A driver, sir,” but now invariably, “A hero.”

It so happened some two or three years after Sam’s mind had begun to follow the paths of warfare that his father and mother took him one day to an anniversary celebration of the Methodist Church at Homeville, and a special parade of the newly organized “John Wesley Boys’ Brigade” of the church was one of the features of the occasion. If Mrs. Jinks had anticipated this, she would doubtless have left Sam at home, for she knew that he was already quite sufficiently inclined toward things military; but even she could not help enjoying the boy’s unmeasured delight at this, his first experience of militarism in the flesh. The parade was indeed a pretty sight. There were perhaps fifty boys in line, ranging from six to eighteen years of age. Their gray uniforms were quite new and the gilt letters “J.W.B.B.” on their caps shone brightly. They marched along with their miniature muskets and fixed bayonets, their chubby, kissable faces all a-smile, as they sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” with words adapted by their pastor:

“Onward, Christian soldiers,
’Gainst the heathen crew!
In the name of Jesus
Let us run them through.”

By a curious coincidence their captain had a white feather in his cap, suggesting at a considerable distance the plume of the leaden “hero.” Sam was overcome with joy. He pulled the “hero” from his pocket (he always carried it about with him) and compared the two warriors. The “hero” was still unique, incomparable, but Sam realized that he was an ideal which might be lived up to, not an impossible dream, not the denizen of an inaccessible heaven. From that day he bent his little energies to the task of removing his family to Homeville.

It is not so much strength as perseverance which moves the world. Colonel Jinks had laid up a competence and had always intended to retire, when he could afford it, to the market town. Among other things, the school facilities would be much better in town than in the country. Mrs. Jinks in a moment of folly took the side of the boy, and, whatever may have been the controlling and predominating cause, the fact is that, when Sam had attained the age of twelve, the Colonel sold the farm and bought one of the best houses in Homeville. Sam at once became a member of the John Wesley Brigade and showed an aptitude for soldiering truly amazing. Before he was fourteen he was captain, and wore, himself, the coveted white feather, and his military duties became the absorbing interest of his life. He thought and spoke of nothing else, and he was universally known in the town as “Captain Jinks,” which was often abbreviated to “Cap.” No one ever passed boyhood and youth in such congenial surroundings and with such complete satisfaction as “Cap” Jinks of the John Wesley Boys’ Brigade.

II

East Point

But our relation to our environments will change, however much pleased we may be with them, and “Cap” Jinks found himself gradually growing too old for his brigade. The younger boys and their parents began to complain that he was unreasonably standing in the way of their promotion, and a fiery mustache gave signs to the world that he was now something more than a boy. Still he could not bring himself to relinquish the uniform and the white plume. A life without military trimmings was not to be thought of, and there was no militia at Homeville. Consequently he remained in the Boys’ Brigade as long as he could. When at last he saw that he must resign—he was now two-and-twenty—he felt that there was only one course open to him, and that was to join the army; and he broached this plan to his parents. His mother did not like the idea of giving up her only son to such a profession, but Colonel Jinks took kindly to the suggestion. It would bring a little real militarism into the family and give a kind of ex post facto justification to his ancient title. “Sam, my boy,” said he, “you’re a chip of the old block. You’ll keep up the family tradition and be a colonel like me. I will write to your Uncle George about it tomorrow. He’ll get you an appointment to East Point without any trouble. Sam, I’m proud of you.”

Uncle George Jinks, the only brother of the Colonel, was a member of Congress from a distant district, who had a good deal of influence with the Administration. The Colonel wrote to him asking for the cadetship and rehearsing at length the young captain’s unusual qualifications and his military enthusiasm. A week later he received the answer. His brother informed him that the request could not have come at a more opportune moment, as he had a vacancy to fill and had been on the point of calling a public examination of young men in his district for the purpose of selecting a candidate; but in view of the evident fitness of his nephew, he would alter his plans and offer him the place without further ceremony. He wished only that Sam would do credit to the name of Jinks.

It was on a beautiful day in June that “Cap” Jinks bade farewell to Homeville. The family came out in front of the house, keeping back their tears as best they could at this the first parting; but Sam, though he loved them well, had no room in his heart for regret. There was a vision of glory beckoning him on which obliterated all other feelings. The Boys’ Brigade was drawn up at the side of the road and presented arms as he drove 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 were walking on air and rising into another plane of being.”

“Well—ye-es—perhaps, but I didn’t mean that exactly,” answered Cleary. “But somehow I feel more like hitting a fellow over the head when I’m in uniform than when I’m not, don’t you?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Sam, “but I really think I do. Do you think they’ll hit us over the head?”

“There’s no telling. There’s Captain Clark of the first class and Saunders of the third who are running the hazing just now, they say, and they’re pretty tough chaps.”

“Is that Captain Clark with the squeaky voice?” asked Sam.

“Yes, he spoiled it taking tabasco sauce when he was hazed three years ago. They say it took all the mucous membrane off his epiglottis.”

There was silence for a time.

“Saunders is that fellow with the crooked nose, isn’t he?” asked Sam.

“Yes; when they hazed him last year they made him stand with his nose in the crack of a door until they came back, and they forgot they had left him, and somebody shut the door on his nose by mistake. But he’s an awfully plucky chap. He just went on standing there as if nothing had happened.”

“Splendid, wasn’t it?” cried Sam, beginning to see the heroic possibilities of hazing. “Do you suppose that they have always hazed here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And that General German and General Meriden and all the rest were hazed here just like this?”

“Yes, to be sure.”

Sam felt his spirits soaring again.

“Then I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” said he. “It has always been done and by the greatest men, and it must be the right thing to do. Just think of it. Meriden has walked up this very hill like you and me to be hazed!” There was exultation in his tone.

“Well, I only hope Meriden looked forward to it with greater joy than I do,” said Cleary, with a dry laugh. “But here we are.”

Before them under the ruined walls of the old redoubt called Fort Hut, stood a small group of cadets, indistinctly lighted by several moving dark-lanterns. While they were still twenty yards away, two men sprang out from behind a tree, grasped them by the arms, tied their elbows behind them, and, leading them off through the woods for a short distance, bound them to a tree out of sight of the rest, and left them there with strict injunctions not to move. It never entered into the head of either of the prisoners that they might disobey this order, and they waited patiently for events to take their course. As far as they could make out by listening, some others of their classmates were already undergoing the ordeal of hazing. They could hear water splashing, suppressed screams and groans, and continual whispering. The light of the lanterns flickered through the trees, now and then illuminating the topmost branches. Presently a man came and sat down near them, and said:

“Don’t get impatient. We’re nearly ready for you.” It was the voice of one of their two captors.

“May I ask you a question, sir?” said Sam.

“Blaze away,” responded the man.

“Was General Gramp hazed at this same place, do you know?”

“Yes,” said the man. “In this very same place. And while he was waiting he sat on that very log over there.”

Sam peered with awe into the darkness.

“May I—do you think I might—just sit on it, too?” asked Sam.

“Certainly,” said the cadet affably, untying the rope from the tree and leading Sam over to the log, where he tied him again.

Sam sat down reverently.

“How well preserved the log is,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said the guard; “of course they wouldn’t let it decay. It’s a sort of historical monument. They overhaul it every year. Anyway it’s ironwood.”

Sam thought to himself that perhaps some day the log might be noted as the spot where the great General Jinks sat while awaiting his hazing, and tears of joy rolled softly down over his freckles. He was still lost in this emotion when steps were heard approaching and the lantern-light drew nearer.

“Come, Smith, bring the prisoners in,” said the same voice that had waked Sam in his tent. He looked at the speaker and recognized the tall, hatchet-faced, crook-nosed Saunders. Two or three cadets unfastened Sam and Cleary, still, however, leaving their arms bound behind them, and brought them to the open place under the wall where Sam had first seen them. Sam now saw nothing; walking in the steps of Generals Gramp and German, he felt the ecstasy of a Christian martyr. He would not have exchanged his lot with anyone in the world. Cleary, however, who possessed a rather mundane spirit, took in the scene. Twenty or thirty cadets were either standing or seated on the ground round a circle which was illuminated by several dark-lanterns placed upon the ground. In the center of the circle were a tub of water, some boards and pieces of rope, and two large baskets whose contents were concealed by a cloth.

“Come, boys,” squeaked Captain Clark, a short, thickset fellow who looked much older than the others and who spoke in a peculiar cracked voice. “Come, let’s begin by bracing them up.”

“Bracing” was a process adopted for the purpose of making the patient assume the position of a soldier, only very much exaggerated—a position which after a few minutes becomes almost intolerable. Cleary and Sam were promptly taken and tied back to back to an upright stake which had escaped their observation. They were tied at the ankle, knee, waist, under the arms, and at the chin and forehead. By tightening these ropes as desired and placing pieces of wood in between, against the back, the hazers made each victim stand with the chest pushed preternaturally forward and the chin and abdomen drawn preternaturally back. Cleary found this position irksome from the start, and soon decidedly painful, but Sam was proof against it. In fact, he had been practising just this position for eight or ten years, and it now came to him naturally. Cleary soon showed marks of discomfort. It was a warm night, and the sweat began to stand out on his forehead. As far as he was concerned the hazing was already a success, but Sam evidently needed something more.

“Here, give me the tabasco bottle,” whispered Clark to Smith.

As the latter brought the article from one of the baskets, Sam said to him in a low voice,

“Did General Gramp take it out of that same bottle?”

“Yes,” said Smith; “strange to say, it’s the very same one, and all through his life afterward he took tabasco three times a day.”

Sam rolled his eyes painfully to catch a glimpse of the historic bottle. Clark took it and applied it to Sam’s lips. It was red-hot stuff, and the whole audience rose to watch its effect upon the victim at the stake. Sam swallowed it as if it had been lemonade. In fact, he was only aware of the honor that he was receiving. He had only enough earthly consciousness left to notice that one of the cadets in the crowd was photographing him with a kodak, and accordingly he did not even wink.

“By Jove, he’s lined with tin,” ejaculated Saunders, whose deflected nose gave him a sinister expression. “You ought to have had his plumbing, Clark.”

“Shut up and mind your own business,” said Clark. “Come, let’s give him the tub. This won’t do. That other chap’s happy enough where he is.”

Sam was untied again and led forward to the middle of the ring, the faithful Smith still keeping close to him.

“Is that an old tub?” whispered Sam, still standing stiffly as if his body had permanently taken the “braced” shape.

“I should say so. All the generals were ducked in it. Kneel down there and look in. Do you see that round dent in the middle? That’s where General Meriden bumped his head in it. He never did things by halves.”

Sam did as he was told, and he felt that he was in a proper attitude upon his knees at such a shrine. To him it was holy water.

“Now, Jinks,” squeaked Clark.

“Yes, sir,” answered Sam.

“Stand on your head now in that tub, and be quick about it.”

Sam fixed his mind upon General Meriden in the same circumstances, drew in his breath, and endeavored to stand on his head in a foot of water, holding on to the rim of the tub with his hands. His legs waved irresolutely in the air with no apparent unity of motive, and bubbles gurgled about his neck and shoulders.

“Grab his legs!” shouted Clark.

Two cadets obeyed the order, and Clark took out his watch to time the ordeal. The instants that passed seemed like an age.

“Isn’t time up?” whispered Saunders.

“Shut up, you fool, haven’t I got my watch open?” replied Clark. “But, good heavens!” he added, “take him out—I believe my watch has stopped.” And he shook it and put it to his ear.

Sam was hauled out and laid on the grass, but he was entirely unconscious. His tormentors were thoroughly scared. Fortunately they had all gone through a course of “first aid to the injured,” and they immediately took the proper precautions, holding him up by the feet until the water ran out of his mouth and nose, and then rolling him on the tub and manipulating his arms. At last some faint indications of breathing set in, and they concluded to carry him down to his tent. Using two boards as a stretcher, six of them acted as bearers, and the procession moved toward the camp. Cleary would have been forgotten, had he not asked them to untie him, which they did, and he followed behind, walking most stiffly. As they neared the camp the party separated. Two of the strongest took Sam, whose mind was wandering, to his tent, and Clark made Cleary come and spend the night with him, lest anxiety at Sam’s condition might impel him to report the matter to the authorities. How they all got to their tents in safety, and how the password happened to be known to all of them, we must leave it to the officers in command at East Point to explain. Sam was dropped upon his bunk without much consideration. The two cadets waited long enough to make sure that he was breathing, and then they decamped.

“It’s really a shame,” said Smith to Saunders, who tented with him, before he turned over to sleep; “it’s really a shame to leave that fellow there without a doctor, but we’d all get bounced if it got out.”