Last in Their Class. James RobbinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
to his sister in 1832, “Probably when you see me again I may have been married myself—there is some chance of it—who knows? We Cadets are held in high repute by the ladies.”
Cadets looking for recreation could attend meetings of the Dialectic Society, at which the young men would debate important questions of the day, sometimes heatedly, depending on the issue. Hiking and hunting in the surrounding hills were permitted, particularly on weekends. Attendance at Sunday chapel was mandatory. In the early 1820s, cadets were treated to lectures from Reverend Charles P. McIlvaine, who served as chaplain and professor of ethics from 1824 to 1828. His sermons were nationally renowned and they sparked a religious revival on the post. Not everyone was captivated, however. Cadet Church later wrote, “I listened to a dull sermon, one hour and a quarter long, the only lasting effect of which was to lay the foundation of that dislike, which I have ever since entertained, for long sermons.”16 McIlvaine was eventually ordained a bishop and served as chaplain of the United States Senate. He was succeeded at the Academy by the Reverend Thomas Warner, whom Smith said “had a most intellectual face, was a good scholar and a good talker.” Warner was not as inspiring as his predecessor, but his ten-minute sermons met with general approval by the Corps. For Wyche’s part, he was unimpressed. “I do not like the way they preach here at all,” he wrote. “They are all Episcopalians.”
Cadets also enjoyed concerts by the West Point Band, led by its chief bugler, an Irish immigrant named Richard Willis who had been recruited by Thayer in 1817 to help maintain cadet morale. Willis was a celebrated artist of the Kent bugle, and his brass-heavy musical arrangements revolutionized American military bands. “For the first time,” Thayer wrote, “musical affairs took on an increased stature, not only on the post, but for many miles around. Crowded packets from New York to Poughkeepsie used to drop anchor off West Point to give their passengers an opportunity to listen to Willis and his band as they played evening concerts from a prominent position overlooking the river.” Willis died in 1830, but he established the tradition of riverfront public concerts that continue to draw audiences of hundreds. Knowing proper dance steps was a necessary part of the training of officers and gentlemen, and cadets were given lessons by a renowned Bostonian dancing master named Lorenzo Papanti. His wife, a famous singer of the day, performed in the chapel when Lorenzo was on post. Papanti created a sensation when he introduced the waltz to America in 1834; this European import entwined dancers in ways considered highly improper. Perhaps not coincidentally, the first cadet hops began that same year.
In the winter, cadets would ice-skate on a pond in the Superintendent’s yard, and for those wily enough to sneak off post there were other diversions. “I have been sleigh riding this week for the first time in my life,” Wyche wrote home to Georgia in February 1833. “I am very much pleased with that diversion and particularly so on account of my long and constant confinement. I succeeded very fortunately in eluding the vigilance of the Spies and officers though they extend all their endeavors to catch me.”
Hazing was virtually unknown at this time, at least to the degree it would later develop. Church wrote that “such was the ‘esprit de corps’ that an individual treating a fellow cadet as cadets are now treated every year, would have been expelled from the corps without the aid of military authority or presidential orders.”17 Nevertheless, cadets did not lack a sense of humor. Once at the beginning of the school year a firstie, looking very official with sash and sword, stopped by plebe rooms and solemnly informed them that since tobacco was banned, they were required to turn over whatever they had. By the end of the day, he had picked up a year’s supply. But of all the diversions at West Point, none were as valued as letters. They connected the cadets to their loved ones and events back home, and writing and receiving letters reduced the sense of isolation. Wyche wrote his parents, “The pleasure I enjoy in [receiving letters] is the only real pleasure I ever enjoyed at this place.” Of course, he was exaggerating. There were other pleasures to be had. Like scores of West Pointers before and after him, Cadet Hunter found succor at an off-limits tavern called Benny Havens’.
BENJAMIN J. HAVENS WAS BORN in Orange, New York, on January 6, 1787.1 Though he has gone down in history as an Irish-American folk hero, he was actually a fifth-generation American whose great-great-great-grandfather William Havens immigrated to Rhode Island around 1635. Furthermore, the founder of the Havens line came not from Ireland, but from Aberystwyth, Cardiganshire, Wales. Benny first began providing solace to cadets shortly after the Academy’s founding, as an assistant to the West Point sutler. He was fired when he was discovered selling rum to a cadet, and he took the opportunity to join the New York militia, serving as a first lieutenant during the War of 1812. After the war, he ran a delicatessen with his wife, located just off the post on property owned by Mr. Gridley, over the boundary known as the “Gridley line.” Gridley’s hotel was generally off limits to cadets, but the chance to add variety to their menu proved an irresistible temptation.
The passage to Gridley’s was through the border fence, an eight-foot-high flat-panel barrier, difficult to scale but with a hidden passage. Cadets had rigged some boards “hung by a single nail at the top with a secret fastening at the bottom . . . so innocently and smoothly as to defy the eyes of the most cute inspector ignorant of their secret.”2 Consequently, there were parties from West Point at Gridley’s nearly every night. Old Grid’s selections of food and especially drink were popular with cadets, but less so with the Academy. Rather than reinforce the perimeter, Thayer sought to remove the cause of the problem. In the winter of 1824–25, Congress appropriated $10,000 to purchase the property, and “Old Grid” moved to Newburgh. The hotel became the post hospital. Unemployed but still undeterred, Benny relocated further south, to a two-story tavern about two miles from the gate, in the town of Highland Falls, situated on a bluff above the Hudson below Buttermilk Falls. Thus the legend of Benny Havens’ began.
Passage to the tavern was difficult. Heavy woods lay between the Point and Highland Falls, which was little more than a flour mill and a few houses. There was an unimproved wood road south and a rough footpath down to Benny’s. It was hard going in the dark or in bad weather, but the regulars soon learned the way. Others traveled down the Hudson, either by boat when available or over the ice in winter.
Those who braved the journey were amply rewarded. The specialty drink of the house was the “hot flip,” made of rum or cider, beaten eggs, sugar and spices. It was heated by dousing a red-hot poker or “flip dog” into an enormous flagon from which the drinks were served. The key to the “flip” was knowing when to remove the “dog” to produce the distinctive caramel-like flavor, a skill that Old Ben had perfected. However, while Benny Havens was most notorious for serving alcohol, his tavern was truly a haven in many respects. Cadets enjoyed home-cooked meals and were able to relax, unwind and spend a few hours free of the demands of the Academy. Wyche, in the following letter to his sister, captures the mood of the cadets for whom Benny Havens’ was a cherished sanctuary:
There are about a dozen of us in the Corps who have of our weekly suppers [together] (you must not infer that we get drunk—make beasts of ourselves etc.). We eat and drink (wine) moderately, talk of home of graduating and politics toast the girls and return to barrack about 3 A.M. This helps very much to pass away the time until June or May when I intend to commence studying. I have told you of Benny’s and of the many pleasant hours I have spent there. I hope yet to spend many more before I take my final adieus. However anxious I am to leave this place there are many things from which it will almost rend my heart to be separated forever and among these Benny’s holds a very conspicuous place. The old man and his wife, and the chimney corner in which I have smoked many a pipe, and the blazing log fire, and the clean table and tablecloth, and buckwheats and butter cakes, and beef steaks, ham and eggs, all so much remind me of bygone and happier days that I would willingly cling to that forever.3
When too few cadets were venturous enough to make the expedition southward, Old Ben would come to them. He would load a small boat with provisions and row upriver, making landfall at a quiet spot beneath the Academy. If no cadets were waiting along