North and South Trilogy by John Jakes Page A

most of the cadets.
    Soon bitter January weather closed in. Dismal skies lowered spirits as examinations loomed. The Hudson started to freeze, but Orry was hardly aware of it. Even when he stood guard duty in a snowstorm, his mind was on French.
    Somehow he survived the inquisition at the blackboard, After the results of the examinations were announced, he whooped and crowed outside his room while less fortunate cadets silently packed their trunks. Sixteen plebes took the Canterberry road. The others took the oath, signed the articles of enlistment—and received a cadet overcoat.
    February was only a couple of days old when George made a daring proposal to his roommate. “I’m all out of cigars. And we never really celebrated our brilliant success with the examinations. Let’s run it down to Benny’s.”
    Orry looked toward the window. Moonlight touched starry patterns of frost on the glass; the fireplace did little to relieve the night’s fierce cold. The Hudson had frozen over almost completely now.
    “In this weather? At this hour?” Orry looked dubious. Tattoo and taps would be sounded soon.
    George jumped up from his bed; he had been reading a novel. “Of course. We’ve yet to visit that esteemed landmark. We owe ourselves a celebration. Where’s your spirit of adventure?” He was already donning his new overcoat.
    Orry’s inclination was to say no. But some of George’s past remarks about his hesitant nature prodded him to do the opposite. Half an hour after lights out, they sneaked down the iron stairs, eluded the guards, and ran toward the river in the bitter, breathtaking cold.
    They scrambled down the path on the side of the bluff and tried to make their way through the snow and frozen underbrush along the shore. They found it hard going. George squinted at the glaring expanse of white to their left.
    “It’ll be easier if we walk on the ice.”
    “Think it’s thick enough to hold us?”
    George’s pale eyes reflected the moon sailing high above the Hudson Highlands. “We’ll soon find out.”
    Orry followed his friend, chastising himself for his eternal failure to act boldly. What sort of behavior was that for someone who might be called upon to lead a battlefield charge? He stepped onto the slippery ice and heard a sharp creak.
    Ahead, George stopped. “What was that?”
    Orry peered at the black mass of the bluff above them. “I thought it came from up there.”
    “You don’t suppose someone’s following us?”
    Orry looked around. On the moonlit ice they would be completely visible from shore. “It’s too late to worry about that.”
    George agreed. They pressed ahead. Several times the ice creaked and threatened to break beneath them; it really was too thin for safe passage. But there were no signs of pursuit, and very shortly they were peering over a windowsill at the cozy fire burning inside Benny Haven’s little drinking establishment on the riverbank. George rubbed his hands together, then blew on them.
    “Luck’s with us. Not an upperclassman in sight.”
    In fact Benny Haven had no customers from the post and only two from the village of Buttermilk Falls, located on the bluff above the tavern. Genial, middle-aged Benny had black hair, a big nose, and features reminiscent of an Indian’s. He had been selling beer, wine, and ardent spirits for more years than the cadets could remember or the tactical officers cared to acknowledge. He greeted the two arrivals cordially. The townsmen gave them sullen looks.
    George ordered three cigars and two pots of beer. The friends sat at a corner table next to a window with a view of the stoop. Should an upperclassman show up, they could cut for the curtained doorway beside the fieldstone chimney. Orry relaxed a little, enjoying the taste of the beer and the smell of hot ham drifting from the kitchen in back. He ordered a plate of ham and some bread.
    Benny served the food, then struck up a conversation. As a newcomer Orry was very welcome,