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Foreword

This webpage reproduces a section of
The Collected Works
of Ducrot Pepys
by
Ronan C. Grady
Newburgh, N. Y., 1943

The text is in the public domain.

This page has been carefully proofread
and I believe it to be free of errors.
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October 11

This site is not affiliated with the US Military Academy.

 p7  Mr. Ducrot Pepys

 p8  September 27, 1940 . . . .

Monday. Hied myself to practice class formations today where I was to march a section to French. Considerably chagrined to find my section marching back. Severely reprimanded by all and sundry. So home to pry my chin out of my collar. Sat up to an excellent supper. And so to bed.

Tuesday. Attended Gym today. The man who stood beside me starting to scream and cry out when shown the stall bars under the impression he was going to be tortured. He was right. Next, to a very interesting parade. I was so unfortunate as to hit my full dress hat with my rifle, knocking it to the ground. Fear both it and me are permanently bent. Upon casting up my accounts am greatly overjoyed to find that I am worth $3.98. Feeling humorous dashed into my house screaming "Here comes the Tac". With difficulty induced my wives to come out of the lockers. Could not understand the French lesson until I discovered the pages listed were in the grammar not the Dictionary. So to bed.

Wednesday. Feeling exceedingly well today. Went to the club this afternoon there sat late talking to friends. Hear that there is an unmarked grave in the K Co. sinks where lies what is left of a plebe who threw the glass back. Took no note of the passage of time and was not quite in time for first call. I must either become more punctual or more supple.

Thursday. Am beginning to worry about one of my wives. Discovered him blitzing his finger-nails this morning. While I am writing this he stands in front of the mirror with a great smile doing the manual with a window stick. Nothing else of note today.

Friday. My sane wife greatly depressed by Academics today. The other just sits and whistles and says "I don't care." A habit I find disturbing. I shall take my bayonet to bed tonight. Dropped my rifle today at parade but with great presence of mind fell down after it. Two first classmen knocked down in the rush of yearlings vieing to aid me from the field.

Saturday. Today is a most distressing day. The morning room inspection went very badly. Realize now it was not wise to put my rifle in the laundry bag because it was rusty. I forgot the Tac is in the habit of smiting the bag with his fist. He cursed and swore most horribly. He said they would have to repave the area before I got off it. My sane wife overjoyed to find he is but .8 deficient in Mathematics, a science I find hateful. The other could not be persuaded to come out of his red comforter to even find out what his grades were. So we beat him severely until he arose roaring.

[A drawing of a young man standing rigidly at attention, fa­cing us; he is wearing a uniform made distinctive by a tight-fitting jacket with a wide stripe down the center and along the bottom. He has a dazed expression, and a shining halo floats over his head. To his right, a large laundry bag hangs on a hook and an older man in uniform, complete with hat and tall boots, is dancing on one leg and holding his right wrist with how other hand. It is a cartoon of a West Point cadet who has just failed to pull the wool over the eyes of his Tactical Officer during a Saturday inspection.]

". . . He is in the habit of smiting the bag with his fist. . ."

Sunday. A day of rest for all, even plebes. Slept all day, troubled by fearful dreams. Dreampt I was the only plebe in West Point. Awoke screaming.

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