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Title: Lightning Express
or, The rival academies
Author: Oliver Optic
Release date: September 17, 2025 [eBook #76892]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1869
Credits: Terry Jeffress and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHTNING EXPRESS ***
[Illustration: Illustrated title page.]
_THE LAKE SHORE SERIES._
LIGHTNING EXPRESS;
OR,
THE RIVAL ACADEMIES.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF “YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD,” “THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,”
“THE WOODVILLE STORIES,” “THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES,”
“THE STARRY FLAG SERIES,” ETC.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
1871.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of
the District of Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
NO. 19 SPRING LANE.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND
_JAMES DEWITT CARSON_
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
_THE LAKE SHORE SERIES._
1. _THROUGH BY DAYLIGHT_; or, The Young Engineer of the Lake Shore
Railroad.
2. _LIGHTNING EXPRESS_; or, The Rival Academies.
3. _ON TIME_; or, The Young Captain of the Ucayga Steamer.
4. _SWITCH OFF_; or, The War of the Students.
5. _BRAKE UP_; or, The Young Peacemakers.
6. _BEAR AND FORBEAR_; or, The Young Skipper of Lake Ucayga.
PREFACE.
LIGHTNING EXPRESS is the second volume of the LAKE SHORE SERIES, and
has been published in Oliver Optic’s Magazine, Our Boys and Girls. The
story, like its predecessor, relates to the Lake Shore Railroad, though
the war between the rival academies occupies a considerable portion of
the book. Waddie Wimpleton and Tommy Toppleton, as they appear in these
volumes, are not strangers, in real life, to the writer; and probably
all his readers are familiar with similar young gentlemen in their own
spheres.
The author has endeavored to keep the moral movement of the story up to
the proper standard, and is not afraid that any reasonable young man
will like either Tommy or Waddie well enough to imitate their conduct,
while he is satisfied that all will be pleased with the moral heroism
of Wolf Penniman, and will indorse his views of Christian duty.
HARRISON SQUARE, MASS.,
July 21, 1869.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
A STOCKHOLDERS’ MEETING. 11
CHAPTER II.
THE STOCKHOLDERS IN COUNCIL. 22
CHAPTER III.
THE PRESIDENT OF THE ROAD. 34
CHAPTER IV.
OFF FOR THE CAMP. 45
CHAPTER V.
A BREEZY PROSPECT AHEAD. 57
CHAPTER VI.
A MISSION OF PEACE. 69
CHAPTER VII.
MAJOR TOMMY GETS MAD. 81
CHAPTER VIII.
CHARGE BAYONETS! 93
CHAPTER IX.
FEATHERS AND THE ENGINEER. 104
CHAPTER X.
KEEPING THE PEACE. 116
CHAPTER XI.
AT THE HORSE SHOE. 128
CHAPTER XII.
UP THE LAKE. 139
CHAPTER XIII.
IF THINE ENEMY HUNGER. 150
CHAPTER XIV.
COLONEL WIMPLETON BIDS HIGH. 162
CHAPTER XV.
THE IMPENDING BATTLE. 174
CHAPTER XVI.
THE BATTLE OF THE HORSE SHOE. 186
CHAPTER XVII.
THE PRISONER OF WAR. 198
CHAPTER XVIII.
RESCUING A PRISONER. 210
CHAPTER XIX.
A TYRANNICAL SON. 222
CHAPTER XX.
THE LIGHTNING EXPRESS TRAIN. 233
CHAPTER XXI.
MAKING UP TIME. 244
CHAPTER XXII.
THE NEW FIREMAN. 254
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PRESIDENT AND THE ENGINEER. 266
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PRESIDENT HAS A FALL. 278
CHAPTER XXV.
THE PRESIDENT IN TROUBLE. 290
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE NEW STEAMER. 300
LIGHTNING EXPRESS;
OR,
THE RIVAL ACADEMIES.
CHAPTER I.
A STOCKHOLDERS’ MEETING.
“Order, gentlemen, order!” said Mr. Tommy Toppleton, rapping his
gavel on the desk before him. “While I am president of the Lake Shore
Railroad, I will have order!”
Tommy was the son of his father; on this question there could be no
dispute. Not only was his father a great man, but Tommy, in his own
estimation, was a great man also; on this question, unfortunately,
there was some dispute. Perhaps it was the young gentleman’s
misfortune, certainly it was not his fault, that he was the only son
of a very rich father, and had been indulged until he was, so far as
the circumstances would admit, a spoiled child. He had many excellent
qualities; but he had come to think that among the boys he was the
central figure, and that without him they were nothing, and could do
nothing.
Tommy regarded other boys, even the students of the Toppleton Institute
who were his equals in wealth and social position, as in some sense
footballs for his capricious toes. Many of his companions did not
like him, because he “put on airs,” because he was overbearing and
tyrannical to his inferiors, and because he always claimed the highest
position and the loftiest dignity among them. When the Lake Shore
Railroad Company was organized, he was elected one of the board of
directors, and then by them was chosen president. He had filled this
office from the beginning, and he expected always to fill it.
The company had been in operation about a year, during which time it
had dealt mainly with imaginary certificates of stock, bonds, rolling
stock, and other material, the object being to give the students a
knowledge of railroad business. The actual building of the road had
rendered the company somewhat more real; but, as all the property was
in fact owned by Major Toppleton, who held the bonds of the company for
its full value, it was still to the students an educational rather than
a practical business enterprise. The real owner, therefore, was the
real manager of the road. He told the directors what votes to pass, and
they were pliant enough to obey. All the forms of electing officers,
appointing the superintendent, road-master, engineers, and other
officers, were punctiliously adhered to.
The capital stock of the company was two hundred thousand dollars,
represented by two thousand shares of one hundred dollars each, which
had been apportioned among the students of the Institute, in unequal
parts. Some owned one hundred shares, others only two or three. Tommy
Toppleton was the happy possessor of a quarter part of the capital
stock of the concern, and threw five hundred votes, each representing a
share, in a stockholders’ meeting. An account was kept with each owner
of stock, and transfers from one to another were frequent. I am sorry
to detract from the dignity of the enterprise by confessing that a
share, whose par value was one hundred dollars, was frequently bartered
away for a pint of pea-nuts, though, as the road, like many others, was
mortgaged for its full value, perhaps the compensation was adequate.
Two thousand mortgage bonds of one hundred dollars each had been
issued, duly signed by the officers, and bearing interest at seven per
cent. As the company had no receipts for the first quarter of the year,
the railroad was heavily in debt, and the students were not likely to
be burdened with any extra spending money from their dividends. I had
run the dummy during the fall and winter, carrying passengers as far
as Grass Springs; not for the fun of it, but at regular fares--twenty
cents to Spangleport, five miles distant, fifty cents to the Springs,
thirteen miles, and between the two latter points, thirty cents.
There had been considerable travel, enough to make a breeze with the
steamboat company, though not enough to pay the interest and expenses
of running.
As the students were not permitted to neglect their studies for the
purpose of serving as conductors and engineers, outsiders had been
employed to some extent. Major Toppleton did not regard the Lake Shore
Railroad as a mere plaything. During the winter he had procured his
charter, and he had expended an immense sum of money on the road since
he commenced, for his ideas had enlarged as he progressed, and he
intended to have a regular line to Ucayga, at the foot of the lake.
In a quiet way he had bought up the stock of the steamboat company,
and a report was circulated in the spring that the boats would run
only between Middleport and Hitaca, at the head of the lake, when the
railroad was completed. The Centreporters were filled with horror and
indignation, for this scheme would leave them no means of communication
with Ucayga, on the great lines of railroad, except by the way of
Middleport, and would compel them to patronize the hated Lake Shore
line. But this project was only rumored; it had not yet been developed.
The assembly in which Mr. Tommy Toppleton insisted that order should
be preserved while he was the president of the Lake Shore Railroad,
was the annual meeting of the stockholders, at which the election of
officers was to take place. By permission of Major Toppleton I was
allowed to own five shares in the road, though, as I was not a member
of the Institute, I was not eligible as a purchaser of stock. But I
felt an interest in the enterprise, and an interest in the method of
conducting the business, and I had purchased my stock at a fearful
depreciation from the par value. One of the fellows, by the name of
Limpenfield, had run out of pocket money, and being sorely tempted to
enjoy a feast of cream cakes, I had taken advantage of his necessities,
and bought five shares for twenty-five cents!
The meeting threatened to be rather stormy, for I happened to know
that there were two tickets in the field for a board of directors, on
one of which the name of Tommy Toppleton did not appear, though the
canvassing had been so carefully conducted that the person principally
concerned had no suspicion of his own unpopularity, and least of all
that the stockholders would have the audacity to tip him out of his
exalted position. But this question had not yet come to an issue. The
excitement was over another matter.
“I move you that we proceed to the election of officers at once,” said
Barnscott.
“I move you that we adjourn to Grass Springs!” shouted Wetherstane.
“Second the motion!” added Putnam.
“Order, gentlemen! What motion do you second, Putnam?” demanded the
president.
“The motion to adjourn to Grass Springs, of course.”
“What do we want to adjourn to Grass Springs for?” demanded Barnscott.
“Question! Question!” called the crowd.
“There is no motion before the stockholders!” roared Tommy, hammering
the desk vigorously with his gavel, for he was a model presiding
officer, and would no more have served in this capacity without a gavel
than he would have gone to meeting without a coat.
“Mr. President, I made a motion,” said Barnscott.
“So did I,” added Wetherstane.
“Neither of them is before the house. Gentlemen, you interrupt the
company’s business by your disorder. I insist that the proceedings
be conducted with parliamentary propriety.” Tommy had been to the
legislature with his father when the charter was obtained, and indulged
in technical phrases which all the students did not fully comprehend.
“I move you--”
“Order!” screamed Tommy, at the top of his lungs, and as savage as a
yellow wasp.
“I move you--”
“Order!” repeated the vigorous president, indicating each of the movers
by pointing at them with his gavel. “Take your seat, Barnscott! Sit
down, Wetherstane! This business shall be done in an orderly manner, or
not at all;” and Tommy swelled up till he was as big as the presiding
officer of the Senate of the United States.
“I thought this was a free country, and that the stockholders of the
Lake Shore Railroad had a right to speak in the meetings,” growled the
irrepressible Barnscott.
“Sit down!” thundered Tommy.
“I have a certificate for ten shares; and that gives me the right to
speak and to vote in this meeting,” added the indignant Wetherstane.
“Take your seat, or I will have you put out of the hall!” yelled the
president.
“I’ll sell my stock to any fellow that wants it for a stick of molasses
candy,” continued the wrathy Barnscott. “What is the use of owning
stock if you are to be muzzled like a mad dog?”
“Shall we have order, or not?” cried the president, disgusted with the
irregular proceedings of the turbulent stockholders.
“Order! Order!” shouted a respectable majority of the assembly.
Tommy was evidently out of breath, and disposed to resort to
disagreeable measures. The meeting was held in the chapel of the
Institute, and the principal, if not the major, was within calling
distance. Rather than have a lecture from either of them, the violent
makers of motions subsided for a time, and permitted the president to
do the lecturing. Tommy took a swallow of water from a tumbler on the
desk, and then looked majestically around the room, as if to satisfy
himself that no further disorder was intended, and that the turbulent
ones were disposed to listen to his remarks.
“Gentlemen, order is Heaven’s first law, and it must be the first law
of the Lake Shore Railroad Company, especially in a meeting of its
stockholders,” Tommy began, and then paused, looking as solemn as an
owl at noonday, to note the effect of his impressive words.
As no one objected to this proposition, Tommy took another swallow of
cold water, and proceeded with his remarks.
“No business can be done while we are in confusion,” he continued,
with due seriousness, as he straightened back his neck. “This
is a parliamentary assembly, like the legislature of the state,
and we purpose to do all things in a parliamentary manner. Such
bodies, met together for purposes of debate, are subject to certain
well-established rules, sanctioned by usage, and governed by
precedents.”
“Whew!” whistled Briscoe. “I wonder what book he stole that from.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. President, but I made a motion, which was
properly seconded,” interrupted Wetherstane, quite mildly now. “I don’t
think any other business can be brought before the house till that one
has been settled.”
“The motion was in order,--a motion to adjourn is always in order,--but
it was not properly before the stockholders. The motion does not become
a question, and is not before the house, until it has been stated by
the presiding officer. A motion cannot be entertained until it has been
seconded; and made and seconded, it does not become a question until
it has been stated by the president. One question must be disposed of
before another can be entertained. Gentlemen, I insist upon order. I
am now ready to hear any motion;” and Tommy, having laid down the law,
intended that everybody should abide by it.
CHAPTER II.
THE STOCKHOLDERS IN COUNCIL.
Mr. Tommy Toppleton had reduced the riotous assembly before him to a
tolerable degree of subjection. The president was obliged to embody
in his own person the dignity of the Lake Shore Railroad, since
those in front of him refused to be conscious of the glory of being
stockholders. He was ready to hear any motion, and it was evident
that he intended to keep the peace. But the boys were really excited.
They had been discussing the interests of the road, and some of their
projects would certainly prove to be treasonable to the house of
Toppleton. It must be confessed that a great many of them could not
see the difference between their own interests and those of the road;
and being excited, they did not set a good example to their elders in
Congress and other deliberative bodies, but behaved very much like
full-grown men on similar occasions.
“Mr. President,” said Wetherstane, springing to his feet, as soon as it
was evident that a motion was in order.
“Mr. President,” called Barnscott, almost at the same instant. “I
move--”
“Wetherstane has the floor,” interposed the impartial presiding
officer, vigorously pounding the desk with his gavel; and I must
say he made noise enough to entitle him to preference as one of the
gentlemanly conductors on our road, where noise seemed to be at a
premium.
“What sort of way is that?” demanded Barnscott. “I have the floor.”
“Wetherstane attracted my attention first, and he has the floor,”
replied Tommy, decidedly.
“I was up first,” persisted Barnscott.
“Take your seat, sir!” roared the president; and the pine boards of
which the lid of the desk was composed were in imminent danger of being
fractured by his gavel.
“Mr. President, I rise to a point of order,” said Lennox.
[Illustration: A STOCKHOLDERS’ MEETING.--Page 23.]
“Order, gentlemen!” roared Tommy. “I have decided that Wetherstane has
the floor. If any stockholder is so disposed, he can appeal from the
decision of the chair.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Tommy Toppleton did not permit any
appeal from the decision of the chair, and always insisted upon having
his own way; but it was in the nature of a triumph for him to direct
the deliberations of his fellow-students, and to introduce forms and
methods of which the majority of them had never heard.
“I appeal from the decision of the chair,” added Lennox.
“Points of order necessarily take precedence of all other questions,”
said Tommy, with the utmost dignity and self-possession.
“Ahem!” coughed a fellow in the crowd, which brought down a regular
board-splitter from the gavel.
“The chair decided that Wetherstane had the floor. An appeal is taken.
The question now before the house is, Shall the decision of the chair
stand as the decision of the stockholders? This question is debatable,
and the presiding officer may participate in the discussion. You will
all see that, occupying a position where I can see all the members
of the assembly, I could not very well make a mistake in regard to
who spoke first. I am quite confident that Wetherstane had said ‘Mr.
President’ before Barnscott opened his mouth.”
Various opinions were expressed by individual stockholders, and they
were about equally divided on the merits of the question. Each claimant
for the floor had half a dozen advocates, who were confident that their
man had spoken first. It was really a matter between Tommy and the
stockholders, which they were likely to decide as they loved or hated
the president.
“Question! Question!” called the students, when they began to be weary
of the fruitless debate.
“Those in favor of sustaining the decision of the chair will manifest
it by saying, ‘Ay.’”
“Ay!” shouted many voices.
“Those opposed say, ‘No.’”
“No!” responded the determined opponents of the president.
“It is a vote!” said Tommy, who was not quite willing to believe that
one of his decisions could be reversed by a majority.
“A vote!” exclaimed Lennox. “Why, Mr. President--”
“Silence, sir! A vote cannot be debated,” thundered Tommy, with awful
dignity. “Any member has the right to doubt the vote, and call for a
count.”
“I doubt the vote, Mr. President, and call for a count,” added Lennox.
“The vote is doubted,” said Tommy, rapping violently to repress the
noise and confusion. “Those in favor of sustaining the decision of the
chair will rise and stand uncovered till counted.”
“Uncovered?” demanded Briscoe. “Shall we take our things off?”
“Order!”
Tommy’s friends, and those who had not backbone enough to vote against
his decision, rose and were counted. I voted with this side because I
really believed that Wetherstane had spoken first.
“Twenty-one,” said the president, after he had counted the
affirmatives; and I noticed that his lips were compressed, as if to
subdue some angry emotions which he felt at the result.
“Those opposed stand till counted.”
A large majority, obtaining pluck from mere numbers, sprang to their
feet.
“All up! All up!” shouted the more demonstrative of the rebels, who had
doubtless been to town meetings in their day.
“Order!” screamed Tommy, more fiercely than ever; for the vote, to
him, looked like factious opposition. “Eighty-six in the negative,” he
added, when he had completed the count.
Silence reigned in the hall then, and perhaps many of the students were
appalled to think of what they had done. They had actually voted down
the high and mighty Tommy Toppleton, whose word was law. The experience
of the nations that deliberative bodies are not favorable to the rule
of tyrants was in a fair way to be realized by the heir of the house
of Toppleton. The boys watched the president, expecting an outburst
of indignation and wrath at his defeat; but, happily, the dignity of
the presiding officer prevailed over the feelings of the individual,
and with a mighty struggle he repressed his emotions. As I have had
occasion to say before, Tommy was in the main a good fellow; he would
have been a first-rate one if he had not been spoiled by the weak
indulgence of his father and mother. He had been taught to have his own
way, and his passions were a volcano within him, ready to break out
whenever he was thwarted. I am inclined to think this was the first
time he had ever conquered himself, and restrained his wrath when
defeated.
“The decision is in the negative,” added Tommy, with admirable
self-possession for one of his temperament. “Barnscott has the floor.”
“Mr. President,” said the lucky claimant, “I move that we proceed to
the election of officers for the ensuing year.”
“Second the motion,” added Faxon.
“It is moved and seconded that the stockholders proceed to the election
of officers,” continued Tommy, who could not see why all this storm had
been created on so simple a proposition. “The question is now before
the house.”
“Mr. President!” shouted Wetherstane, loud enough to have been heard on
the other side of Ucayga Lake.
“Wetherstane,” replied Tommy, indicating that the speaker had the floor.
“I move you that we adjourn to Grass Springs at two o’clock this
afternoon,” added the young gentleman, who, beyond the possibility of a
doubt, had the floor now.
“Second the motion,” added Putnam.
“It is moved and seconded that we adjourn to Grass Springs at two
o’clock this afternoon,” repeated the president, wondering what this
movement meant.
“What’s to be done with my motion?” demanded Barnscott. “I thought one
thing had to be settled before another was brought up.”
“A motion to adjourn is always in order,” said the president.
“Mr. President, I rise to a point of order,” interposed Skotchley, a
quiet kind of fellow, who had studied deeper into parliamentary law
than even Tommy Toppleton, for he had been the presiding officer of a
juvenile debating society.
“State your point, Skotchley.”
“I respectfully submit that the motion to adjourn is not in order, for
the reason that, to entitle it to precedence, it should simply be a
motion to adjourn without fixing a time.”
Tommy was nonplussed. The question took him out of his depth. He had
Cushing’s Manual in his pocket, but it would not be dignified to
consult it in the presence of the stockholders. However, he knew that
Skotchley was well posted, and he deemed it prudent to follow his lead.
“The chair decides that the point is well taken, and that the motion
to adjourn is not in order,” said he, though probably he would not
have been so pliant if he had not been opposed to the substance of the
motion. “By the ruling out of this motion, Barnscott’s is now in order.”
“That’s a pretty how d’ye do!” exclaimed Putnam.
“Order! The motion to proceed to the choice of officers is now before
the house.”
“Mr. President, I move to amend the motion by the addition of the
words, ‘at Grass Springs at two o’clock this afternoon,’” said
Wetherstane.
“Second the motion,” added Putnam, who was evidently “in the ring,” for
he seconded only the Grass Springs motions.
Tommy stated the amendment, and there was a silence of a minute or
two, for a wonder. Then Barnscott did not see why the amendment had
been brought forward, and wanted to know what Grass Springs had to
do with election of officers. He evidently was not “in the ring.” He
should vote against the amendment, and he hoped all the rest of the
stockholders would do the same.
“Mr. President,” said Briscoe, who had more pluck than most of his
companions, “who ever heard of the stockholders of a railroad holding
a meeting for the election of officers right in the place where they
do their business? It is contrary to custom, and I protest against any
innovations. They always have a free train, and take the stockholders
to a place where there is a good hotel. After they have voted, they
have a first-rate supper at the expense of the corporation. If they
don’t always do it, they always ought to do it. I am in favor of having
this meeting at the hotel in Grass Springs, and, after the business is
done, of eating as good a supper as the landlord can get up for us.”
“Question! Question!” shouted the stockholders, who seemed to be
unanimously in favor of following the precedent.
Barnscott made a speech in favor of an immediate election. He did not
believe stockholders usually had a dinner; but, as he continued his
remarks rather longer than prudence justified, he was interrupted by
calls for the question.
“Are you ready for the question?” said Tommy, who did not know what to
make of the remarkable proceedings of the company. “You can vote what
you please, fellows; but carrying out the vote is quite another thing.
You can vote that Lake Ucayga dry up if you like, but it won’t dry up.”
“Dry up!” shouted some of the ruder ones. “Question!”
“Those in favor of amending the motion will say ‘Ay,’” added the
president.
The motion was carried by a majority of three to one. The original
motion was then passed by a vote of the same ratio. Briscoe then moved
that the directors be instructed to make the arrangements for the
meeting and the dinner in the afternoon, which was also carried. The
meeting then adjourned; but it was clear enough to Tommy Toppleton that
the stockholders were taking things into their own hands, and that his
father would have something to say in regard to the astounding vote.
CHAPTER III.
THE PRESIDENT OF THE ROAD.
“What does all this mean, Wolf?” said Mr. Tommy Toppleton to me, after
the stockholders’ meeting had adjourned.
“What does it mean?” I repeated, moved by the condescension of the high
and mighty scion of the house of Toppleton in addressing me, and, in
some sense, making a confidant and adviser of me.
Probably he came to me because he was rather confused in regard to the
identity of his friends. As president of the Lake Shore Railroad, he
had rendered a decision from which the stockholders had appealed, and
he had been beaten by a vote of four to one. He was vexed and mortified
at the result, and was disposed to regard it as a personal insult. He
had always had his own way, and could see no reason why he should not
always have it. In the excitement of building the road, the students
had regarded him as the representative of his father, who was doing
an immensely great thing to add to the popularity of the Toppleton
Institute; and his offensive manner, his domineering, haughty, and even
tyrannical conduct, had hardly been noticed. But, after the road had
lost its novelty, the lordly demeanor of the little magnate was not
relished, and he was beginning to feel the effects of his conduct.
I did not like to tell Tommy even as much of the real truth as I knew
myself, and the leaders of the opposition had not taken me into their
confidence. It was an ungracious task to inform the high-spirited,
uncurbed, and wilful young gentleman that his fellow-students were
dissatisfied with him, and that an attempt to run him out of his office
was to be made. But Tommy put the question squarely to me, and I could
not well avoid the issue. He evidently regarded me as a dependent of
the house of Toppleton, whose will could only be the reflection of that
of his employers.
“What does it mean? That’s what I want to know,” added Tommy, his face
lighted up with an excitement which threatened a storm.
“The fellows seem to be disposed to do things as other corporations
do,” I replied, cautiously, for I did not wish to rouse the sleeping
lion in the little lord.
“Wasn’t I fair and impartial?” demanded he.
“I think you were,” I replied; and I did not lose sight of the fact
that he had decided against Barnscott, whose motion he favored, when he
gave the floor to Wetherstane.
“The stockholders voted me down just as though they meant to insult
me,” continued Tommy, smartly. “Do you know why they want to go to
Grass Springs to elect officers?”
“For the sake of the dinner, I suppose,” I answered. “But, Tommy, there
is going to be an opposition to you, at this election.”
“An opposition to me!” exclaimed the president, amazed at the
intelligence.
“I have only heard it whispered among the fellows.”
“What have I done that the fellows should be down upon me?”
“I don’t know that I ought to say anything about it, Tommy. It is
really none of my business. I shall vote for you.”
“If you know anything about it, tell me,” continued Tommy, rather
imperiously.
“I only know that there is another ticket for directors in the field.”
“And my name is not upon it?”
“No, it is not.”
Tommy stamped his foot upon the floor, and looked decidedly ugly. I was
rather sorry that I had said anything, though it was better for him to
be prepared for the result before it was announced.
“Wolf, I don’t blame you for this; but I want you to tell me all about
it,” said he, after he had partially choked down his wrath. “What have
I done to set the fellows against me? What do they say about it?”
“They say you put on airs--that you order them around as though you
were their master.”
“Well, I am president of the road,” said he, as if this were a
sufficient explanation; and I think he really considered it very
unreasonable in the students to object to his conduct.
“I only tell you what the fellows say.”
“Wolf, do _you_ think I have put on airs?” demanded he.
“So far as I am concerned myself, I haven’t a word of fault to find,” I
replied, evasively.
“You! Well, you are only a hired hand,” added he, with refreshing
candor. “Do you think I have treated the fellows badly?”
“Not badly; but you know they are rich men’s sons, and consider
themselves as good as you are.”
“But my father built this road, and pays for everything. Not a single
one of these fellows ever gave a cent for anything.”
“I don’t believe the money makes any difference.”
“Why don’t you say I’m to blame, if you think so?” snapped he,
impatiently.
“I believe if you had not been quite so sharp with the fellows they
would have liked you better,” I answered, desperately. “You tell them
to do this and that, and order them just as though they were servants
in your father’s house. They won’t stand it. They are not paid for
their work, as I am.”
“Thank you; you are very complimentary. I suppose you will call me a
tyrant next,” sneered he.
“I am only telling you what I have heard the fellows say,” I meekly
responded.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” snarled he; and I was fully
convinced then, if I had not been before, that honest counsel to such a
person is a thankless task.
Tommy walked up and down the hall precisely as his magnificent father
would have done, if he had been vexed and disconcerted. I had told him
wholesome truth, for which he was not grateful to me.
“Come with me, Wolf,” said he, imperiously, after he had considered the
matter a while.
The rest of the students were scattered about the building and
play-ground of the institute, talking over the meeting, or
electioneering for the great occasion, in the afternoon, if Major
Toppleton did not veto the proceedings. I followed Tommy over the lawn,
where many of the students were assembled in groups. He took no notice
of them, unless it was to cast angry and scornful glances at them. He
led the way to his father’s house, where we found the major in his
library.
“Father, we may as well burst up the Lake Shore Railroad, so far as
the students are concerned,” said the irate and disgusted president of
the company.
“What’s the matter now, Tommy?” asked the major, looking up from the
newspaper he was reading.
“They are going to run me off the ticket for directors,” growled Tommy,
dropping heavily into an arm-chair, as though the end of the world had
come, and there was nothing more to live for. “They say I have been
putting on airs.”
“Perhaps you have, Tommy!” suggested the major, who, for some reason or
other, was disposed to receive the intelligence very good-naturedly.
“I am the president of the road, and have only done my duty. I’m not
going down on my knees to those who are under me.”
“But a certain degree of gentlemanly forbearance and consideration is
prudent in business relations,” added the major. “Now let me hear what
the matter is, and we will see what can be done.”
Between Tommy and myself we told the great man what had transpired at
the hall, and announced the vote of the stockholders, relating to the
adjourned meeting and the dinner. The major actually laughed at the
impudence of the boys. He was a politic man when policy paid better
than violence. There was certainly a breeze among the stockholders of
the Lake Shore Railroad. Tommy was in peril of losing his office, which
would leave the owner of the road without a suitable representative in
the board of directors. The movement must be checked, or the connection
of the Institute with the road must be dissolved.
The major was ready to act. The vote of the stockholders was to be
carried out in substance. A free train to Grass Spring was to be run at
one o’clock; and, at the invitation of the president, a supper was to
be served at the hotel after the meeting. This course would conciliate
the refractory stockholders, and save the present directors from the
accident of being turned out of office. Tommy seemed to be of the
opinion that the stockholders ought to be compelled to vote for him,
rather than coaxed into it; but he yielded to the superior experience
of his father, and consented to feast the electors. He was instructed
to invite all the students to the supper, and to have it specially
understood that it was his entertainment, not the company’s.
There was yet another question to be settled by the students, but
not in their capacity as stockholders. The military department of
the Institute was still maintained, in spite of the novelty of the
railroad. The boys were organized as a battalion of two companies, and
it is hardly necessary to say that Tommy was the major. It was the
custom of the Institute to camp out for a week during what was called
the home vacation, because the students did _not_ generally go home
during this period. The stockholders’ meeting was held on the Saturday
preceding this vacation, and it was necessary to determine where and
when the camp should be formed, for this question was left to the
students. It was proposed to hold the meeting after the stockholders
adjourned, when the major would call the battalion to order.
It was possible, if not probable, that the camping out would be
dispensed with the present year, for the new locomotive and cars had
just arrived, and were lodged in the houses erected for them. The major
had instructed me--or rather the board of directors had done so--to run
the new engine on Monday. It was thought that the students would not
be inclined to camp out with this new excitement in store for them.
The road was in order as far as Grass Springs, and in a few weeks it
would be completed to Ucayga. I ran regular trips to the former place,
every two hours, on the dummy, which was now so degraded by contrast
with the locomotive, that it was of small account. But the students did
not seem to feel that degree of interest in the new order of things
which had been expected. They were excited when the locomotive and cars
arrived; shouted, yelled, and screamed till they were hoarse; but the
fact that the engine was not to be used as a plaything by any one who
desired to do so, operated as a damper upon the boys. Perhaps Tommy,
more than any one else, was responsible for this state of things; for
his domineering spirit had disgusted his fellow-students.
In my next trip on the dummy Major Toppleton went to Grass Springs, and
ordered the supper for the stockholders. At one o’clock I was in the
cab of the new locomotive, which, in compliment to the occasion, was
to make its first trip to the Springs. It was a beautiful machine, of
about two thirds of the ordinary size. The cars were of a corresponding
size. Never was an engineer prouder and happier than I was when I ran
the engine out of the house. I had borrowed some flags and decorated
it for the great occasion. Faxon was with me in the cab, though Lewis
Holgate, the son of Christy, who had robbed my father, was employed as
fireman.
At the appointed time the students appeared, and, after giving sundry
cheers for the train, took their seats, and I started the locomotive.
I felt like a real engineer then. The boys screamed as the train moved
off, and in half an hour we put on the brakes at Grass Springs. The
students hastened to the hotel where the meeting and the supper were to
take place. Leaving the engine in charge of Lewis, I hastened to the
meeting, where I intended to electioneer for Tommy Toppleton.
CHAPTER IV.
OFF FOR THE CAMP.
“The time to which this meeting was adjourned has arrived, gentlemen,
and you are requested to come to order,” said Tommy Toppleton, rapping
on the table with the gavel, which he had been careful to bring with
him.
“Mr. President,” said Barnscott, springing to his feet, with half a
dozen others, all anxious to make the first motion.
“Barnscott,” replied Tommy, giving him the floor.
“I move you we proceed to the choice of officers.”
“Second the motion,” added Putnam.
“It is moved and seconded that we proceed to the election of officers,”
repeated the president.
“Question! Question!” shouted the stockholders; for there was now no
difference of opinion on this point.
The motion was carried without opposition. I had intended to make a
little speech myself before any business was done. Indeed, it had been
arranged by Tommy and his father that I should do so; but Barnscott was
too quick for me.
“Mr. President,” I shouted, as soon as the vote was declared, “I have a
word to say to the stockholders, if you will allow me to speak directly
to them.”
“Go on! Go on!” yelled the students.
“Gentlemen, though what I have to say does not exactly belong to the
business on hand, I hope it won’t be taken amiss,” I began. “By the
vote of the stockholders this morning, the expenses of the supper to be
provided for the company at this hotel were to be paid for out of the
treasury of the corporation. It is well known that the company is in
debt, that the interest on its bonds has not been paid. The president,
therefore, in consultation with the munificent patron of the road, did
not think it right to use the funds of the company in paying for a
supper.”
“Are we to have no supper?” demanded Wetherstane.
“We are,” I replied, earnestly. “The liberality of the president of the
road is well known to all of you, and I have the pleasure of informing
you that he has decided to provide the supper at his own expense. It is
my pleasant privilege, therefore, to invite you, in behalf of President
Toppleton, to a supper at this hotel, after the adjournment. I wish the
stockholders especially to understand that this invitation is extended
by the president in his private capacity.”
Some applause followed my speech; but it was by no means as general and
hearty as I desired. It was an electioneering movement, and with this
invitation before them, I did not see how the stockholders could well
avoid reëlecting Tommy. I saw the leaders of the opposition looking
significantly at each other, as though they regarded my movement as
a diversion against their scheme. A committee to collect, count, and
declare the vote was appointed by the chair, and indorsed by the
meeting; and I had the honor to be one of the three.
During the voting, intense excitement prevailed in the hall. It was
a general jabber. As far as my duties would permit, I had been at
work for Tommy. I had used all my powers of persuasion to induce
certain large stockholders to vote for him; but, as fast as I made an
impression, it seemed to be removed by the opposition, and when the
meeting assembled I was not sure that I had converted a single share,
for each of which a vote was given. But Tommy was reasonably confident
of an election. He threw five hundred votes for himself to begin with,
as the representative of so many shares; and one more than the same
number, in addition, would elect him. If he could not get so many
votes, he was more unpopular than any of his friends suspected.
“Have all the stockholders voted?” shouted Tommy. “If so, I declare the
poll closed!”
The committee retired to sort and count the ballots, taking with us the
stock book, in order to detect any illegal voting. I do not think any
similar occasion among full-grown men excited more interest and anxiety
than this election. Tommy Toppleton was really on trial for insolence
and tyranny, and the result was to be his acquittal or conviction. We
counted the votes; and Faxon, who was the chairman, and a friend of the
president, led the way to the hall, with the result written on a piece
of paper in his hand.
“Order, gentlemen!” called Tommy; and his unsteady voice indicated the
anxiety with which he waited the issue. “You will listen to the report
of the committee.”
“Whole number of votes, two thousand,” read Faxon, while breathless
silence pervaded the hall. “Necessary to a choice, one thousand and
one. Thomas Toppleton has eight hundred and eighty-two;” and the
chairman read the rest of the names on the same ticket, who had nearly
all the vote. “Edward Skotchley has twelve hundred and eighteen.”
The chairman then declared that Edward Skotchley, and the others on
both tickets, except Tommy, were elected. Some faint applause followed
the announcement; but most of the students appeared to be appalled at
what they had done. The president’s face was as red as a blood beet,
and I expected his wrath would boil over. Even the supper had not
saved him, and certainly it was a hard case. I was sorry for him, while
I could not approve of his haughty and overbearing manner. I went up to
the desk with the intention of giving him what I considered good advice.
“Don’t get mad, Tommy,” said I, in a low voice, but so that he could
hear me.
“It’s an insult,” added he, between his closed teeth.
“Never mind if it is. Don’t let them see that they are punishing you,”
I added.
This last remark of mine had the desired effect; and, to my
astonishment, he smiled as blandly as though nothing had happened.
He did not relish the idea of letting his enemies triumph over him,
and though he now looked like peace itself, I was satisfied that the
punishment of the rebels was reserved for another occasion.
“Mr. President!”
Both Tommy and myself looked to see who had the audacity to break
the impressive silence that still reigned in the hall. It was
Skotchley--Edward the Silent, as he was often called, on account of his
quiet way.
“Skotchley,” said Tommy, who, though he did not regard his successful
rival very favorably, was hypocrite enough to smile sweetly upon him.
“Mr. President, I wish to say that my name was used without my
knowledge or consent. I voted for the old board myself, and am so
well satisfied with the president, that, even if I considered myself
qualified for the position,--which I do not,--I could not accept it.”
“Toady!” snuffed some of the students.
Skotchley glanced at the knot of stockholders from whom the offensive
word had come. The quiet dignity of his manner silenced them.
“Under no circumstances could I, or would I, accept this office,” added
Skotchley, as he seated himself, amid the applause of Tommy’s friends.
The speaker was not excused; but he adhered to his purpose, and the
students were obliged to ballot again. Tommy’s singular conduct in not
getting mad made a sensation. The students could not comprehend it.
While the second ballot was in progress, he sat at the table, cool
and smiling. I am satisfied it was this conduct alone which created
a reaction in his favor; for on the second ballot he was elected by
a majority of one hundred and eleven. He accepted the position, and
thanked the stockholders for their continued favor, as coolly as though
nothing had occurred to disturb the current of his thoughts.
The present incumbents of the other elective offices were chosen
without opposition, and the flurry was over; but it was clear enough,
if Tommy did not mend his ways, he would never be elected again. The
affairs of the railroad were finished, and those of the battalion
were taken up. Tommy was chosen major by a small majority, and the
other officers were elected. The location of the encampment caused
considerable discussion. Those who had been the leaders of the
opposition in the railroad company were in favor of pitching the tents
on the Horse Shoe, an island on the lake, opposite Grass Springs, and
two miles from the west shore.
Tommy’s party advocated the Sandy Bay Grove, because the railroad
passed near it. They urged that the Wimpletonians usually encamped on
the Horse Shoe. One of the other side was bold enough to say that
was the reason why he wished to go there. I do not know how long the
discussion would have lasted if the landlord of the hotel had not given
the president a broad hint that the supper was ready. This brought the
matter to a crisis, and when the vote was taken, there was a large
majority in favor of the Horse Shoe. A committee was appointed to wait
upon the owner of the island, who was a resident of Grass Springs.
The landlord of the hotel did justice to himself, and to the great
occasion with which his house had been honored. Tommy sat at the head
of the middle table, and presided with dignity and discretion. Some
very good speeches were made, for boys, and the festival was a decided
success. I left the table before the party broke up, in order to have
the locomotive ready for the return. At six o’clock we started. Faxon
informed me that the Horse Shoe had been engaged for the encampment,
and that the sum of ten dollars was to be paid for the use of the
island.
“But I can tell you one thing, Wolf. There will be one of the jolliest
rows over there that you ever heard of,” added Faxon.
“I hope not.”
“The Wimpleton fellows were going there; and if there isn’t a fight
before the week is out, I never will guess again.”
“Well, do our fellows know it?” I asked.
“Know it!” exclaimed Faxon. “Of course they do, and that is the
particular reason why they want to go there.”
“Have the Wimps engaged the island?”
“No; there is where we have the start of them. They have always used it
without leave or license.”
It did look like an exciting time for the next week. As soon as
Tommy Toppleton understood the reason why his battalion had selected
the Horse Shoe, he joined heartily with them; for no one hated the
Wimpletonians more thoroughly than he did. He entered heart and soul
into the project, and issued his order for the march at seven o’clock
on Monday morning, so as to reach the island before the enemy could
take possession of it. I was directed to have the train ready at that
hour.
Though it was rather late when we arrived, the boys went to work in
making the preparations for the camp, and before they retired, the
tents, baggage, and cooking utensils were loaded upon one of the
platform cars. Neither the major nor the principal opposed the plan,
and at the appointed time on Monday morning, I had the train drawn up
on the road at a convenient point near the Institute, ready to furnish
the “transportation” for the battalion.
Major Tommy, intent upon being ahead of the enemy on the other side of
the lake, was on time with his force. The battalion was to be reviewed
by the principal of the Institute before its departure, and the two
companies marched by the train, on their way to the green where the
ceremony was to take place. As they passed me, I saluted them with the
steam whistle, and in return the warlike heroes cheered the train. I
witnessed the impressive formalities of the review, and having moved
the cars forward, I heard the speech of the principal at the close of
the performance.
The students then entered the cars. I gave a tremendous whistle, and
off we went, the students, true to their noisy natures, yelling like
madmen. As we moved on, we discovered a fleet of boats, loaded with
Wimpletonians, sailing down the lake.
[Illustration: THE TOPPLETON BATTALION.--Page 55.]
CHAPTER V.
BREEZY PROSPECT AHEAD.
I am not quite sure that Major Toppleton did not know the Wimpletonians
had selected the Horse Shoe for their camp ground, and that a collision
was likely to occur between the students of the rival academies. If he
did know it, he was certainly to blame, even though the Toppletonians
had legal possession of the land; for a man is morally responsible
far beyond the letter of the law. It was plain enough to me that the
wire-pullers on our side had selected the Horse Shoe simply because it
was the usual encampment of their rivals.
The Toppletonians were highly excited and intensely belligerent. The
jealousy between the two sides of the lake and between the two schools
had thoroughly infected them. There were only a few who were not ready
to fight for the banner under which they marched. While I confess that
I was to some extent a partisan for the Toppletonians, I could not
help feeling that there was something undignified and unmanly in this
senseless quarrel. I could realize this sentiment, even while I was
anxious that the Wimpletonians should not “get ahead” of our side. I
was not in love with Colonel Wimpleton and his son, but I should have
preferred to treat them with dignified contempt, rather than pick a
quarrel with them.
The Wimpletonians had a whole fleet of boats, including the dozen or
more that belonged to the Institute, and several bateaux, loaded with
tents and baggage. The wind was light early in the day, and as they
had to sail a dozen miles before they reached their destination, they
were not likely to arrive at the island before us. Major Toppleton had
ordered the tug steamer to be at Grass Springs to convey the students
to the Horse Shoe, and she had towed a number of boats for the use of
the battalion.
“We must hurry up, Wolf,” said Faxon, who, as usual, was on the engine
with me, after glancing at the aquatic procession on the lake.
“It will take the Wimps three hours to reach the Horse Shoe with this
breeze,” I replied. “Our party will arrive in an hour.”
“There may be some delay at the Springs. We don’t know that the steamer
will be there when we arrive.”
“Didn’t Major Toppleton send her to the Springs?” I asked, not being
aware that there was any contingency.
“He sent her to Ucayga last night with a freight of flour, and told
Captain Underwood to be at Grass Springs at eight o’clock, if possible.
She may be late. She did not leave Middleport till dark, and of course
she must discharge her cargo this morning. If there should be no
steamer ready for us, what shall we do?”
“Where are our boats?” I inquired.
“I suppose Captain Underwood left them at the wharf at the Springs, as
he passed, or possibly at the Horse Shoe. I only know what Tommy told
me, just before we started.”
“There is a chance for a slip, after all,” I added.
“I think there is a big chance for a slip. If the Wimps get to the
island first, there will be a big fight, for our fellows don’t wish for
any better fun than driving them off.”
“And perhaps the Wimps would like no better fun than that of driving
the Tops off.”
“Possession is nine points, you know, and the side which gets a footing
on the island first has the best chance,” replied Faxon, cheerfully;
and though he did not bluster so much as some others, I knew that he
was “ready to go his length” in opposition to the enemy.
“It looks like a fight, any way you can fix it,” I added. “Why couldn’t
our fellows have chosen some other place to encamp?”
“Because the Horse Shoe suits them best. There is a good wharf at the
island, and plenty of dry wood for the fires.”
“I don’t see the use of quarrelling when there are a hundred other
places just as good as that.”
“What’s the matter, Wolf? Have you no stomach for a fight?” laughed
Faxon.
“No; I have not.”
“But you are regarded by the fellows as a regular fighting-cock. Your
affairs with Waddie and with--” Faxon checked himself, as he glanced at
Lewis Holgate, the fireman--“you know whom, are the foundation of your
popularity with them.”
“I am willing to fight in a good cause; but I don’t believe in bringing
on a quarrel.”
“The Wimps are always picking upon us, and doing us mischief whenever
they can. They have torn up our track once, and we haven’t paid them
off for that.”
“You sunk all their boats for that; and I think you are about even.”
“Not quite; but if they will let us alone, we won’t meddle with them.
We have hired the Horse Shoe for the week, and we mean to have it.
We have the legal right to the island, and we are ready to fight for
possession.”
“I think it is all nonsense to quarrel for nothing.”
“We shall have the fun of licking them.”
“Or the fun of being licked,” I suggested.
“No danger of that. We have one hundred and fifteen students now, and
I was told that the Wimps had fallen off to less than a hundred,”
chuckled Faxon.
“The tables may be turned by and by, when the colonel’s plans are in
operation.”
“What plans?” asked my companion, anxiously.
“You did not suppose Colonel Wimpleton would permit this railroad
scheme to go on without doing something to offset it--did you?” I
replied; and I had received some positive information from my father,
the night before, on this interesting topic.
“What can he do? He can’t build a railroad on his side of the lake.”
“No; but at this moment Waddie Wimpleton is the president of a
corporation.”
“What corporation?”
“A steamboat company.”
“Is that so?”
“My father was over at Centreport yesterday, and found out all about
it.”
“But what have the Wimps to do with it?”
“The colonel is building a magnificent little steamer at Hitaca. She
is to be very long and narrow, and good for fifteen to eighteen miles
an hour. The Institute fellows on the other side are to own and manage
her, just as you do the railroad.”
“That is news, certainly,” said Faxon, musing, and apparently not at
all pleased with the plan.
“They say Major Toppleton has bought up the steamers which now run on
the lake, and means to take them off between Ucayga and Middleport as
soon as the Lake Shore Railroad is completed.”
“Of course; what’s the use of having the boats after the road is
finished? We are to run a LIGHTNING EXPRESS twice a day then, and I
think it is very good-natured of the major to buy up the boats, and
thus save the owners from loss.”
“Perhaps it is; but is it good-natured for him to deprive the
Centreporters of the means of getting to Ucayga, as he will when the
boats are taken off?”
“They can go by the railroad, the same as others,” laughed Faxon.
“They can, but they won’t. Do you think Colonel Wimpleton would come
over here and ride in these cars? He would hang himself first.”
“Then he can hang himself, if he likes. The Middleporters wouldn’t cry
if he did.”
“But he intends neither to hang himself nor to ride on the Lake Shore
Railroad. Of course you can’t blame him for kicking against the
movements of the major.”
“See here, Wolf; are you a Wimp or a Top?” demanded Faxon, coloring a
little, as we looked into each other’s face.
“Why do you ask that question?” I inquired, quietly.
“Just now you seemed to stick up for the Wimpleton side.”
“I was only stating the case just as it is. My sympathies are on this
side; but I don’t blame Colonel Wimpleton for not being willing to have
his facilities for going to and from Ucayga cut off.”
“You don’t blame him!”
“Certainly not.”
“I believe you are only half a Top now, Wolf. Just now you were
condemning us for standing up for our own rights. Be on one side or the
other, old fellow.”
“I am willing to fight for the side that gives me bread and butter, as
long as it stands by the right.”
“I don’t like this making reservations. I go the whole figure. My
country, right or wrong--that’s what I go for.”
“So do I. My country, right or wrong; if wrong, to set her right.”
“There you spoil all the poetry of the thing. If you had stopped before
you put the last sentence on, it would have been just the thing. I go
for Toppleton, right or wrong.”
“I don’t,” I replied, decidedly. “I am for keeping Toppleton right, and
then I go for Toppleton.”
“What’s the use of talking, Wolf! You can’t make me believe you are
not right on the goose,” added Faxon, good-naturedly. “When will that
magnificent steamer be launched?”
“I don’t know; but father said the hull was nearly completed. I suppose
they can’t get her ready for service before August or September;
perhaps not till next spring.”
“And then she is to run in opposition to the Lake Shore Railroad?”
“That’s the idea, I believe.”
“There will be jolly times then; but she can’t do anything against our
lightning express.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“Come, Wolf! You are a Wimp at heart, after all. The fellows would mob
you if they should hear you sticking up for the other side,” added
Faxon.
“I’m not sticking up for the other side,” I replied, smartly, for I did
not relish this charge. “I’m only looking the facts fair in the face.
The Wimps’ steamer will give you a hard run. Look at it for yourself.”
“I don’t believe the Wimps can get ahead of us, any how--I won’t
believe it!” persisted Faxon.
“How far is it from Middleport to Ucayga?” I asked.
“Twenty miles, to a rod.”
“How long will it take the lightning express to go through?”
“Half an hour,” replied Faxon, sharply.
“Not much! We should have a smash every day at that rate. The track is
not stiff enough to make that time upon. Call it forty minutes; and
that is high speed for this light rail.”
“Well, forty minutes. You don’t mean to say any steamer can make twenty
miles in that time?”
“Hold on a minute! How wide is the river at Ucayga?”
“Half a mile.”
“Good; we have to land our passengers on this side of the river. To
take the trains east and west, they must cross the river, and do the
same when they visit the town. How long will that take in the old
sail-boat ferry?”
“I don’t know,” replied Faxon, nettled by the force of the argument,
which he could not answer.
“Half an hour, at least, on an average. That will make an hour and ten
minutes; and the steamer will do it in an hour and a quarter. I think
the colonel has a pretty good show,” I continued, as the train reached
Spangleport, and I blew some desperate whistles to warn idlers about
the track.
“You are a Wimp!”
“No. I’m a Top.”
“Don’t talk so before the other fellows. If you do they will think you
have sold out to the enemy.”
“Can’t a fellow express an honest opinion?” I asked, warmly.
“Not when it don’t jibe with the public sentiment.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m not afraid to tell Major Toppleton what I
think.”
“Don’t you do it.”
“If he wants to come out ahead, as of course he does, it would be
better for him to look the facts and contingencies fairly in the face.”
Faxon was thinking of the matter, and by mutual consent both of us were
silent.
CHAPTER VI.
A MISSION OF PEACE.
I could not exactly see that I was a traitor to the Toppletonian
interest because I believed that a steamer could successfully compete
even with a “lightning express.” I intended to serve my employers
faithfully, and believed that I had done so. Perhaps it was imprudent
for me to express an opinion; but I knew that Colonel Wimpleton was a
man of energy and determination, and that he would not be content to
remain long in the shade.
I observed that Lewis Holgate listened very attentively to all that was
said, though he made no remarks. Since his father had run away with
the money he had stolen, the family were hard pressed to get a living.
Lewis was about my own age, and was regarded as a smart fellow. The
intimacy between our families had brought us together somewhat, and I
knew that he aspired to be a “young engineer.” He had worked with his
father a great deal, and knew an engine very well. It was necessary for
him to go to work, to assist in supporting his mother and his brothers
and sisters. He had told me how sorry he was for what his father had
done, and I pitied him. Through my influence he had obtained the place
to “fire” on the new locomotive, and now received a salary of three
dollars a week.
Lewis worked with me a while on the dummy, and was competent to run it.
The crime of his father had to some extent broken his spirit, and thus
far he had behaved very well, better than his antecedents led me to
expect--for he had been rather noted in Ucayga as a bad boy. My mother
commended me warmly for what I had done to help him, and declared she
was very glad to see me manifest a Christian spirit towards him. My
father said I was foolish to try to serve such a fellow; but I was best
satisfied with the judgment of my mother.
Something had already been said about another locomotive, and an
additional number of freight and passenger cars, which the business of
the road would eventually demand. Lewis Holgate gave me to understand
that the height of his ambition was to be the engineer of the new
locomotive when it came. I assured him that if he did his duty
faithfully, I would do all I could to further his purpose. We were,
therefore, good friends, and I gave him every facility for learning the
business. If I had had any doubts about the propriety of what I had
said to Faxon, for which he had accused me of being a Wimp, I should
not have restrained my speech on account of the presence of Lewis; for,
after all I had done for him, I did not think him capable of injuring
me.
“The tug steamer is not here,” said Faxon, as I shut off the steam when
the train approached Grass Springs.
“It isn’t eight o’clock yet. We have been only half an hour on the
road,” I replied.
“I don’t believe it will be here,” added Faxon, anxiously, as he looked
out upon the waters of the lake. “There is a stiff breeze now, and the
Wimps will be here by nine o’clock.”
I could not see why my partisan friend should manifest any anxiety,
since he and the rest of the Toppletonians, with a few exceptions,
were absolutely spoiling for a fight with their rivals on the other
side of the lake. The train approached the Grass Springs station,
and I whistled to put on the brakes. As soon as we stopped, Faxon
left the engine, and the battalion came out of the cars. The two
companies formed on the wharf, and I heard sharp and imperative orders
of Major Tommy, which led me to conclude that his experience in the
stockholders’ meeting had not been very profitable to him, though
some of the harshness of his tones was doubtless attributable to his
military enthusiasm.
From my place in the cab I could see the end of the lake, with the
steeples of Ucayga in the distance; but the steamer was not on the way;
she had not even started for the Springs. The Horse Shoe was two miles
from the shore. The wind had freshened a little, and was fair for boats
coming down the lake. The battalion from Centreport must arrive in an
hour, or an hour and a half at the farthest, for the boats had had only
ten miles to make half an hour before. Major Tommy had formed his
lines; the quartermaster had placed all the baggage and stores on the
wharf, and everything was in readiness to embark. It was eight o’clock
by this time, and the steamer had not yet appeared. The Toppleton boats
had probably been left at the island, for they were not to be found at
the main shore, and the steamer could have left them with less delay
than at the Grass Springs Wharf.
“What’s to be done?” asked Major Tommy, impatiently, after he had
surveyed the ground over and over again.
“We must get to the island some how or other,” replied Faxon.
“That steamer won’t be here for an hour,” growled the commander of the
battalion. “Father said it might be late; but he didn’t understand
exactly what was up.”
“The Wimps are coming,” shouted an officer in the line.
“They are five miles off,” replied Faxon, as he looked up the lake. “I
want to be on the island when they come.”
“So do I,” replied Tommy, casting an anxious glance at the approaching
enemy.
“Can’t you help us out, Wolf?” asked the major, jumping on the
foot-board of the engine.
Of course I was well pleased to be called upon in the emergency,
for it was manifesting a great deal of confidence to ask advice of
a boy who was not a member of the battalion. The Toppletonians had
the legal right to use the Horse Shoe; and it seemed to me that, if
they had possession of the island when the Wimpletonians arrived, the
anticipated fight, at least as a brutal struggle, might be averted.
Both bodies were armed with small muskets, having bayonets upon them;
and though they were not allowed any ammunition, they might make the
combat more dangerous than they intended. The interests of peace,
therefore, appeared to require that our battalion should be transported
to the island without delay.
“I hope you are not going to get up a fight over there,” I ventured to
say.
“Of course we are not, if the Wimps let us alone,” replied Tommy. “If
they don’t let us alone, it will be the worse for them. I want to get
over there before they do, and that steamer, confound it, won’t be here
this hour.”
“If I were you, Tommy, I would send one company over to the island, and
take possession of it, leaving the baggage and tents to be carried over
when the steamer comes.”
“How can I send one company over?” snapped Tommy. “We haven’t a boat,
or even a mudscow.”
“There comes the ferry-boat,” I replied, pointing to a sloop-rigged
craft which was now approaching the shore from Ruoara, on the other
side and above the island.
“That’s the idea!” exclaimed Tommy, as he leaped down from the cab,
and ran with a speed entirely beneath the dignity of the major of a
battalion to the ferry pier.
In three minutes more he had made a trade with the ferryman to land as
many of the force as his boat would accommodate on the Horse Shoe. The
craft was one peculiar to the lakes in that region. It was an ordinary
sloop, though rather longer than similar vessels are built; but the
stern was open just above the water-line, so that teams could be driven
on board. It depended upon the wind as its propelling agent, though
it was provided with a pair of steamboat wheels, with a horse-power
machine to turn them, which could be used when the wind was not
available.
Major Tommy ordered Captain Briscoe, with Company A, to embark in this
ferry-boat, and to hold the Horse Shoe, at any peril, until the other
company could be sent over. I was sorry to leave the exciting scene;
but I had to run the trip from Middleport at nine o’clock. Satisfied
that the Toppletonians would secure possession of the island before
the arrival of the enemy, I turned the locomotive, and ran back to
the other terminus. The fleet of boats was off the South Shoe, not
more than a mile from the Horse Shoe, when the train went through
Spangleport; but the ferry-boat was within half that distance of its
destination.
We did not yet run the new locomotive and cars on the regular trips,
because the travel was light, and the dummy could be used at half the
expense. We housed the engine and cars, and, firing up the dummy, we
had steam enough to start her at the appointed hour. Just before we
left, Major Toppleton came into the station, and asked me what had
become of the students. I told him I had conveyed them to Grass Springs.
“I did not know they were going so early,” added he.
“They were in a hurry,” I replied, with a smile, when I saw that the
great man did not comprehend the strategy of the battalion, “My orders
from Major Tommy were to start at seven o’clock; and I set them down on
the wharf at the Springs at half past seven.”
“You look wiser than you speak, Wolf,” said the major, gazing earnestly
into my face. “Is there any mischief brewing?”
“I think there is,” I replied, candidly, though I could not help
smiling at the puzzled look of the magnate of Middleport.
“What is it? Why didn’t you tell me about it? They say the students of
the Wimpleton Institute went down the lake this morning.”
“Yes, sir; we passed them on the way, and the students of both
Institutes are bound to the same place.”
“Then there will be a quarrel!” exclaimed the major; but I think he
would not have cared if he had been sure that his side of the lake
would be victorious.
“I am afraid there will; but the Toppletonians have the weather-gage,
both on the rights of the case and in the situation.”
I explained fully what had transpired at the meeting of the battalion
on Saturday, and the state of the affair when I left Grass Springs, an
hour before.
“Why didn’t they tell me what they were doing?” demanded the major. “I
did not know they were in a hurry; if I had, the steamer should have
been at Grass Springs without fail. If our boys have hired the Horse
Shoe, and pay for it, they have a right to use it.”
The great man was unequivocally on the side of the boys, and they might
just as well have taken him into their confidence. I was sorry to see
him so willing to permit a collision, even while our students had the
letter of the law in their favor.
“Wolf, don’t you want a vacation?” said the major, suddenly turning to
me, after musing on the facts I had given him.
“No, sir; I don’t care about any,” I replied.
“But I prefer that you should take one. Your pay shall go on as usual,”
he continued; and of course it was of no use for me to protest. “Can
Lewis run the dummy?”
“Yes, sir; he understands it very well.”
“All right, Wolf; I want you to be with those boys. You have an
influence with them, and they want some help such as you can give them.”
“Am I to fight with them, sir?” I asked, laughing; for I did not
exactly relish the kind of vacation he intended to give me.
“Certainly I don’t want any fighting if it can be avoided. I want you
to help keep the peace. If things don’t work well, or any help is
needed, come to me at once.”
I started the dummy, and then gave it up to Lewis. I did not exactly
like my mission; for, though I was sent to keep the peace, I knew that
the major simply expected me to see that the Toppletonians were not
whipped in the expected encounter.
CHAPTER VII.
MAJOR TOMMY GETS MAD.
Though I was nominally sent to the Horse Shoe as an ambassador of
peace, I fully understood the real object of the magnate in giving me
a vacation. The mission was certainly complimentary to me, for I was
really expected to do the “engineering” for the Toppletonians. I was
not to permit them to be whipped by their great enemy: if I could not
prevent it myself, I was to call in the assistance of Major Toppleton.
Whatever instructions he may have given me, this was precisely what he
meant. I was, in some sense, to be his representative.
I desired to keep the peace, and I hoped to have influence enough to
accomplish something in this direction; but it would not be an easy
matter to do this, and at the same time escape the wrath of the
belligerent Toppletonians. The Wimpleton battalion, under command of
Major Waddie, would be ten times as reckless as the Toppletonians
under Major Tommy. My late enemy on the other side was not restrained
either by fear or by principle. No violence or destruction appalled
him. His father had so often paid for damage done by him, that he never
hesitated to gratify his malice and revenge by smashing a boat, firing
a building, or even discharging his pistol at any one who thwarted him.
He was a dangerous enemy. But Waddie was reckless only when he was
personally in a safe position. He was prudent enough to keep his own
body out of the way of harm, except when his wrath completely mastered
him.
Lewis Holgate was glad enough of an opportunity to run the dummy alone,
for it would enable him to prove his fitness for the position to which
he aspired. I cautioned him carefully in regard to keeping up the water
in the boiler, and the pressure of steam he might carry. He was very
passive and tractable, and, for the sake of his own reputation, I had
no doubt he would be faithful and careful in the discharge of his duty.
When I arrived at Grass Springs in the dummy, the steamer was just
approaching the wharf. The company sent over to the island under
Captain Briscoe had landed, and thus far had held peaceful possession.
The Horse Shoe was the most western of four islands, just below Ruoara.
The two largest of them lay east and west of each other, while the one
to the north of them was called the North Shoe, and the one to the
south the South Shoe. They bore some resemblance to shoes; and the
western island having a bay which made into its southern side, gave it
the shape of a horse shoe. The eastern island, and the nearest to the
shore, looked more like a pistol than either of the others did like the
articles for which they were named. But the person who had christened
the group, having probably named the others first, calling each a shoe,
designated the fourth the “Shooter,” instead of the Pistol, which would
have been more appropriate. “Shoe” and “Shooter” seemed to jingle well
with him, and, as he was satisfied, I shall not complain.
The squadron of boats from Centreport lay between the Horse Shoe
and the South Shoe when I came upon the ground. So far as I could
judge by seeing them at the distance of two miles, the Wimpletonians
were consulting upon their next movement. If they intended to take
possession of the island, they had permitted the favorable opportunity
to pass. Doubtless they were also waiting for the arrival of the
bateaux, on which their baggage was transported.
“Has anything happened?” I asked of Faxon, as I joined the students on
the wharf.
“Not a thing!” exclaimed he. “The Wimps smell a mice, and don’t seem to
be inclined to pitch in. If I had been Waddie Wimpleton, I would have
landed on that island before this time.”
Faxon appeared to be disappointed because the row had not come off, and
more, perhaps, because the Wimpletonians did not display a belligerent
spirit. The steamer came up to the wharf, and the students embarked.
Major Tommy stormed at Captain Underwood for his delay, and the poor
captain defended himself very modestly and gently. He had discharged
his cargo as speedily as possible, and he had not been told to be at
the Springs at eight, but as soon as he could. His bread and butter
depended upon keeping the right side of the magnate, and to prejudice
the son was to influence the father.
“What are you doing here, Wolf?” asked Tommy, as he saw me standing on
the forward deck, after the steamer started.
“Your father has just given me a vacation,” I replied, very quietly;
for I did not deem it prudent to put on any airs about my mission. “I
thought I would come over and see how this thing was coming out.”
“It’s coming out all right, Wolf. What did my father say?” asked the
little major, with some show of anxiety. “Was he mad because we came
away so early?”
“O, no! I told him where you were going, and that the Wimps were bound
to the same place. He was very glad you had obtained permission of the
owner to use the island.”
“Then it is all right--is it, Wolf?” added Tommy, with an apparent
feeling of relief. “I didn’t know but my governor sent you here as a
spy. If he did, you can return as fast as you came.”
Perhaps, according to Tommy’s interpretation of my mission, I might be
a spy. I had really been sent to act as a check upon the students, who
were very jealous of any interference when they were on camp duty, or
any other military service. The steamer sped on its way, and as the
deep water was between the Horse Shoe and the Shooter, we had to round
the southern point of the former in order to reach the landing-place.
The Wimpleton boats still lay off the South Shoe, and Captain Underwood
said they were in the channel through which he must pass.
“Can’t you get to the landing without going near them?” I asked
privately of the captain, though I knew the navigation of the lake as
well as he did.
“I can go to the north of the Horse Shoe, and come down the channel in
that way,” he replied.
“These fellows are spoiling for a fight, and I am afraid there will be
some broken heads before the day is finished. If you can prevent a
row, it will be better to do it.”
“Very well,” said he, ringing the bell to stop her, just as he was
entering the channel between the Horse Shoe and the South Shoe.
“What’s that for?” demanded Major Tommy from the forward deck.
“Don’t you think we had better go in at the northward of the island?”
inquired Captain Underwood, with the utmost deference.
“No, sir! I don’t think so!” replied Tommy, warmly. “Are you going the
other way because those boats are here? Go ahead, sir! Run them down,
if they don’t get out of the way!”
Captain Underwood felt obliged to obey this imperative order. If he
had refused to do so, it is quite likely he would have been compelled
to return to the skippership of a canal boat, from which he had been
promoted to his present more dignified and lucrative position.
“Don’t run them down, captain,” I ventured to say, in a low tone, as
the master rang the bell to go ahead again.
“It is hard work to please that boy without getting into trouble,”
added the captain. “The good book says no man can serve two masters,
but I have to serve two.”
“Blow the whistle, captain!” I suggested.
He blew the whistle till the shores resounded with the echoing
screeches; but the Wimpletonians evidently believed the steamer had
come this way on purpose to annoy them, and they stood upon their
dignity. Not a boat moved, and the students in them looked as resolute
as though they meant to be smashed rather than change their position.
We were almost upon them, and I was afraid the captain intended to
execute the barbarous threat of Major Tommy. I begged him again not
to run into the boats; and seeing the enemy did not mean to move, he
stopped and backed in season to avoid a calamity.
“What did you stop for, captain?” shouted Tommy; but I was charitable
enough to believe that the words were intended for the benefit of the
Wimpletonians, rather than the person to whom they were addressed.
Captain Underwood made no reply, but rang to go ahead again, though he
permitted but two or three turns of the wheels.
“I can shove the boats out of the way without hurting any one, I
think,” said he, as the steamer moved slowly forward.
“Look out, or you will run into us!” shouted my old enemy, Ben
Pinkerton, who was in the nearest boat.
“Out of the way, then!” replied Captain Underwood.
“Go ahead, full steam, captain!” called Tommy; but again I wished
to believe that his order was a threat to the enemy rather than an
indication of a wicked purpose.
Instead of obeying this rash command, the captain rang the bell to back
her, fearful that some of the boats might be smashed.
I saw Tommy rush aft, and I supposed he intended to come upon
the hurricane deck, where he could bully Captain Underwood more
effectually. I left the wheel-house, where I had been during the
conversation with the captain, that he might not implicate me in the
disobedience. But Tommy did not appear, and it was plain that he had
adopted some other tactics.
“Wolf Penniman!” shouted some one at the gangway. “You are wanted
below!”
“What is wanted?” I asked of the messenger, who could hardly speak, he
was so excited.
“Major Toppleton wants you.”
I went below, and found Major Tommy standing at the door of the
engine-room, foaming with wrath; indeed, he had steam enough on to
carry a forty-horse engine.
“Will you do as I tell you, or not?” stormed Tommy, addressing his
energetic words to the engineer.
“You must excuse me, Mr. Tommy; but I must mind the bells. It won’t do
for me to disobey the captain’s orders,” protested the engineer, gently
and respectfully.
“Here, Wolf!” shouted Tommy. “Come here!”
I presented myself to the little magnate, and I was conscious that I
was already in a bad scrape.
“Go in there, and start up that engine! Go ahead, full steam!”
continued he.
I looked at him, but I did not move to obey. I smiled, and looked as
good-natured as possible, for I did not wish him to think that I was
ugly about it.
“Don’t you hear me, Wolf? I tell you to start up that engine!” repeated
Major Tommy.
“It won’t do for me to step in between the man and his engine,” I
remonstrated, mildly.
“Yes, it will! I tell you to do it; and if you don’t do it, you shall
suffer for it.”
“Let us argue the point a little, major,” I replied.
“Will you do what I tell you, or not?” roared he, swelling up as big as
a major general.
“You must excuse me, major, but I can’t take the engine out of the
engineer’s hands, without the captain’s orders.”
“I will let you know that this boat is my father’s, and I can do with
it as I please. If you won’t start it, I will do so myself!” said the
juvenile magnate, desperately, as he rushed into the engine-room, and
seized hold of the working-bar.
“You musn’t touch the engine,” said the man in charge, as he took hold
of Tommy’s arm, and, with as little force as was necessary, thrust him
out of the room.
Tommy was the maddest major I ever saw.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHARGE BAYONETS!
Major Tommy, in my judgment, was more inclined to have his own way
than he was to annihilate the Wimpletonians by crushing them under the
wheels of the steamer. He had been irritated because the captain did
not obey his order; but, I think, if the boat had gone ahead at his
imperial command, he would have been the first to stop her. I could not
believe that he was so diabolically wicked as to run over the boats,
and sacrifice the lives of a dozen or more even of his enemies. If it
had been Waddie, the matter would have been different, and I should
have been more credulous.
When the captain opposed him, he flew to the engineer; but I am
confident that, if the man had given the wheel a single turn, Tommy
would have ordered him to stop her. Neither the captain nor the
engineer knew that he did not intend to do all he threatened; and I
am afraid, if the wheels had been started, the mischief would have
been done, whatever the little magnate meant, or did not mean. I was
very sorry to be dragged into the difficulty, for Tommy and I had thus
far been very good friends. However, I had no doubts in regard to the
correctness of my position.
Forbush, the engineer, had gently, very gently, thrust Tommy out of the
engine-room. By this time, all of Company B had gathered around the
little major, intent upon beholding the row. The juvenile magnate was
boiling over with rage, and threatened Captain Underwood, the engineer,
and myself with total annihilation. Every one of us should lose his
situation, and be forever deprived of the power to obtain further
employment.
“Come, Tommy, keep cool,” said Faxon, trying to smooth down the
wrinkled fur on the badger’s back.
“I won’t keep cool! I have been insulted, and I will teach the fellows
who and what I am. If I tell the captain of this boat to run over the
island, he shall do it,” stormed Tommy, so angry that he could hardly
keep from crying.
“Be reasonable, Tommy,” added Skotchley, with his usual quiet dignity.
“We don’t want to kill anybody.”
“Yes, we do! We want to kill the Wimps if they don’t get out of the
way.”
It was useless to say anything to the irate major while he was so
inflamed with wrath, and by general consent the students kept still;
but they were disgusted with the commander of the battalion, and
doubtless most of them were sorry that they had not tipped him out
of both of his offices. While Tommy was still raving like an insane
person, the bell rang again to go ahead, and the engineer promptly
started the wheels; but only a few turns were made before the signal
came to stop her. Finding I was not needed on the main deck, and that
the wrathful major would cool off sooner if left to himself, I went up
to the wheel-house. All on board, except the captain and one man at the
wheel, had been attracted to the vicinity of the engine-room by the
exciting scene. There was no one on the forward deck, for even the two
men employed there were listening to the howls of Tommy.
Captain Underwood had started the boat ahead again, and when I
reached the wheel-house, she was gently crowding her way through the
fleet of boats, a dozen in number, containing the whole force of the
Wimpletonians, over ninety of them. She struck the boats as gingerly as
though they had been eggs. She did them no harm, beyond scraping the
fresh paint upon them, as she slowly forced her way through them. I
watched the movement with interest, for I was curious to know what the
Wimpletonians intended to do.
The fleet lay in the deep water, so that there was no room on either
side for the steamer to pass to her destination without getting
aground. Captain Underwood was a prudent man, and worked his craft very
carefully. He had given her headway enough to carry her through the
squadron of boats; but, as they swarmed along her bow, and under her
guards, the students in them fastened to her with their boat-books, so
that they could not be shaken off.
“Back her quick, and you will shake them off without harming any of
them,” I suggested to the captain, when I saw that he was nettled by
the failure of his plan.
“Out of the way there! Your boats will be smashed under our wheels!”
shouted he to the enemy.
At that moment half a dozen of the Wimpletonians leaped over the rail
of the steamer upon the forward deck, with their muskets in their hands.
“What’s that for?” said the captain, quietly.
“They mean mischief,” I replied, as I saw a dozen more follow the six;
and among the latter was Waddie Wimpleton, glittering with gold lace,
for he was in the full uniform of a major of infantry.
“Stand by those two doors!” shouted he, drawing his sword and pointing
to the entrances near which the Toppletonians were still listening to
the howlings of Major Tommy. “Hurry up, there!” he added to those in
the boats.
The Wimpletonians poured in over the rail, until the deck was crowded.
Company B had stacked their muskets on this deck, and except the
officers, our boys were unarmed, while every Wimpletonian presented
a musket with a fixed bayonet upon it. As the enemy were boarding the
steamer, the captain, amazed at the audacity of the young ruffians,
rang the bell to back the boat; but before she had headway enough to
shake off the fleet, which clung to her like swarming bees, all the
Wimpletonians, except one in each boat, were on our deck.
“Up there, twenty of you!” said Major Waddie, indicating the hurricane
deck with a flourish of his sword.
“What are the rascals going to do?” added Captain Underwood, who had
not given the enemy credit for the skill and daring they now displayed.
“Don’t let a single Top go on the hurricane deck!” shouted Waddie; and
the twenty students he had sent up stationed themselves at the head of
the stairs, to prevent any of our party from leaving their prison; for
such it had now become to them.
[Illustration: CHARGE BAYONETS!--Page 98.]
Captain Underwood began to think the frolic, as he had at first
regarded it, was becoming a serious affair, and I saw that he looked
somewhat anxious. Our fellows had left their muskets on the forward
deck, and they were now in possession of the enemy. I am inclined
to think it was fortunate they were there, rather than in the hands of
their owners, or some of the students on both sides would doubtless
have been seriously injured. As the matter now stood, the Wimpletonians
had entire possession of the Middleport, for that was the name of the
steamer. Twenty of them stood in the act of charging bayonets in the
direction of the two doors leading from the forward deck. Our fellows
could do nothing; and even the captain, with the wheel in his hand, was
as powerless as they were.
Major Waddie, with his chapeau and white plume, looked as though he
were the commander-in-chief of a great army, and had just achieved a
bloody victory. I must do him the justice to say that he had managed
the affair very well, though I saw that his two captains, Dick Bayard
and Ben Pinkerton, were always near him with words of counsel. I was
at a loss to determine whether the capture of the steamer had been
devised on the instant, or whether the boats had taken the position
in the channel for that purpose in the beginning. I was inclined to
believe that the bold step was first suggested when their leaders saw
the muskets of the Toppletonians stacked on the forward deck, and not a
single soldier present to guard them. Ben Pinkerton afterwards told me
that this view was correct.
While the conquerors were disposing their forces so as to hold the
prize they had captured, Major Tommy and the audience who were
listening to his angry declamation were completely intrapped. The
startling event was calculated to turn the spouter’s thoughts into a
new channel. It seemed to me that the emergency had arisen which would
justify me in calling the attention of Major Toppleton to the affair;
but unfortunately I could not leave just then. The steamer had backed
half a mile from the island, and had now shaken off all the boats which
clung to her.
“I don’t know what these ruffians intend to do,” said Captain
Underwood, as he rang the bell to stop her.
“Waddie Wimpleton is reckless enough to do almost anything,” I replied;
for I regarded the situation as difficult, if not dangerous.
“I will keep the boat moving towards Middleport, at any rate.”
“That’s right, captain; if they have us, we have them at the same time,
and we can carry them to Middleport as prisoners of war,” I added, with
a smile which was not wholly natural.
Captain Underwood rang the bell to go ahead, and soon gave her full
speed, heading the boat up the lake.
“Hallo, there!” shouted Major Waddie from the forward deck, as he
flourished his sword towards the wheel-house. “Stop her!”
The captain paid no attention to this imperious command.
“Do you hear me? I say, stop her!” yelled Waddie.
“Hold your tongue, you little bantam!” replied Captain Underwood,
irreverently; for, as he owed no allegiance to the house of Wimpleton,
he felt that he could afford to speak without measuring his words.
“Will you obey me, or not?” demanded Waddie, furious because his
imperious will was not regarded.
But the two captains, who were really the brains of the battalion,
interposed. I do not know what they said, but the major with the
chapeau desisted from his attempt to bully the captain. They were more
practical in their operations than the commander, and presently I saw
them forming their forces before the two doors. Captain Bayard drew up
his company before one of them, and Captain Pinkerton before the other.
“Charge bayonets!” said Waddie, fiercely.
The order was repeated by the two captains, who placed their most
reliable men in the front.
“Forward!” screamed Major Waddie, making a desperate lunge into the
empty air with his flashing sword.
“Forward!” repeated the two captains, as they drove their men through
the doors, into the narrow space on each side of the boiler and
engine-room.
The Toppletonians were in these spaces, and I saw that the object
of the movement was to drive them aft, and get possession of the
engine-room, so as to control the machinery, and thus prevent the
captain from taking the boat to Middleport. Our fellows, unarmed,
could not stand up against the bayonets of the enemy, and we heard them
fall back. I concluded, by this time, that Major Tommy had come to his
senses; though, if he was disposed still further to vent his ire, he
had an excellent opportunity to do so against the sharp-pointed weapons
of his conquerors.
The Toppletonians were not only driven aft, but were forced below the
deck into the little cabin, which was hardly large enough to hold them
all. A little later, we heard a violent altercation in the engine-room,
and then the boat stopped. The Wimpletonians had certainly won a
complete victory.
CHAPTER IX.
FEATHERS AND THE ENGINEER.
Major Tommy Toppleton and Company B were prisoners in the little cabin,
while Major Waddie Wimpleton and Companies A and B of his battalion
were in possession of the steamer. The wheels had stopped, and this was
evidence to us in the wheel-house that Forbush, the engineer, had been
driven from his post.
“This will never do,” said Captain Underwood. “The young rascals will
blow us all up. They have stopped the engine, and have not let off
steam.”
Though it was really becoming quite a serious matter, I saw that the
captain could hardly keep from laughing, there was something so absurd
in the situation. Major Waddie, in his chapeau and gold lace, strutted
before us on the forward deck, and we had regarded the whole affair as
a joke; but now we were actually in the toils of the captors. They
had not yet disturbed the occupants of the wheel-house; but this step
had only been deferred till the other parts of the boat were made
secure. The Toppletonians had all been locked up in the cabin, and the
engine-room, the citadel of the boat, had yielded.
“It is time something was done,” I replied to the captain. “I have been
opposed to a fight, but I think one is necessary about this time.”
“What shall we do?”
“That’s the question. The Wimpletonians are armed with ugly weapons,” I
added. “There are three of us besides Forbush. I see the victors have
neglected to secure the captured arms on the forward deck. We can jump
down, arm ourselves, and fight it out.”
“But there are nearly a hundred of the rascals,” answered Captain
Underwood. “Some of them are pretty well grown, and all of them have
been exercised with the bayonet. I don’t relish having one of those
things stuck into me, and I shouldn’t dare to punch any boy with such
an ugly iron. I think I would rather do what fighting I do without any
bayonet.”
The captain was a very prudent man, certainly; and I was aware how
dangerous it would be to injure one of the Wimpletonians. They were
reckless; we were cautious, and fearful of hurting them; so that they
had every advantage over us, besides that of mere numbers. While we
were debating the question, Forbush appeared on the forward deck.
One of his hands was covered with blood, and it was plain he had not
abandoned his post without an attempt to retain it.
“Captain Underwood, they have driven me out of the engine-room at the
point of the bayonet,” said the engineer, holding up his bloody hand.
“Come up here,” replied the captain.
“We have a good head of steam on, and the engine needs some one to look
out for it.”
“Go and fix it as it ought to be!” said the imperious Major Waddie, as
he stalked up to the engineer with his drawn sword in his hand.
“If there were no one but you on board, I would blow you so high you
would never come down again,” added Forbush, as he glanced at his
wounded hand.
“None of your impudence, but do as I tell you,” puffed Waddie.
“Look out for the engine, Forbush,” added the captain; “and speak to
the fireman.”
Forbush went to the engine, and presently the sound of the steam
hissing through the escape pipe assured us the peril of an explosion
was provided for. The engineer, having attended to this duty, appeared
upon the forward deck again. He was not a very demonstrative man, but I
could see that he was nursing his wrath under the imperious manner of
Waddie. Passing through the Wimpletonians, he went to the bow of the
boat.
“Major, there is Wolf Penniman in the wheel-house,” said Dick Bayard,
as he discovered me at one of the windows.
“We’ll fix him in due time,” replied Waddie, as he glanced up at me
with an ugly look, which assured me I had nothing to hope for from his
magnanimity. “We must get rid of those fellows in the cabin next.”
“Well, what are you going to do with them?” asked Captain Ben Pinkerton.
“Land them in some out-of-the-way place on the east shore, where it
will take them all day to get home again,” suggested Captain Dick
Bayard.
“Where?” inquired Major Waddie, apparently pleased with the idea.
“At the point off the North Shoe, for instance,” replied Bayard.
“That’s the plan!” exclaimed the major, as he sheathed his glittering
blade, apparently satisfied that the battle was finished. “Wolf
Penniman, come down here!” he added; turning to me again.
“No, I thank you,” I replied, cheerfully.
“If you want to get out of this scrape with a whole skin, you had
better mind what I tell you,” continued Waddie, involuntarily putting
his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I think I can best keep a whole skin up here,” I answered.
“Better go down,” interposed the captain. “Moses and I will go with
you.”
Moses was one of the deck hands, who had been steering when the
capture was made. There were two more of them, besides the fireman
below, making seven men on board.
“Very well; if you think best I will go down,” I replied.
“We had better keep together,” he added.
I led the way down the ladder, and as the captain followed me, he
beckoned to the deck hands to keep near us.
“You have concluded to mind--have you?” sneered Waddie, as I presented
myself before his imperial majorship.
“I concluded to come down,” I answered.
“Wolf, you will go to the engine-room, and mind the bells,” he
continued.
“Mr. Forbush is the engineer of this boat,” I replied.
“No matter if he is; you will do as I tell you, or take the
consequences.”
“Then I will take the consequences,” I answered, for I had no intention
of helping the Wimpletonians land their conquered foe on the North
Point.
“Here! form around him! Charge bayonets! Drive him into the
engine-room!” said Waddie, smartly.
Instead of waiting for this programme to be carried out, I walked
forward to the extreme point of the bow, where the engineer had taken
position. I was not quite sure that I could successfully resist the
order; but it was not in my nature to obey the haughty commands of
Major Waddie.
“That’s right!” said Forbush, as I joined him. “I’m glad to see a
little grit.”
Captain Underwood and the three deck hands followed me; but Waddie drew
his sword, and, filled with rage, crowded through them towards me.
“Wolf, I command this boat now, and I order you to the engine-room,”
fumed the major, as he pointed his sword at me, as though he intended
to run me through; and I am not sure that such was not his purpose.
Forbush’s patience appeared to be exhausted, and before I had time to
make any reply, he suddenly sprang upon Waddie, wrenched the sword from
his grasp, and, seizing him by the collar, jammed him against the rail
with so much force, that the bantam major howled with pain and terror.
The dignity of his military position was knocked out of him, and the
glory of the chapeau, feathers, and gold lace departed.
“Look out for the rest of them!” called Forbush.
I picked up one of the guns which the captors had thrown one side, and
the three deck hands followed my example. Captain Underwood, still true
to his humane philosophy, took a handspike. But the sudden movement of
the engineer seemed to paralyze the valiant soldiers for the moment,
as they paused to see what the grimy Forbush intended to do with their
leader.
“Rally! rally!” shouted Captain Bayard, who, now that the major was
_hors de combat_, was the ranking officer. “Charge bayonets!”
“You keep back!” replied Forbush. “If one of you takes a single step
forward, I will throw this fellow overboard;” and he jammed poor Waddie
against the rail again, until we could almost hear his bones crack.
“Don’t! don’t!” groaned Waddie. “Keep the fellows back, Dick Bayard, or
he will kill me!”
“That’s so,” replied the stout engineer, who did not weigh less than
one hundred and eighty, and was six feet high.
By this time the four men and myself were drawn up in line of battle.
It was clear enough to the Wimpletonians that, if the action began,
there would be some broken heads, if not bleeding bodies. However
lightly they regarded bayonet wounds when the weapons were in their
own hands only, they seemed to have a great respect for the cold steel
in the hands of others. They formed their line in the act of charging
bayonets; but they did not charge any. There they stood, arrested by
the plaintive cry of their gallant leader.
“Now, come out here, Feathers!” said Forbush, as he took Waddie by the
collar, besmearing the major’s face with blood from his wounded hand,
and trotting him up to the line. “Come up here again, and take command!
Order these cubs upon the hurricane deck, or I will make short work of
you!”
The engineer emphasized his commands by shaking Waddie most
unmercifully.
“You let me alone!” howled the discomfited commander of the battalion.
“I’ll let you alone when I have done with you,” added Forbush, as he
twisted his gripe upon the collar of his victim, so as almost to choke
him.
“You’ll kill me!” gasped Waddie.
“Will you give the order I told you?”
“Send the fellows upon the hurricane deck!” whined Waddie to Dick
Bayard, crying and howling at the same time.
“Don’t do it, Dick!” said Pinkerton, who could not endure the thought
of having the victory wrested from the conquerors in the very moment of
their triumph.
“Waddie says so. What can we do?” replied Bayard.
“They don’t mind,” added Forbush, shaking the unfortunate major again.
“Do as I tell you, Dick Bayard!” called Waddie, writhing under the
torture.
Very reluctantly the senior captain gave the order, and the
Wimpletonians crept up the ladders to the hurricane deck.
“Now let me alone!” growled Waddie, trying to shake off his powerful
persecutor.
“Hold still, Feathers!” replied Forbush, applying a little gentle
force, as if to assure his victim that the tragedy was not yet ended.
The engineer was now in excellent humor, and was exceedingly pleased
with the turn he had given to the affair.
“Ain’t you going to let me go now?” added the major, in a pleading tone.
“Not yet, Feathers. You must give security for the good behavior of
your crowd.”
“What are you going to do with me?” asked Waddie.
“I’m going to throw you overboard if you don’t behave like a man. Now,
Captain Underwood, you can let out our boys. These rascals have locked
them up in the cabin.”
“Better get rid of the Wimps first,” I whispered to the captain.
“What shall we do with these fellows?” he replied, with a significant
glance at me, as he comprehended my meaning.
“Land them at North Point,” I suggested.
“Good!” laughed Forbush. “It is a poor rule that won’t work both ways.
What do you say, Captain Underwood?”
“Anything to get rid of them!” replied the captain, impatiently.
“Very well; I will take care of Feathers. I will keep him in the
engine-room with me,” added Forbush. “Now, Wolf, you and the three
deck hands stay here. If those fellows up there attempt anything
mischievous, you call me, and Feathers and I will settle it--won’t we,
Feathers?”
Forbush laughed till his fat sides shook, and then dragged Major Waddie
to the engine-room.
CHAPTER X.
KEEPING THE PEACE.
“Hadn’t we better let our boys out before we go ahead?” asked Captain
Underwood, in a low tone, as the engineer disappeared with his prisoner.
“There will be a fight if we do,” I replied. “We can land the Wimps in
ten or fifteen minutes.”
“What will Tommy say?” added Captain Underwood.
“No matter what he says. It is better to keep the peace than to let
them out.”
Doubtless he fully agreed with me; but he dreaded the wrath of his
employer’s son even more than the violence of the Wimpletonians.
He went up to the wheel-house, and rang the bell to go ahead. The
discomfited enemy on the hurricane deck were discussing the exciting
topic very earnestly. It was humiliating for all of them to lay down
their arms, practically, on account of the capture of their leader. Ben
Pinkerton was in favor of fighting it out, and rescuing Waddie from the
gripe of his persecutor by force and arms; but timid counsels finally
prevailed, and the battalion kept quiet.
I had gone up the ladder when the boat started, so that I could see
what they were doing, and hear what they were saying; but I kept my
line of retreat open, so that I could make for the forward deck if a
storm appeared. It was only a short run to North Point, and we soon
made the landing at a rude pier, erected for passengers going to an
interior town. As soon as the steamer was made fast, Forbush appeared
on the forward deck, dragging Waddie by the collar, and carrying the
sword in his hand. Taking position in the bow of the boat, where he
could not be assaulted in the rear, the engineer planted his prisoner
in front of him, while the deck hands, reënforced by the fireman and
myself, formed a line between him and the gangway.
“Now, Feathers, if your men are good soldiers they will obey you,”
Forbush began. “Just give them the order to march down in single file,
and go ashore!”
Waddie was humiliated by his defeat. He was ashamed to confess,
practically, that the battalion had been defeated by his regard for his
own safety. But he was still in the power of the fierce engineer, whose
bloody hand was upon his throat. He hesitated; but every instant of
delay caused Forbush to tighten his hold, and it was painfully apparent
to him that he must give the order, or be choked by his unrelenting
tyrant.
“Speak, Feathers, speak!” said the engineer. “Give your orders, and
speak up like a man, so that they can hear you!”
“Don’t! Don’t! You hurt me!” whined the major.
“That’s nothing to what will come if you don’t do as I tell you.”
“March them down, Dick Bayard,” howled Waddie, as Forbush emphasized
his determination by a fierce twist at the neck of his victim.
“In single file,” added the engineer.
“Single file, Dick!” repeated Waddie.
“Single file--forward, march!” said Captain Dick Bayard, who was
plainly disgusted with the proceedings.
The column of valiant warriors, grand even in their misfortunes,
descended the ladder on the port side, and stepped on shore. They
looked as sheepish as the lambs on the neighboring hills; but they were
full of bottled-up rage, and as soon as Waddie was out of trouble, it
was probable that something would be done.
“Now let me go!” snapped Waddie, when the last of the file had left the
boat.
“Not yet, Feathers,” replied Forbush, as he glanced at the two
companies on the pier. “Order your troops to march up to the grove on
the shore.”
“What for?” groaned Waddie.
“Good soldiers never ask questions,” laughed the engineer, as he
twisted the major’s collar again.
Waddie gave the order as he was required, and Dick Bayard, who appeared
to be on the watch for a chance to redeem the fortunes of the day,
doggedly led the battalion away from the steamer.
“Now it is all right, Feathers,” said Forbush. “Next time, when you
want a steamer, you had better apply at the captain’s office.”
“I didn’t want your old steamer,” snarled the gallant major.
“What did you take her for, then?”
“Because you were going to run down our boats. I heard Tommy Toppleton
tell the captain to do so.”
“Why didn’t you get out of the way?”
“We never get out of the way for Toppleton humbugs,” sneered Waddie.
“You haven’t seen the end of this.”
“We shall probably see the end of it together. Here is your cheese
knife, Feathers; but behave yourself, or you haven’t seen the worst of
it yet. Mind that, Feathers!”
Waddie took his sword, and looked daggers; but he dared not use any,
or even the weapon he held in his hand. Sullenly, he walked across the
deck to the pier. He wanted to do something, but he was prudent when
his own person was in peril.
“Cast off the fasts, Moses,” said Forbush, as he hastened to the
engine-room.
“Come down here!” shouted Major Waddie to his forces in the grove.
“Come! Double quick!”
I do not know what the valiant major intended to do next; but probably,
if his forces had not been sent to the grove by the forethought of
the engineer, he would have ordered an assault upon the Middleport,
and endeavored to recapture her. He would have directed his troops to
charge upon anything, so long as he could keep behind them, and make
good his own escape in case of disaster. He was reckless enough to do
anything; but as soon as the fasts were cast off, Captain Underwood
rang to back her, and the boat was clear of the pier long before Waddie
could bring up his forces.
“We are well out of that,” said the captain, as he rang to go ahead.
“Now you can let our boys out of the cabin.”
I was not exactly satisfied with the situation in which I found myself,
for though I was very happy in having escaped the wrath of Waddie
Wimpleton, I had still to encounter the ire of the other “scion of a
noble house.” I had expected to be broiled on a gridiron, or subjected
to some fearful punishment, for my sins against the house of Wimpleton;
and probably I should have been a sufferer, if Forbush had not taken
the matter in hand, and brought it to an issue. Now Tommy would berate
me for refusing to obey his order, when the engineer had declined to
do so; but I was willing to meet this charge, if I could escape the
responsibility of advising the captain to keep “our boys” prisoners
after we had subdued the enemy.
I went to the cabin door to discharge my mission. It had been fastened
with a piece of wood, placed in the staple over the hasp, for the
padlock with which it was usually secured was lost. I threw the door
wide open, and announced to the prisoners below that they were free.
“The door is open, Major Toppleton,” called one of the students to his
chief.
“Where are the Wimps?” demanded Major Tommy, as he led the way out of
the cabin.
“We put them on shore here, at North Point, where they intended to land
you,” I replied.
“Why didn’t you obey my order when I told you to take charge of the
engine?” continued Tommy, his face beginning to kindle up with anger
again.
“I couldn’t take the engine out of Mr. Forbush’s hands,” I replied with
becoming meekness.
“Forbush shall be discharged when the boat returns,” said Tommy,
shaking his head.
“Perhaps you will change your mind when you learn what he has done,”
I suggested. “He recaptured the boat, after he had been driven at the
point of the bayonet from the engine-room. He was wounded in the hand,
too, in the scrape. I don’t know how we should have got out of it if it
hadn’t been for him. He is a plucky fellow, and stood up against the
bayonets of the whole crowd of Wimps.”
“What did he do?” asked Tommy, curiously.
“He captured Waddie Wimpleton, took his sword away from him, and made
him order his command to the hurricane deck.”
“When was that?”
“Well, a short time ago,” I replied, cautiously.
“Why didn’t you let us out then?” he demanded.
“All the Wimps were here on deck. We let you out just as soon as we got
rid of them.”
“What did you let them go for, if you had Waddie?”
“There were two companies of them, and they were armed with bayonets.
We were glad enough to get rid of them.”
Tommy thought, if he had been called with his force, he could have
taken care of the Wimpletonians; but he behaved better than I expected.
I turned his attention back to Forbush, and minutely described to the
major and his men the operations of the engineer, and the conduct of
Waddie under the torture. Tommy laughed, and the soldiers laughed. It
was a good joke, and they were sorry they had not seen the fun.
“I hope you won’t find fault with Mr. Forbush, after the good service
he has rendered, and the cut he received in the hand in doing his
duty,” I ventured to suggest.
“No! No! No!” murmured the boys.
“I am willing to forgive him,” replied Tommy, magnanimously. “But if he
had obeyed my order, there would have been no trouble.”
“What do you think the consequences would have been if he had obeyed
your order?” I mildly inquired.
“No matter what they were; both he and you ought to have done as I told
you to do.”
“The fellows in the boats would have been smashed up under the wheels
of the steamer.”
“No, they wouldn’t. I only meant to duck them a little. I should have
stopped the wheels in a minute.”
I was very glad to hear Tommy acknowledge that he did not mean to
annihilate the Wimpletonians, for I had a very good opinion of him, on
the whole. Though he did not mean seriously to injure the enemy, I have
no doubt some of them would have been sacrificed if he could have had
his own way. It is a blessed thing that boys can’t always have their
own way.
I walked with Tommy to the engine-room, where Forbush was binding up
the wound on his hand. The little major kindly inquired about the
injury, and thanked the engineer for the service he had rendered; but
he could not help adding that it would have been better if the order
he gave had been obeyed. He then went up to the wheel-house to see the
captain; and as it did not appear that he had done anything worthy of
especial commendation, Tommy wanted to know why he had not let him out
of the cabin sooner.
“We didn’t think it was best to open the doors till we had landed
the Wimpletonians,” replied Captain Underwood, with more candor than
prudence.
“You didn’t, eh?” said Tommy, waxing angry.
“Wolf thought you wouldn’t care to see the other boys.”
“Then he advised you not to let us out--did he?”
“He thought it wasn’t best; and I thought so too,” added the captain,
willing to share the blame with me.
“What did you mean, Wolf?” demanded the major, turning to me.
“The Wimps had two companies, and you had only one,” I replied; but it
was in vain that I tried to smooth the matter over.
He was mad with me, because, in my capacity as a messenger of peace,
I had prevented a fight; but I was satisfied. The boat ran up to the
landing-place on the Horse Shoe, and the “troops” and their baggage
were disembarked.
“Wolf, you may go back to Middleport in the steamer; I don’t want you
here,” said Tommy.
But I was the ambassador of peace!
CHAPTER XI.
AT THE HORSE SHOE.
“I should like to stay with you a few days, Major Tommy,” I ventured to
say, after the young lord had given me the imperative order to depart
on the steamer.
“I say I don’t want you here,” replied Tommy, flatly. “We can get along
without you.”
“Perhaps I may be of some service to you,” I modestly suggested.
“I don’t want any fellow about me that won’t obey orders,” protested
the little major. “You advised the captain to keep us locked up in that
cabin, when we might have cleaned out the Wimps, and paid them off for
what they did.”
“Your father sent me down here, Tommy, to do anything I could to assist
you,” I added.
“I don’t care if he did!” replied Tommy, irritated rather than
conciliated by this remark.
“He wished me to stay with you; it was not by my own desire that I
came.”
“Did he send you here to be a spy upon our actions? If he did, so much
the more reason why we should get rid of you. We don’t want any spies
and go-betweens here.”
“I am not a spy, Tommy.”
“Go on board the steamer, and tell my father I won’t have you here.”
“Very well,” I replied, as I walked away from the imperious little
magnate.
“Wolf is a good fellow,” I heard the dignified Skotchley say to Tommy,
as I departed. “I wouldn’t send him off.”
“You wouldn’t, and you needn’t. I will, and shall,” replied Tommy,
curtly.
By this time the officers and soldiers of Company A had gathered at the
shore, and I found I had quite a number of friends who were willing to
intercede for me; but if all the officers of the battalion had gone
down upon their knees to him in my behalf, he would not have yielded.
I was banished from the island; and, though I was very willing to go,
much preferring to spend my vacation in some contemplated improvements
upon our garden, I did not wish to be sent away in disgrace. I saw that
Skotchley did not like the manner in which his interposition had been
treated, and just as the boat was about to start, I was not a little
surprised to see him come on board.
“Faxon is as mad as a March hare,” said he, walking up to me.
“What is the matter?”
“He says it is mean to send you off in this way.”
“I am willing to go; I don’t care about staying here, for there will
be a fight soon,” I added. “But Major Toppleton sent me here, and I
thought I ought to stay.”
“I would stay, if I were you,” said Skotchley.
“No; I won’t make any trouble. But the steamer is starting; you will be
carried off if you don’t go on shore.”
“That is just what I want,” replied the dignified student, with a
smile. “Like yourself, I don’t wish to make any trouble; but I will not
be snubbed by Major Tommy Toppleton. I prefer to spend my vacation in
some other place.”
“All ashore,” said Captain Underwood, nodding to my companion.
“I am going with you, captain.”
“Very well;” and the bell was rung to start her.
“Hallo, there! Stop her, Captain Underwood!” called the imperious major.
The captain obeyed, of course.
“Where are you going, Skotchley?” demanded Tommy.
“I am going to Middleport,” replied Skotchley, in his quiet manner.
“I don’t see it!” added the major, his face reddening with anger at
this breach of discipline. “You are first lieutenant of Company B.”
“I prefer not to remain.”
“But I prefer that you should remain,” stormed Tommy.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have decided to go.”
“Will you come on shore, or will you be brought on shore?”
“Neither.”
“Captain Briscoe, take a file of men, and bring Skotchley on shore. He
is a deserter,” added Tommy.
Whew! A deserter!
“Go ahead, captain,” I suggested to the timid master of the steamer.
“There will be a row here in five minutes, if you don’t.”
“It is all my place is worth to disobey that stripling,” replied
Captain Underwood, disgusted with the situation. “His father rules all
Middleport, and he rules his father.”
I saw Faxon remonstrating in the most vigorous manner with the
commander of the battalion, and presently the former came on board with
the olive of peace in his hand. He begged Skotchley to return to the
shore, in order to save all further trouble.
“If Tommy will permit Wolf to remain, I will,” replied the dignified
student.
Faxon returned to the shore with these terms; but Tommy indignantly
declined them. He would have Skotchley, and he would not have me. The
order was given again for Captain Briscoe to bring the refractory
lieutenant on shore with a file of soldiers; but the men would not
“fall in” to execute such a command. Skotchley was the most influential
fellow among the students, as his election to the presidency of the
railroad proved. Though he was dignified, and remarkably correct in his
deportment, he was very popular. Tommy had just snubbed him, and this
had excited the indignation of the crowd. Briscoe and a dozen others
threatened to leave the camp, and actually made a movement towards the
steamer.
Major Tommy was in a quandary. There was a mutiny among the forces,
and the prospect at that moment was the breaking up of the camp. The
students had long been disgusted with Tommy’s tyranny, and it did not
require much to kindle the flames of insurrection in the battalion.
Hurried consultations among groups of officers and privates indicated
a tempest. The little magnate was shrewd enough now to see that he had
gone too far, but his pride would not permit him to recede.
The disaffected ones who had the courage to strike for their own rights
were collecting near the pier. Briscoe appeared to be the leading
rebel, and the force which gathered around him included half the
battalion. Tommy was informed that they intended to desert in a body.
“Start your boat, Captain Underwood,” said Tommy, in order to prevent
the departure of the rebels.
The captain pulled the bells, and the wheels of the Middleport turned.
“Now stop her!” shouted the major; and it was evident that he intended
only to move the steamer far enough from the shore to prevent the
escape of the disaffected portion of his command.
I heard the last order, but the captain did not, for I had moved to the
stern, in order to see the result.
“Stop her, I say,” repeated Tommy, savagely.
Still Captain Underwood did not, or would not, hear him, and the
Middleport went on her way.
“Tell the captain to stop her!” screamed Tommy, at the top of his lungs.
I deemed it to be in the interests of peace not to heed this order, for
I was afraid, if I communicated it to the captain, he would obey. The
little major screamed till he was hoarse; but we were clear of the
island, though it was certain there was an account to be settled in the
future.
“Our Academy would be a great institution, if Tommy Toppleton went to
school somewhere else,” said Skotchley.
“It is a great pity he is so overbearing,” I replied.
“He seems to think all the rest of the fellows were created only to be
his servants, and he treads upon them as though they were worms beneath
his feet. I have not been accustomed to have a fellow speak to me as he
did to-day.”
“He is very haughty; but he is a generous fellow, and has many other
good qualities.”
“But one can’t live with him, he is so overbearing. I am rather sorry
now that I did not accept the office of president of the Lake Shore
Railroad, when I was elected. It would have brought affairs to a head.
But I did not want to spite him, for he never treated me so badly
before.”
Tommy had made a great mistake in alienating such a fellow as
Skotchley. It was evident that the tempest among the students could
not much longer be delayed, if it had not already commenced. From
the deck of the Middleport, we saw the two companies march to the
camp ground, and begin to pitch the tents. It was probable that the
mutiny had been nipped in the bud by the departure of the steamer with
Skotchley on board. I was afterwards told that the students regarded
Tommy’s order to start the boat as yielding the point, and that, when
he failed to stop her, he accepted the situation, and made a virtue
of necessity, permitting the boys to believe that the Middleport had
departed in obedience to his command.
The boats of the Wimpletonians were moving towards North Point, for
those in charge of them had comprehended the final defeat of their
party. It only remained for them to seek another camp ground, or make
the attempt to drive the Toppletonians from their position. Skotchley
and I agreed that they would not long be quiet, and that the week would
be filled up with quarrels and skirmishes between the students of the
rival academies.
In an hour the steamer arrived at the wharf in Middleport, and we went
on shore. I invited Skotchley, as the Institute was closed, to spend
the week with me at my father’s house. He thanked me very cordially,
and accepted the invitation; but before I went home, I deemed it proper
to report to Major Toppleton the events which had transpired during the
forenoon. I intended to call at his house on my way home; but we met
him coming down the street towards the pier.
“I thought you went up to the camp, Wolf,” said he, much surprised when
he saw me.
“I have been, sir, and a sweet time we have had of it. Tommy sent me
off, and would not permit me to remain on the island.”
“What has happened?” he asked, anxiously.
I told him the story of the morning’s adventures, though it took me
half an hour to do so.
“And Tommy sent you off--did he?” laughed the major.
“Yes, sir--because I advised the captain not to let our fellows out of
the cabin until we got rid of the Wimps; but if they had been let out,
there would have been a fight with bayonets.”
“I am very glad you didn’t let them out then; but Tommy is rather a
difficult subject to manage,” continued the major, lightly. “I have to
coax him a great deal, for he is bound to have his own way. If he is
thwarted, it has a bad effect upon him. I sent you up to the island to
keep the run of things there; but of course I did not expect you to
oppose him.”
“I did the best I could, sir.”
“You did very well; but I am sorry Tommy sent you away, for I thought
you might have some influence with him. Did he send you away too,
Skotchley?” he added, turning to my companion.
“No, sir; I came of my own accord,” replied the dignified student: but
he did not think it necessary to add that he and Tommy had fallen out.
“You think there will be a fight between the two sides up there?”
continued the major.
“Before the week is out there will be.”
“Something must be done,” said the major, anxiously.
I saw now that he was quite as much the victim of Tommy’s waywardness
as the students of the Institute.
CHAPTER XII.
UP THE LAKE.
Major Toppleton was absolutely afraid of his son. There was a rumor in
Middleport--though I did not hear of it until after the events narrated
had transpired--that his father had positively refused to permit Tommy
to have his own way on one occasion, when the young gentleman insisted
upon discharging a favorite servant of his mother. The major declined
to yield, and stuck to his text. The result was, that Tommy, in his
rage, ran away in the dead of winter, and was not found for two whole
days, during which time he lived on the fat of the land at the Hitaca
House, whither he had gone in the steamer. He refused to go home till
his father promised to discharge the obnoxious servant, declaring that
he would not live in the same house with the woman, and threatening
to go to New York and ship as a common sailor. Undoubtedly it would
have been better for the young gentleman if he had shipped as a common
sailor, for in that capacity he would have ascertained how much of his
own way he could enjoy. His father yielded, and Tommy, having conquered
in this instance, had no trouble in maintaining his supremacy. The
major was afraid he would run away, or do some other terrible thing;
and the man who was the lord and master of all Middleport was the slave
of his tyrannical son. This is not the only instance on record of the
same thing.
I supposed Major Toppleton would take some steps to prevent a quarrel
between the rival students, but he did not. It was a delicate and
difficult matter to interfere with Tommy; and the fact that I had been
sent back proved that he would not submit to any dictation, or even
suggestion.
“I am rather glad you have come back, Wolf,” said the great man; and
I saw that he was trying to conceal his anxiety in regard to the
students. “I have just received a letter from Hitaca, informing me that
my new yacht is finished, and I was on my way to the wharf to find
some one to send after her. I have been told that you are a boatman as
well as an engineer, Wolf.”
“I have handled all sorts of boats on the lake. I used to sail the
Marian on the other side; and she is the largest boat in this part of
the lake,” I replied.
“But she is not more than half as large as the Grace.”
“The Grace!” I exclaimed, delighted with the name.
“She is called after my daughter. Do you think you can handle her?”
“I know I can, sir.”
“She is thirty-five feet long, and measures fifteen tons. She has a
cabin large enough to accommodate half a dozen persons.”
“I should like to bring her down first rate,” I added, glancing at
Skotchley; and I saw by his looks that he would like to accompany me.
“If you think you can manage her, you may go. You will want two or
three hands to help you.”
“I will find them, sir.”
“You must take the steamer up the lake as soon as she goes. I will
write an order on the builder to deliver the boat to you; call at my
house for it before you start.”
I was delighted with this mission, for I had a taste for boats almost
as strong as that for a steam-engine. I was fond of the water, and
should have preferred a situation in a steamer to anything else.
Skotchley was as much pleased as I was with the cruise in prospect;
and, after I had told my mother where I was going, we called at the
major’s for the order. He gave me some money to pay the expenses, and,
with two of my friends, we embarked in the steamer for Hitaca, where
we arrived at half past four. Near the steamer’s wharf, up the river,
I saw a beautiful yacht, which I at once concluded was the Grace; and
she was worthy of her name, if anything made of wood and iron could be
equal to such an honor.
I presented my order to the builder, who was in doubt about delivering
it to me, whom he stigmatized as a boy; but when I informed him that
I was the engineer of the Lake Shore Railroad, he made no further
objection. He did me the honor to say that he had heard of me, and that
he had ridden in the dummy from Middleport to Spangleport. I was not a
little astonished to find that my fame had travelled so far as Hitaca;
but it appeared that everybody in the vicinity knew all about the
quarrel between the two sides of the lake.
The Grace was moored in a basin of the river, and the builder put my
party on board of her in a skiff. She was a magnificent boat, far
exceeding anything of the kind I had seen, or even dreamed of. She was
sloop-rigged, painted black outside, and white on deck. But her cabin
was the principal attraction to me, and I hastened below to inspect
it. It was finished and furnished in a style equal to the major’s
house, with two little state-rooms, and a little cuddy forward, with
a cook-stove in it. I was astonished and delighted, and would gladly
have resigned my situation as engineer for a position on this beautiful
craft.
I sent Tom Walton and Joe Poole up to a store to purchase a list
of groceries and provisions which I had made out, with Skotchley’s
assistance, on board of the steamer; for we should need some supper,
and perhaps breakfast, before we could reach Middleport. While they
were gone, Skotchley and I devoted ourselves to a new examination of
the wonders of the Grace. The builder was pleased with my enthusiasm,
and the warm praise both of us bestowed upon his work. He opened all
the lockers, and explained everything about the yacht, from the keel to
the mast-head.
“When will that railroad be done?” asked the builder, after we had
exhausted the Grace, cabin, deck, and rigging.
“In a month or two,” I replied; and I could not fail to observe the sly
twinkle in his eye.
“They say Major Toppleton has bought up both the steamers, and intends
to run them, in connection with the railroad, only from Middleport to
Hitaca.”
“I have heard so; but I know nothing about it.”
“Do you see that steamer?” he added, pointing to a vessel, which had
just been launched.
“I see her. Is that the new one Colonel Wimpleton is building?” I
asked, with no little curiosity.
“That’s the boat, and if I mistake not she will give your road a hard
run.”
“I should like to see her,” I continued.
The builder kindly conducted me all over her. Everything about her was
first-class work, and I confess that I rather envied the Wimpletonians
the possession of such a steamer. They were just building her cabins
and upper works, and I saw that she was to be far ahead of anything on
the lake.
“I suppose there will be some lively competition when this boat is
finished,” said I, as we left the steamer. “But I hope it will be
good-natured.”
“The boat has rather the advantage of you,” added the builder. “If the
major will build a bridge over the river at Ucayga, he will win the
day. As it is, the steamer will have the weather-gage.”
It was hardly prudent for me to think so, for I was to run the
“Lightning Express” in opposition to the new boat. But our provisions
had arrived, and just then I was more interested in the cruise of
the Grace than in the trips of the new steamer. Skotchley and I went
on board. As the river below Hitaca was narrow, and the navigation
difficult, the builder, with some of his men, assisted us to work her
out into the open lake. The wind was tolerably fresh from the westward,
and as soon as the men had left us, I took the helm, and headed the
Grace for Middleport. The yacht was a furious sailer, and she tore
through the water at a rapid rate.
“I rather like this,” said Skotchley, as he seated himself at my side.
“So do I,” I replied. “I wish the major would make me skipper of this
boat, and let some one else run the locomotive.”
“I don’t want anything better than this for my vacation. I should like
to spend the week in her, cruising up and down the lake.”
“Perhaps you can. The major is going a fishing in her, I heard him say.
Very likely he will let you have a berth in her.”
“I’m afraid not. Tommy will spoil all my chances of anything good for
this term,” added the dignified student, shaking his head.
“I think the fellows on the Horse Shoe are likely to bring Tommy to
his senses before they get through with him. They have him there alone,
and I don’t think they will let him have his own way all the time. At
any rate, they began as though they would not.”
“If I were in Tommy’s boots, I should try to make the fellows love
instead of hate me. He is smart, and can make himself very agreeable
when he isn’t ugly. In my opinion, there will be a big row on the Horse
Shoe, even without any help from the Wimps. Tommy is plucky, and I am
not sure that it will not be a good thing for him if the Wimps attack
his camp. His position is a little like that of some king I have read
of, who got up a foreign war to save himself from being tipped off the
throne by his own subjects.”
“Supper is ready,” said Tom Walton, who attended to the culinary
department of the Grace, having had some experience in the art of
cooking. “Shall I take the helm, while you go down?”
I was very happy to have him do so, for Tom was a good boatman, which
was the particular reason why I had invited him to be one of the
party. We went down into the cabin, where the table was set for us.
It was neatly and tastily arranged. The viands consisted of beefsteak,
potatoes, milk toast, and coffee; and I must do Tom the justice to say
that they tasted as good as they looked. Certainly I never felt happier
than when I sat down to that supper. There was something decidedly
marine in the surroundings. The fresh breeze created quite a sea for an
inland lake, and the Grace tossed up and down just enough to make her
seem like a vessel.
[Illustration: THE MAN ON THE RAFT. Page 148.]
“Wolf! Wolf!” shouted Tom Walton, at the helm, just as I was taking my
second cup of coffee; for I did not expect to sleep much that night.
“What’s the matter?” I demanded, springing into the standing-room,
fearful that some calamity impended over the beautiful yacht.
“There’s some one calling to us from over there,” he replied, highly
excited, as he pointed towards the eastern shore. “There he is! It’s a
man in a boat, or on a raft.”
“Help! Help!” cried the person, in a voice which sounded strangely
familiar to me.
“Let out the main sheet, Tom. We will run over and see what the matter
is,” I replied, taking the helm.
In a few moments the Grace swept round into the wind, under the lee of
the person who had appealed to us for aid. He was on a kind of raft,
sitting upon the wet planks, over which the waves flowed freely. I ran
the bow of the yacht up to his frail craft, to which the sufferer was
clinging with both hands. Giving the helm to Tom, I rushed forward to
help the man, whose face presented a most woe-begone aspect.
My astonishment may be surmised when I recognized in this person
Colonel Wimpleton!
CHAPTER XIII.
IF THINE ENEMY HUNGER.
As soon as the Grace came within reach of Colonel Wimpleton, on the
raft, he improved his opportunity. Grasping the bob-stay, he made
his way on board, with my assistance. He was so clumsy and terrified
that without my help he would certainly have fallen overboard. He
plumped upon the deck on all fours, in a most undignified attitude
for the magnate of Centreport. I helped him to rise. In doing so, I
discovered that his breath was very odorous of liquor, which seemed to
do something towards explaining the unfortunate plight in which we had
found him. He was not intoxicated at the time he was pulled on board
the Grace; but perhaps he had had time to work off the effects of the
potions whose incense still lingered about him.
“Wolf Penniman!” exclaimed he, as he grasped one of the fore-stays,
and, steadying himself with it, gazed into my face; and his expression
seemed to indicate that he would rather have been rescued by any other
person than by me.
“Colonel Wimpleton!” I replied, returning his compliment.
“Is it you, Wolf?” he added, as if unwilling to believe the evidence of
his own eyes.
“Yes, sir; it is I. But if you feel bad about it, you can return to the
raft.”
He glanced at the little staging of three planks on which he had made
his involuntary cruise, and shuddered as he did so, partly with cold,
and partly with dread.
“I will pay you well for whatever you do for me, Wolf,” said he,
glancing doubtfully at the boat, and then at me.
“Let me tell you in the beginning, Colonel Wimpleton, that you can’t
pay me the first red cent,” I replied, with proper spirit.
“You won’t turn me adrift again--will you?”
“No, sir; I will do anything I can for you.”
“We have not been very good friends lately.”
“No, sir; but that shall not prevent me from assisting you to any
extent within my power. What shall I do for you, sir?”
“I am very cold and numb,” said he, curling up with the chills that
swept through his frame.
“Come into the cabin, sir. I think we can warm and dry you so that you
will be quite comfortable.”
“Thank you, Wolf;” and I think this was the first time he had ever used
a gracious word to me.
Tom Walton had put the helm up, and the yacht filled away on her course
again. I took Colonel Wimpleton’s arm, and conducted him to the cabin.
The fire was still burning in the little cook-room, and shutting down
the hatch on the deck, I soon made the place so hot that it almost
melted me. Seating my distinguished guest before the stove, I gave him
a mug of hot coffee, though, before he drank it, he asked me if there
was any brandy on board. I told him we had none, and he contented
himself with the coffee, which was quite as beneficial.
Under my mild treatment, the patient gradually recovered the use of his
limbs. I went on deck, and sent Tom down to give him some supper; and
our zealous cook provided him a fresh beefsteak, coffee, and toast,
which Tom said he ate just as though he had been a common man. It was
now quite dark, and we were off Southport, on the east shore. The
wind had subsided, and we were not likely to reach Middleport before
morning. I gave Tom the helm again, and went below to inquire into
the colonel’s condition. He was still wet, and was fearful that his
exposure would bring on the rheumatic fever, to which he was liable. I
suggested to him that he should go to bed, and have his clothes dried.
For such a man as he was, he was very pliable and lamb-like.
I conducted him to one of the little state-rooms, which contained a
wide berth. I put all the blankets on board upon the bed, and the
colonel, taking off all his clothes, buried himself in them. I tucked
him up, and he declared that he felt quite comfortable. Hanging up all
his garments in the cook-room, I filled the stove with wood, assured
they would soon dry in the intense heat of the apartment.
“Can I do anything more for you, colonel?” I asked, returning to his
room.
“No, thank you, Wolf; I am very comfortable now,” he replied from the
mass of blankets and quilts which covered him.
“Where do you wish to go, sir?”
“Home! Home!” he answered with energy.
“We are bound for Middleport, sir, and we will land you as soon as we
arrive.”
“Thank you, Wolf. I feel like a new man now. I was sure I should be
drowned. I had been on that raft over three hours.”
“Indeed, sir! It was a very uncomfortable craft.”
“The lake was very rough, and the waves washed over me every minute.
I gave myself up for lost. I suffered all that a man could endure in
those three hours,” said he, shuddering as he thought of his unpleasant
voyage.
Probably, accustomed as he was to luxury and ease, he had had a hard
time of it; but a man inured to work and weather would not have
suffered half so much as he did; though, chilled and terrified as he
was, I did wonder that he had not been washed from his raft, to perish
in the deep waters beneath him.
“I am very glad we happened to come along as we did,” I added.
“It was fortunate for me, Wolf. I will give you a thousand dollars for
the service you have rendered me as soon as I get home.”
“Excuse me, sir; but I cannot take anything,” I replied, warmly.
“Why not, Wolf?”
“Because I should despise myself if I took anything. There are some
things in this world that cannot be paid for with money.”
“You are a strange boy, Wolf.”
“Perhaps I am; but I think too much of myself to take money for doing a
kindness to any one in distress.”
“Very likely I can do something else for you.”
“I don’t require anything to be done for me, Colonel Wimpleton,” I
persisted.
“If you have been up to Hitaca, probably you have seen the steamer I am
building there.”
“Yes, sir, I saw her; and a very fine boat she will be.”
“I shall want an engineer for her,” he suggested.
“Of course you will, sir. An engineer is a necessity in a steamer,” I
replied; but I refused to bite at the bait he threw out to me.
“Are you the captain of this boat, Wolf?” he asked, glancing round at
the pleasant little state-room in which he was lying.
“For the present I am.”
“Whose boat is it?”
“Major Toppleton’s.”
“I saw her at the yard in Hitaca; but I had no idea she was so large
and fine, as she lay in the river.”
“She is just finished, and the major sent me up to bring her down to
Middleport. I don’t suppose I shall go in her again, for I belong on
the railroad.”
“I know you do,” he replied; and his tone seemed to indicate that, at
that moment, he was sorry I did.
I did not care to discuss the relations of the two sides of the lake
with him, and I turned his attention from the subject by asking what I
could do for him.
“I do not need anything more, Wolf. I am warm and comfortable, and I am
very much obliged to you for what you have done. Did you know who it
was when you saw me on the raft?”
“Yes, sir; I recognized you when the boat came up to the raft.”
“You did?”
“Yes, sir; certainly I did.”
“Were you not tempted to let me remain where I was?” he asked, raising
his head on the bed, so as to see my face.
“No, sir, I was not.”
“I should think you would have been.”
“Why, I am not a heathen, Colonel Wimpleton!” I replied.
“No; we have had considerable trouble, and I suppose you have no reason
to think very kindly of me,” stammered he, as though the words almost
choked him.
“I don’t think you used me just right, sir; but I’m not an Indian.”
“I think I should have perished in half an hour more. It was getting
dark, and I was as numb as though I had been frozen. But I shall make
it all right somehow, Wolf.”
“It is all right now.”
“Did you see anything of Dr. Pomford as you came up the lake?”
“Dr. Pomford? I don’t know him, sir.”
“I suppose not. He is from Philadelphia, and is spending a week with
me. He is fond of fishing, and we came up here to try our luck.”
“But how came you on that raft, sir?” I inquired. “Did you lose your
friend overboard?”
“No; we had a boat, which we fastened to the raft on the
fishing-ground. We found the raft there, moored with stakes in the deep
water. Dr. Pomford had the misfortune to drop his bottle of brandy
overboard, after we had been fishing about an hour. Being quite chilly,
he went back to the hotel after some more, leaving me on the raft, for
the fish were biting well, and I did not like to leave them; besides,
he is a younger man than I am, and can move about easier. His boat was
fastened to one of the stakes, and I think, when he started, he must
have pulled it up. I don’t know how it happened, but as soon as the
doctor was out of sight behind the cliff, I found myself adrift.”
It was not polite for me to say anything; but I could not help
thinking, that if the brandy bottle had dropped overboard sooner, the
colonel would have understood the matter better. I had never heard that
the great man was in the habit of drinking too much; but the odor of
his breath led me to my conclusion. I think he was somewhat fuddled, or
he would have gone with the doctor in the boat.
“I never suffered so much in three hours before in my life,” continued
the colonel. “No canal boat, steamer, or other craft came near me, and
I cried for help till my voice gave out. Wolf, I would have given half
my fortune, if not the whole of it, to have been taken from that raft
a moment before you saw me. If I had known you were in charge of the
boat, I should not have expected you to save me.”
“My mother always taught me to love my enemies,” I answered.
“I hear the ministers talk about such things, but I never believed
much in them. I am under very great obligations to you, Wolf. You have
treated me as well as though I had always been your best friend.”
“It is all right, sir. I am satisfied, if you are.”
“I am not satisfied; and I shall never be satisfied until I have made
you some return for all this.”
“I shall not take anything, sir,” I replied, resolutely.
“I will give you a man’s wages, if you will take the place as engineer
of the new steamer.”
“Thank you for the offer, Colonel Wimpleton; but I cannot accept it at
present. I never desert my friends till they kick me.”
“That is as much as to say that I kicked you before you left
Centreport.”
“I think we had better bury the past.”
“I will make it all right with your father; he shall have better wages
than he has now.”
“I am much obliged to you, sir; but we are both of us very well
satisfied where we are.”
The great man seemed to be intensely annoyed at my obstinacy; and it
certainly was a hard case for him that he was not permitted even to do
me a favor. My pride would not permit me to accept a gift from one who
had treated me so badly as he had; but it was a pleasure to serve him,
to heap the fiery coals of kindness upon his head.
As I had feared, the wind died out entirely, and the Grace lay
helpless upon the smooth surface of the lake. But below, everything
was cheerful--even Colonel Wimpleton. The lamps burned brightly in the
cabin and state-room, and I enjoyed myself hugely, not caring whether
the wind blew or not. I gave the great man his underclothing when it
was dry, and he put it on. He wanted to talk, and he did talk in his
bed till nearly midnight, when a breeze from the southward sprang up,
which compelled me to take my place at the helm. The wind freshened,
and the Grace flew before it, so that we came to anchor at two o’clock
off Major Toppleton’s mansion.
CHAPTER XIV.
COLONEL WIMPLETON BIDS HIGH.
During the run of twenty miles down the lake, I had sat alone at the
helm the greater portion of the time, for my companions were disposed
to sleep. Colonel Wimpleton snored so that I could hear him in the
standing-room. Skotchley had turned in, occupying the port state-room,
while Tom Walton lay on a locker, where I could call him in a moment if
his services were needed. While I sat there I did a great deal of heavy
thinking, mostly over the relations of Toppleton and Wimpleton. When
that magnificent steamer was completed, there would be lively times on
the lake.
The offer which Colonel Wimpleton had made me of the position of
engineer on board the new steamer was very tempting to me, and I
wished very much that I could honorably accept it; but it was no use
to think about it. Whatever might be said of Major Tommy, his father
had invariably treated me very handsomely. He had come to my father’s
assistance at a time when he needed help, and had actually put over two
thousand dollars into his pocket. I felt it to be my duty to endure
a great deal from the son for the sake of the father, as, it now
appeared, the former was the chief man of the two.
As we approached Middleport, I called Tom Walton, and, with as little
noise as possible, anchored the Grace. It was a moonlight night, and
since the wind had come up from the southward, the weather was warm and
pleasant. The sleepers below had not been disturbed; but, after Tom and
I had made everything snug on deck, I waked Colonel Wimpleton, and told
him where we were. I offered to row him across the lake in the little
tender of the Grace.
“Thank you, Wolf. I will get up at once,” said he. “What time is it?”
“About half past two, sir.”
“I have slept well. I had no idea of getting home to-night.”
“We are at anchor off Major Toppleton’s house.”
“Then I think I had better leave as soon as possible. I hope the major
won’t punish you for what you have done for me.”
“I don’t think he will. We get along very well together, sir.”
“Better than you did with me, I suppose,” replied he, with a grim
smile. “But I never knew you before, Wolf. It would be different if you
should come over to Centreport again.”
“I will have the boat ready in a few moments,” I replied, wishing to
change the subject.
I carried the colonel’s clothing to him. It had been nicely dried, and
in a few moments he appeared on deck. I could hardly believe he was the
Colonel Wimpleton who had been so unjust, not to say savage, towards
me. He was a lamb now, and I was very willing to believe that his
three hours of peril had done him a great deal of good, though I was
afraid the impression would be removed when he returned to his usual
associations. I helped the great man into the boat, and pushed off.
“Have you thought of the offer that I made you, Wolf?” said the
colonel, as I gave way at the oars.
“It is useless for me to think of it, sir. I cannot leave Major
Toppleton while he wishes me to stay with him.”
“But I offer you double your present wages.”
“The major has been very kind to me, and was a good friend to our
family when we needed a friend. It would not be right for me to leave
him, and I cannot think of such a thing.”
The magnate of Centreport seemed to me to be more nettled by my refusal
than I thought the occasion required. But I enjoyed a certain triumph
in finding him thus teasing me to return to his side of the lake--a
triumph which was none the less grateful because I had won it by
kindness. The colonel was silent for a few moments, hitching about in
the boat as though the seat was not comfortable.
“How old are you, Wolf?” he asked, with sudden energy.
“Sixteen in July, sir.”
“I have one more offer to make you,” he added.
“It won’t do any good, Colonel Wimpleton; for, as I have said, I never
desert my friends while they use me well. If you would fill this boat
up with gold, it wouldn’t make any difference with me,” I replied,
rather warmly.
“Don’t be obstinate, Wolf.”
“I am very much obliged to you, sir, for your kind offer, and I would
accept it if I could.”
“You shall be captain of the new steamer, and have two dollars a day
for your services. You will have a nice state-room in the boat, and
nothing to do but superintend the management of her. I find you are
very popular, not with the boys alone, but with the men and women, and
it is for my interest to have you on the steamer.”
“I thank you very much, sir; but I cannot leave my present place.”
“Think of it, Wolf; and talk the matter over with your father. If you
like, he shall be the engineer of the steamer.”
“I thought the boat was to be managed by boys.”
“But I can’t trust every boy in the engine-room. If I can’t get you as
engineer, I must have a man.”
“I should be very glad to take either of the places you offer me, but
I cannot, sir. Major Toppleton has done the handsome thing for me and
for my father, and I think you would despise me if I turned against
him.”
He continued to press the matter with so much earnestness that I came
to think I was of a great deal more importance in the world than I
really was. But I was steadfast in my allegiance to the friend who had
served our family when we were in distress. I pulled the boat up to the
steps in front of the colonel’s house, and assisted him to get out. He
invited me to go in with him, but I declined.
“Now, Wolf, I’m not going to let this affair pass off without doing
something for you. I feel that you have saved my life,” said he, as I
seated myself at the oars.
“It’s all right as it is, sir.”
“No, it isn’t. You will hear from me again soon.”
I gave way at the oars, and he walked towards his house. I had
conquered him, and it was certainly very remarkable that I had, at this
moment, both the mighty men as my friends, though my relations with
Tommy Toppleton threatened to make a breach with one of them. I felt
that I had carried out the spirit of my mother’s instructions, and I
ought not to be blamed for thinking very kindly of myself, because I
had discharged my Christian duty to one who had taught me to be his
enemy. In this frame of mind I pulled back to the Grace, and leaped
upon deck.
“What have you been doing, Wolf?” demanded a stern voice, as a tall
form emerged from the cabin.
Whew! It was Major Toppleton! I could not imagine what had brought him
out of his bed at that unseasonable hour; and I was speechless with
astonishment.
“What have you been doing, Wolf?” repeated he; and I saw that all hands
had been called.
“I have just landed Colonel Wimpleton at his house, sir,” I replied,
with due deference.
“And you have been entertaining my greatest enemy in my yacht--have
you?” added the major, in a tone which seemed to threaten the pleasant
relations that had thus far subsisted between us.
“I picked him up on the lake, when he was perishing with the cold, and
in danger of being drowned.”
“I don’t object to your picking him up when he needed help. One must
do that for a dog. But why didn’t you put him ashore at the nearest
land--in the woods or on the rocks?”
“Because he was so benumbed with cold that he was nearly helpless.”
“You gave him a supper at my expense; you could not have used me any
better in my own yacht than you did him.”
“I did everything I could for him, sir,” I replied, humbly.
“You did--did you? Didn’t you know that he is a scoundrel? that he is
my bitterest enemy?” demanded the major, warmly.
“I did, sir; but I thought it my duty to take care of him when he was
suffering.”
“Fiddledy-dee! What do you mean by talking such bosh as that to me? I
believe you have a soft place in your head, Wolf. Joe Poole says you
treated him like a lord. I don’t keep a yacht for the accommodation of
Wimpleton. If you mean to sell out to the other side, do so at once.”
“I have no such intention;” and I was on the point of defending myself
by saying that the colonel had made me several handsome offers, which I
had declined; but I concluded such a defence would do me no good, and
only irritate the major.
“Of course I should not expect you to let even Wimpleton drown; but you
have overdone the thing; you ought to have put him ashore at Southport,
or Port Gunga.”
“He wanted to come home, sir.”
“No matter if he did; I don’t keep a yacht for his use.”
“I am sorry I have offended you, sir,” I added; but I could not regret
what I had done.
“Don’t do it again. The less you do for the other side, the better you
will suit me,” he continued, more gently, evidently because his anger
had expended itself, rather than because he accepted my apology. “How
did you get along with the boat?”
“First rate, sir.”
“Wolf, I have been uneasy all night about those boys on the island. I
have been afraid the Wimpleton scoundrels would tear up the railroad
track, and I have kept the dummy going every hour since dark. I am
tired out. I am afraid they will have a fight up at the Horse Shoe, and
somebody will get killed. I’m going to bed now; but I want you to run
up there, and have an eye upon the boys. You need not go very near the
island, but be sure you know what the students are about. The Wimpleton
boys have camped on the Shooter, and the two sides are not more than
forty rods apart. If things go wrong there, you will run over to Grass
Springs, and send me word by Lewis Holgate.”
Having delivered his instructions, Joe Poole landed the major before
his house. With the assistance of Skotchley and Tom Walton, I hoisted
the mainsail and got up the anchor. When Joe returned, both of my
companions “pitched into” him for telling the major that I had treated
his enemy “like a lord.”
“I only told the truth,” replied Joe. “But I didn’t mean to do Wolf any
harm.”
“Didn’t you know any better?” added Tom.
“I thought I was doing a good thing for Wolf, when I said that he had
treated the colonel so well, after he had used him so shabbily.”
“Humph, you are a Sunday school scholar!” sneered Tom.
“So am I, Tom,” I interposed. “I don’t blame Joe for telling only the
truth, and I should have told the major myself if he had not.”
This remark quieted the sneerer, and I think that Sunday school
doctrine had the better of the argument. Tom ran up the jib, and,
passing through the Narrows, I headed the Grace for the Horse Shoe. Tom
had slept three or four hours, while I had not yet closed my eyes. I
gave him the helm, and directing him to call me when we came up with
the islands, I stretched myself on the cushioned locker, and dropped
asleep.
The day was dawning when the helmsman called me. I had not slept more
than an hour and a half; but my interest in the mission upon which
I had been sent thoroughly roused me. I took the helm, and going to
the eastward of the South Shoe, I headed the Grace through the narrow
channel between the Horse Shoe and the Shooter, which would enable me
to obtain a fair view of both camps. Major Toppleton’s fears were not
groundless, for I found that the Wimpletonians had not devoted the
night to sleep, as the Toppletonians evidently had, for the former had
just effected a landing on the northern part of the Horse Shoe. As the
Grace passed out of the channel, I saw the bateaux, loaded with tents
and baggage, landing their freight.
A battle impended.
CHAPTER XV.
THE IMPENDING BATTLE.
I certainly did not expect to find anything at the Horse Shoe or
in its vicinity, so early in the morning, to indicate a battle,
or even a change of position. Men engaged in a holy cause, or in
realizing the promptings of ambition, may fight all day on the bloody
field, and then look out for the chances of another day during the
darkness of the night; but boys do not do so, as a general rule. The
Wimpletonians had evidently done something besides sleeping during the
night. Dissatisfied with the proceedings of the first day, they were
determined to make a better show the second day.
On the other hand, the Toppletonians appeared to be fast asleep,
without even a guard to protect or warn them of the approach of their
enemy. Before daylight the Centreport battalion had been transported
from the Shooter to the Horse Shoe, and were now in position to give
battle to their haughty foe--if either was more haughty than the
other. I saw them on the shore, landing the last of their baggage,
and securing their boats in a little cove. On the highest part of the
island I could distinguish, in the gloom of the early morning, a line
of sentinels stretching entirely across the land.
Before the Grace was clear of the island, Skotchley, who had made a
good night’s rest of it, came on deck, and I pointed out to him the
change which the Wimpletonians had made.
“What do you think of it, Skotchley?” I asked.
“I think there will be an awful row before noon,” he replied, shaking
his head. “Of course the Wimps haven’t gone over there for nothing.”
“I don’t know but it would be the best thing in the world to let them
fight it out. If one side or the other should get thoroughly thrashed,
perhaps both would be willing to keep the peace.”
“I think not; for of course the vanquished party would never be
satisfied till it had retrieved its fortunes.”
“When do you think the fight will commence?”
“I should say it is liable to begin at any moment,” added Skotchley;
“but I shall not expect it for several hours after our fellows find out
that their territory has been invaded.”
“Can we do anything to prevent the fight?” I asked, earnestly.
“I do not see that we can,” answered Skotchley. “What can we do? You
know what Tommy is. If we should attempt to reason with him, he would
flare up.”
“I don’t mean to reason with him; that would be stupid.”
“Of course we can’t do anything with Waddie.”
“All we have to do is to inform Major Toppleton of the state of affairs
on the island,” I replied, as I put the helm down, and told Tom Walton
to haul in the sheets till the yacht was close on the wind. “We shall
get to Middleport with this breeze before the dummy starts.”
It was only four o’clock in the morning, and though we had to beat up
to our destination, I was confident the Grace would do it in a couple
of hours. I had not had quite rest enough to make me feel good, and
giving the helm to Tom, I lay down again. I was soon asleep, and the
two hours of rest which I obtained set me right.
“Middleport ahoy!” shouted Tom, as we approached our destination.
“What time is it, Tom?”
“Six o’clock. This yacht makes quick time of it.”
“Where is Joe Poole?”
“He has just turned out, and is getting breakfast.”
“That’s sensible,” I replied, going on deck. “Clear away the anchor,
and stand by the jib-halyards.”
In a few moments more, the Grace was at anchor in the deep water off
the major’s house. The great man was still asleep; but it would be
necessary to wake him. The belligerents on the island would soon be
punching each other with their bayonets if something was not done. But
I could not help feeling that the presence of Major Toppleton at the
scene of action would hardly better the situation. He was as violent,
arbitrary, and exacting as his son. It was possible that he might do
something to give the victory to the partisans of his own side; but it
was hardly to be expected that he would prevent the fight.
“Skotchley, will you go ashore and call upon the major? You have only
to tell him that the Wimps have landed on the Horse Shoe,” said I to
the dignified student.
“I don’t object; but why don’t you go?” he replied.
“I wish to go somewhere else.”
“Where?” he asked, curiously.
“I will tell you some other time, perhaps.”
“Just as you like, Wolf.”
I pulled up the tender, and both of us got into it. I rowed to the
steps in front of the major’s house, and landed Skotchley. I had made
up my mind what to do, and I had but little time to carry out my
purpose. I felt in duty bound to prevent the fight on the island, if
I could, even independently of the mighty will and pleasure of Major
Toppleton. It was wicked to permit those boys, armed with deadly
weapons, and irritated by a long-standing rivalry, to plunge into a
strife which might become more serious than either party intended.
“Mr. Wolf!” called the sweet voice of Grace Toppleton, just as I was
about to push off the boat.
I was sorry to meet even her at such a moment, great as the luxury
would have been on an ordinary occasion. She tripped lightly down the
walk to the landing-steps; and certainly she never looked prettier and
more graceful than on that pleasant summer morning, with the fresh dew,
as it were, glowing upon her cheeks.
“Good morning, Mr. Wolf,” she continued, as, out of breath with the
haste she had made, she presented herself before me. “That beautiful
yacht!” she exclaimed, as she glanced at the elegant craft which bore
her name. “Isn’t she a sylph!”
“She is all she seems to be,” I replied, with becoming enthusiasm, “and
I think she is worthy of her name.”
“How very gallant you are, Mr. Wolf!” she pouted.
“I have been sailing her all night, and I ought to speak well of her.”
“Father said he had sent you to Hitaca after her; but we did not expect
to see you till this afternoon. I want to go on board of her. I was so
surprised when I first saw her this morning!”
It was very awkward, but I could not help myself. I had a mission
to perform which must be done at once, or not at all. I could not
disregard her wishes, and I assisted her into the boat.
“I have been up to the Horse Shoe, where the students are encamped,
since I returned from Hitaca,” I continued, as I seated myself at the
oars.
“I suppose they are having a nice time up there,” she replied.
“I’m afraid not;” and as briefly as I could, I told her the situation
of affairs between the contending forces.
As I hoped and expected of one of her gentle nature, she was shocked
and alarmed at the prospect of a fight, especially as her brother was
foremost in the strife.
“Skotchley has gone up to call your father, and I suppose he will
interfere,” I added.
“I hope he will;” but the manner in which she spoke seemed to indicate
that she entertained the same doubt which had disturbed my calculation.
“I was thinking of doing something more,” I replied, rather doubtfully.
“What, Mr. Wolf?”
I related to her my adventure with Colonel Wimpleton during the night,
and assured her that the great man of Centreport was very thankful to
me for the service I had rendered him.
“I was going over to see him,” I added.
“To see Colonel Wimpleton!” she exclaimed, as though she thought such
a step would be the sum of all abominations, for even she could not
wholly escape the pestilent rivalry that existed between the two sides.
“I am not afraid of him. If I can induce him to compel the students
from his side to leave the Horse Shoe, the fight will be avoided.”
“I am sorry you said anything to me about it, for father will not let
you speak to Colonel Wimpleton about the matter. But, Mr. Wolf, you do
as you think best, and I will not say a word.”
I assisted her on board of the yacht, and Tom Walton was as polite to
her as her beauty and her position required. I was sorry to leave her;
but I was intent upon the duty of preventing the fight. I pulled over
to the other side of the lake. Haughty servants told me the magnate
of Centreport was asleep, and must not be disturbed; but one who had
seen me there in the night with the colonel, ventured to tell him that
I wished to see him. I was promptly admitted to his bedroom, where I
stated my business.
“I don’t think there is any great danger of a quarrel,” said he, after
he had listened attentively to my story.
“I think there is, sir. The students from this side have landed on the
Horse Shoe.”
“Well, our boys have always used that island for their camp.”
“But the Toppleton students engaged the Horse Shoe of the owner, and
you will agree with me that they have the best right to the ground. If
you will direct the boys from this side to leave the island, there will
be no further trouble.”
“Do you think I shall tell our boys to run away from those on the other
side?” demanded he, indignantly. “I am willing to do anything for
you, Wolf, after what has happened; but I think you need not concern
yourself about this affair.”
“I don’t want to have a fight, sir.”
“Nor I either.”
“Then I hope you will do the right thing, and send your boys off the
island.”
“I will not do it.”
“Well, sir, suppose Waddie should get punched with a bayonet?” I
suggested.
“I think Waddie can take care of himself. But, understand me, Wolf, if
I can do anything for you, I will do it.”
“I have nothing to ask but this.”
“I will see what can be done,” he replied, rubbing his head, which I
judged was still suffering from the effects of the brandy from the
bottle that had been lost overboard. “I don’t want any fighting. I will
go up to the Horse Shoe by and by, if I feel able.”
I pressed the matter as strongly as I could; but the stupid rivalry
was too strong in his mind to permit anything which looked like
yielding. I left him, hoping that the peril of Waddie, if no higher
consideration, might induce him to take some active steps to avert the
disgraceful alternative. I pulled with all my might across the lake,
and I was not a moment too soon, for I had hardly jumped upon deck
before Major Toppleton appeared on the shore, and hailed the yacht for
a boat. Taking Grace with me, I pulled to the steps. The great man had
his overcoat on his arm, and it was evident that he intended to be a
passenger in the yacht to the scene of action.
“Let me go too, father,” said Grace. “I must sail in that beautiful
yacht this very day.”
“We cannot wait,” replied the major, rather petulantly.
“I don’t want you to wait. I am all ready,” she added.
“If there is going to be a fight up there, you will be in the way.”
“I will stay in the yacht. Don’t say no; be a good papa.”
And he was a good papa. Miss Grace was permitted to have her own way,
though, being like her mother, who was a very amiable and gentle lady,
having her own way did not seem to injure her, as it did her brother. I
need not say that I was delighted with the arrangement. We got up the
anchor, hoisted the jib, and in a few moments were standing down the
lake before the fresh breeze. On the way Joe Poole served up breakfast
in good style, and even the major declared that the beefsteak and fried
potatoes were excellent.
“The row has commenced!” shouted Tom Walton, at the helm, while we were
at the table.
Fortunately our appetites had been satisfied before this startling
announcement was made, and we all hastened on deck to see the fight.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE BATTLE OF THE HORSE SHOE.
Miss Grace Toppleton turned pale when Tom announced that the battle
had commenced; but her father only uttered an exclamation of rage and
impatience. The yacht was just entering the narrow channel between
the Horse Shoe and the Shooter, and our position commanded a full
view of the field. The Wimpletonians had landed on the north side of
the island, near the middle of which was a ridge. The camp of the
Toppletonians was at the head of the little bay between the two arms
of the Horse Shoe. Behind it was a gentle slope of ground, which
terminated at the ridge, beyond which the descent on the north shore
was more abrupt.
On this longer declivity, the two hostile battalions were drawn up in
the order of battle. The statement that the conflict had commenced was
premature; for, though the two “serried ranks” faced each other, no
bones had yet been broken. The field presented the traditional aspect
of boy fights when the contestants meet in force; the parties faced
each other, and each waited for the other to advance. Though I was not
an impartial judge, I could not help seeing that the Wimpletonians
had displayed more generalship than the Toppletonians; for, instead
of waiting on the steeper descent at the north shore, with the ridge
above them, for an attack, they had boldly mounted the hill, and taken
possession of the high ground, which gave them an advantage that more
than compensated for their inferior numbers.
The Toppletonians had not discovered the movement of the enemy till
they appeared upon the ridge, which is another convincing proof
that “eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” If they had kept
even half a dozen sentinels in the exposed portions of the island
during the night, they could easily have prevented the landing of the
Wimpletonians; but probably they had no suspicion of a night movement.
The combatants appeared to be waiting “for something to turn up;” for,
while the Grace was running down the channel and coming to anchor,
no movement was made by either of them. The array did not at present
indicate the bloody encounter I had feared, and had labored to prevent;
but it was plain enough that something would result from the situation.
They would not be likely to face each other all day without doing some
mischief. I could see Waddie Wimpleton, in his chapeau, white plume,
and gold lace, promenading up and down his lines; and, though I could
not hear him, I knew very well what big things he was saying.
“Well, what’s to be done?” said Major Toppleton, when the Grace had
come to anchor.
“If I were you, sir, I would tell our boys to go back into their camp,”
I replied.
“What! and let the Wimpleton students have it all their own way! Not if
I know myself,” added the major, indignant even at the suggestion. “Our
boys have hired the island, and it belongs to them. They shall stay
there!”
The major was as crazy as the colonel had been, and as neither was
willing to sacrifice anything, I could not see how the fight was to be
avoided. Of course none of us had any influence with the invaders, and
we could not induce them to retire from the island.
“Can’t you think of any way to get the Wimpleton boys off, Wolf?” asked
the major, impatiently; and I saw that my services were not required as
a peacemaker, but rather as an active belligerent.
“I don’t see any way now, sir,” I replied; “but I may think of
something by and by.”
“By and by! They may kill each other before you make up your mind,”
sneered the great man. “I will go on shore.”
I pulled up the boat for him, and rowed him to the landing-place. I
walked up the slope with him, in order to obtain a better view of
the situation. It had already occurred to me that a diversion in the
rear of the Wimpletonians might compel them to retire; but, as I was
somewhat fearful that such a step would make them more desperate, and
hasten the conflict, I did not deem it prudent to suggest the idea.
We were within a few rods of the Toppleton line, when Major Tommy
discovered us. Whether he was ashamed of his inaction, or fearful that
his father would interfere with the pastime he had laid out, I do not
know; but our coming evidently had some influence upon him, for he
immediately commenced yelling as though the battle was to be fought
with loud words.
“Attention--battalion!” said he, flourishing his sword. “Charge
bayonets!”
“Stop a minute, Tommy!” called Major Toppleton, senior.
“Forward--march!” added Major Tommy, regardless of his father’s
interference.
“Hold on a minute, Tommy!” repeated his father. “I want to see you.”
“Forward--march!” screamed the little major, desperately. “Now give
them fits! Don’t mind a scratch! Drive them before you!”
“Charge bayonets!” cried Major Waddie, on the other side; and it was
clear enough that he did not intend to run away.
In vain did Major Toppleton senior attempt to check this forward
movement. The Toppletonians dashed gallantly up the hill, rushing
upon the enemy with an impetuosity which threatened them with total
annihilation. But then the Wimpletonians began to move forward; and I
felt my heart rising up into my throat, and my blood growing cold in my
veins, as the combatants approached each other. I could almost hear the
groans of the wounded, and see the outstretched forms upon the green
sod, so real did the scene appear to me.
The two lines met, and I heard the clatter of cold steel as the
bayonets struck against each other; but I had not time to form an exact
idea of what was going on before I saw the Toppletonians give way in
the centre. It was a confused _mêlée_, and I could only see a general
punching and hammering with the muskets. When I saw a soldier on either
side make a direct thrust with his bayonet, it was warded off with a
blow. Indeed, the battle seemed to be fought literally “at the point
of the bayonet;” for, so far as I could judge, neither party went
near enough to do any damage. Each side seemed to have the requisite
discretion to keep out of the reach of the weapons of the other side.
I think there were not many in either rank that had the ferocity
actually to wound their adversaries with the weapons in their hands.
This was the beginning of the affray, and the contending forces had
not yet become desperate; and, though they rushed upon each other with
appalling savageness, as seen by the observer, the contest was at a
safe distance, neither party permitting the other to come near enough
actually to inflict wounds. In fact, it was just such fighting as I
had often seen between parties of boys, and consisted in rushing up
and falling back. Dangerous as the weapons were, there was really no
bloodthirsty spirit on either side.
The Toppletonian centre was broken. Captain Bayard had been pressing
things, and the force in front of him, to avoid any actual punching
of the bayonets, fell back. Major Waddie strode furiously up and down
his line--in the rear of it, of course--yelled, and stormed, and
gesticulated. When he saw the centre in front of him give way, he
screamed in his fury, and Bayard, who seemed to have some of the spirit
of his illustrious namesake, forced his company forward till some of
them were actually pricked by the steel of the Toppletonians. But this
spurring seemed only to infuriate them; Waddie yelled louder than ever,
and Bayard, perceiving his advantage, encouraged his soldiers till the
line before them yielded, and were swept backward down the hill.
Captain Pinkerton, on the right, inspired by the success of the centre,
and goaded on by the frantic yells and gestures of Major Waddie,
crowded his company forward, and the line in front of him, whose
equanimity was disturbed by the rupture of the centre, fell back also.
“Three cheers, and drive them!” roared Major Waddie, hoarsely, as his
white plume flaunted in the fresh breeze.
Then the Wimpletonians yelled along the whole length of the line, and
rushed down the hill, the demoralized Toppletonians fleeing before
them. Major Toppleton and myself were obliged to retire in order to
avoid the onslaught of the victorious battalion.
[Illustration: THE GREAT BATTLE.--Page 193.]
“The scoundrels!” ejaculated the great man, who appeared to be quite
as much disconcerted as his son.
“The Wimps have the best of it,” I replied.
“This is disgraceful!” muttered the major.
I thought so myself; not the defeat, as he understood it, but the
battle itself, as I understood it.
Near the camp of the Toppletonians was a belt of trees extending
across the island, into which the discomfited battalion retreated. The
Wimpletonians followed them closely, and I was afraid the camp and
baggage of our boys would be captured by the enemy. In the shadow of
the grove, Major Tommy and his two captains rallied the intimidated
Toppletonians, and they made a stand under the friendly shelter of the
trees, the enemy halting at the verge of the grove. The great man and
myself hastened to headquarters, where we found Tommy breathless with
rage and excitement at his unexpected defeat. His father taunted him
upon his misfortune, which did not help his fiery mood.
“What could I do when the fellows gave way?” stormed he. “They are a
pack of cowards, and would run a mile rather than be pricked with the
point of a pin.”
“It is easy enough for you to talk, Tommy Toppleton,” snapped private
Putnam. “If you went in the front instead of the rear, it would make a
difference with you.”
“I was in the place where a commander ought to be,” retorted Tommy,
stung by this reproach. “I will give you enough of it before you get
through.”
“You needn’t call us cowards while you keep yourself in a safe place,”
added Putnam.
“Attention--battalion!” shouted Major Tommy, suddenly.
“What are you going to do now?” asked his father.
“I’m going to drive the Wimps into the lake this time.”
“What’s the use! If you go out of the grove, you will only be driven
back,” replied the major, senior.
“Why don’t you make a flank movement?” I suggested.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Tommy, whose attention was arrested
by the idea.
“Send one company round to the other side of the Wimps,” I replied.
“If I send half my men away, the Wimps will defeat the rest here.”
“No; half your force can hold this wood. If you can get one company on
the high ground, you will have the advantage over them.”
Major Tommy thought favorably of the idea; and I thought it would be
safer for both parties to fight the battle by running and manœuvring
than for them to make a stand-up conflict on the open field, as they
had done. Briscoe was sent with his company to make the flank movement.
He double-quicked his command towards the east shore of the island, and
began to ascend the slope. Major Waddie promptly “smelt a mice,” and
despatched Captain Bayard’s company to watch and check the movements
of the flanking force. I went with Briscoe, intent upon using whatever
influence I had to keep the parties from coming into actual contact
with each other. We reached the summit of the slope by hard running, in
advance of Captain Bayard; and here the Toppleton company halted on the
highest ground on the island.
“Now you are all right, Briscoe,” said I. “Send half a dozen fellows to
demonstrate against their boats, and you will get them out of the way.”
“You do that, Wolf,” replied he. “Go down, and shove them off, and I
will do the rest.”
I ran down the slope alone to the landing, where I found Colonel
Wimpleton.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE PRISONER OF WAR.
Colonel Wimpleton was just landing from a boat, in which he had been
ferried over from the main shore, having come from Centreport to this
point in his chaise. As soon as he landed, he dismissed the man who had
brought him over. The two great men of the vicinity were both on the
island.
As soon as I left Captain Briscoe’s company, and moved towards the
landing-place, Bayard, in command of the Wimpleton company, evidently
suspected my purpose, though I really had no intention of meddling
with the boats, but only of making a demonstration. Half a dozen
soldiers were sent in a hurry to guard the fleet. This was Briscoe’s
opportunity. The force before him was now reduced so that an attack
was hopeful. I heard him shouting, and a moment later the company of
Bayard came helter-skelter over the summit of the hill. Our fellows,
mortified by their first defeat, had made a desperate charge, and
driven the enemy before them. It was not safe, therefore, for me to
meddle with the boats, even if I had intended to do so.
“How goes the battle, Wolf?” asked the colonel, with a smile, as I met
him on the beach.
“Just now it seems to be going in favor of Toppleton,” I replied;
“though our boys were just driven half way across the island by yours.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“But I can’t stay here now, sir; I am afraid I shall be captured,”
I added, glancing at the six soldiers who were coming down the hill
towards me.
“Don’t be alarmed, Wolf; I will see that you are not hurt,” laughed the
colonel.
“I don’t wish to be captured.”
“You shall leave when you please. After thinking over the matter, I
concluded that I should take our boys off the island,” added the great
man of Centreport; “but I don’t intend to have them driven off.”
“I’m very glad to hear it, sir.”
“Where is Waddie?”
I explained the situation to him, and informed him of what had already
transpired on the island. He was pleased with the victory which those
who bore his name had achieved, and with this brilliant record of the
Wimpleton battalion he was ready to retire. But while we were talking
about the matter, the din of battle from the high ground saluted us. It
appeared that Tommy Toppleton, too impatient to wait for the result of
the flanking movement, had charged upon the company of Wimpletonians in
front of him. Our fellows had wiped out the disgrace of the early part
of the action, and had driven the enemy up the hill, over its summit,
regaining all the ground lost, and taking the summit of the slope,
which was “the key to the situation.”
“This won’t do,” said Colonel Wimpleton, as he saw with dismay that his
party was defeated. “I can’t take them away under these circumstances.”
But the battle was lost to the Wimpletonians. Major Tommy had gained
the crown of the hill, and held it with his whole force. The ground
was so steep in front of him that double the number of the foe could
not dislodge him. The enemy had not yet pitched their tents, and their
baggage was now in danger of capture. Major Waddie consolidated his
battalion, and formed a line at the foot of the hill, ready to defend
his camp equipage. He was furious at his defeat, and when he saw me his
eyes flashed fire.
“Arrest that traitor!” said he, flourishing his sword, and pointing to
me.
“Not yet, Waddie!” interposed his father. “I have given him a safe
conduct.”
“You are not in command here,” replied the ungracious son. “What are
you doing down here, Wolf Penniman?”
“I should have gone before if your father had not detained me.”
“Keep cool, Waddie,” said the colonel. “You have enough to do to whip
the Toppletonians.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” added Major Waddie, as he glanced at the
summit of the hill.
“I will take care of Wolf, and see that he don’t whip the whole of you.”
“I will hang him as a traitor if he don’t start quick. He has no
business over here.”
“He is a non-combatant,” laughed the colonel.
I do not know what the gallant commander of the Wimpleton battalion
would have deemed it necessary to do with me, if the exigency of battle
had not called his attention to other matters. I do not pretend to
be a brave fellow, but I am willing to say I was not afraid of being
hanged, even independently of the powerful protection of the colonel.
Major Tommy, flushed with his recent success, was intent upon following
up his victory. I heard him call his battalion to the charge, and the
words induced my feathery persecutor to leave me. Tommy evidently
intended to drive the enemy into the lake, or to force them to
surrender on the shore.
“Charge--bayonets! Forward--march!” yelled he; and down came the
Toppletonians at a furious pace.
“Now stand up to it, fellows!” screamed Waddie. “This is your last
chance. Don’t run if they punch you through.”
Not only Waddie, but the two captains in his battalion, who had more
real influence than the commander, urged the Wimpletonians to stand
firm, and not be driven from their position. But the time for argument
was short. The victorious Toppletonians swept down the hill, and rushed
furiously at the foe. This time I am quite sure there were some wounds
given on both sides. Major Tommy, mortified, no doubt, by the taunts of
Putnam, and perhaps of others, did not march in the rear of his column,
but very imprudently placed himself in advance of it. Fortunately for
him, there were several privates near him who were inspired by his
gallant example, and the centre of the column broke through the enemy’s
front. This would have been a success to the Toppletonians if the right
and left wings had supported the movement with equal zeal. They did
not, and were forced back by the desperate Wimpletonians, and in a
moment more were retreating up the hill, closely pursued by the enemy.
When it was too late, Tommy saw where he was. He was standing,
supported by only half a dozen privates, several rods in advance of his
battalion. A squad of the enemy, led on by Captain Pinkerton, charged
upon him. The daring little major defended himself with zeal and
courage, slashing right and left with his sword. His supporters, seeing
the situation, fell back and joined their companions. Closely pressed
by his exultant foe, Tommy struck savage blows against the muskets of
his assaulters; but suddenly his sword blade snapped off near the hilt.
“Capture him! Capture him!” shouted Pinkerton; and sending part of his
squad behind Tommy, he cut off his retreat.
The gallant major was now unarmed, and incapable of making any defence.
His companions in arms had been forced back to the summit of the hill.
“Surrender!” cried Pinkerton.
“Never!” yelled Tommy, with tragic grandeur, as he made a dive at the
captain, with the intention apparently of wresting his sword from him.
Such bravery deserved a better fate; but two of the enemy came behind
the impetuous major, and, grasping him by the shoulders, threw him
down. The whole squad then fell upon him, and poor Tommy was a prisoner
of war. Two of the stoutest of his captors, each of them half a head
taller than he was, were detailed to guard the major, and he was
marched to a tree near the camp baggage.
The Toppletonians were driven to the top of the hill, and resumed
their position upon its summit. It was useless for the Wimpletonians
to attempt to drive them beyond the ridge, and they returned to their
former halting-place on the level ground. I began to be a little uneasy
about the fate of Tommy when Major Feathers returned, for I was afraid
the latter, inspired by no lofty ideas of military honor, would subject
his prisoner to some indignities. I saw Waddie hold a conference with
his two captains, the result of which was soon apparent. Captain
Bayard, attended by a single private, who carried a white handkerchief
suspended on a pole, as a flag of truce, walked up the hill. I was not
informed until afterwards of the nature of their mission; but, in the
opinion of the Wimpletonians, the capture of Tommy decided the fate of
the day, and they regarded the battle as ended, with victory perched
upon their banners. Major Waddie was graciously pleased to declare
that he did not wish to pursue his conquest any farther, and if the
Toppletonians would retire from the island, their commander should be
returned to them unharmed.
By the misfortune of Major Tommy, Captain Briscoe was the ranking
officer, and the message of Major Waddie was delivered to him. By the
advice of Major Toppleton, senior, the terms of peace were promptly
rejected, and an intimation given that the Toppletonians intended
to recapture their commander, and drive the invaders into the deep
waters of the lake. While these negotiations were in progress, Colonel
Wimpleton left me, and went to the headquarters of the battalion.
Doubtless he saw his powerful rival on the top of the hill, and wished
to counteract the influence of his counsels with his own.
When the flag of truce returned, I saw a private run to the tree where
Major Tommy had been secured with a rope taken from one of the boats.
Then the two stout fellows in charge of him conducted him to a boat,
and pushed off. It was intended that the commander of the Toppleton
battalion should not be recaptured, and the threat of his forces was
rendered futile. But his command immediately repeated the assault,
when the nature of Colonel Wimpleton’s advice was evident. The beach
in the rear of the Centreport battalion was covered with small round
stones, with which the soldiers had plentifully supplied themselves.
The onslaught of the Toppletonians was received with a volley of these
missiles. They reeled under this unexpected reception, and being on the
grass they could not procure any similar ammunition. Captain Briscoe,
imitating the example of his illustrious commander, marched in front.
The stones seemed to be aimed at him, and he actually fell, hit by one
of them. His forces, appalled at this savage warfare, and by the fall
of their leader, halted, and then fell back beyond the reach of the
mischievous missiles. Briscoe was picked up, and borne to the top of
the hill. The affair was becoming more serious, and, I may consistently
add, more disgraceful, especially as the contending parties were now
virtually directed by Major Toppleton and Colonel Wimpleton, who were
old enough to have known better.
It was plain enough that our boys could not stand up against these
volleys of stones, and that the Wimpletonians could hold their ground
for the rest of the week. The battle was now to be a matter of strategy
and manœuvring. On the hill, as they saw Major Tommy sent off in the
boat, they concluded that he was safe enough for the present, and
were not disposed to accept any ignominious terms of peace. The two
fellows in charge of the prisoner of war had pulled off a quarter of a
mile from the shore, and were watching the issue of the combat. I was
curious to know what would be done next, but I concluded to operate
a little on my own account. Following the shore round the island, I
reached the pier, and went on board of the yacht. Skotchley and Grace,
in the standing-room, were watching the action, while Tom Walton and
Joe Poole had gone up to the mast-head, where they could obtain a
better view of the field of battle.
“All hands, unmoor!” I called, and my ready crew descended to the deck.
The mainsail had not been lowered, and we had only to get up the anchor
and hoist the jib. Before the fresh breeze we stood down the channel
towards the boat in which Tommy was an unwilling passenger.
CHAPTER XVIII.
RESCUING A PRISONER.
On the passage I told Grace and Ned Skotchley what had transpired
during the time I had been on shore; and both of them agreed with
me that it was disgraceful to allow boys to fight. Grace even had
the courage to say that her father ought to have compelled the
Toppletonians to leave the island, rather than encourage such
outrageous conduct.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Skotchley.
“I’m going to recapture Tommy.”
“I thought you were a non-combatant,” laughed he.
“So I am; but I’m not going to leave Tommy in the hands of those
fellows. I’m afraid the Wimps will abuse him when they have time to
attend to his case.”
“Don’t let them hurt him,” pleaded Grace.
“I will not. Tommy is as brave as a lion; if he had been as prudent as
Waddie, he would not have been captured,” I replied.
By this time we were within hail of the boat in which the prisoner of
war was held. His guards did not know the Grace, as she was a new craft
on the lake, and did not expect any mischief from her. They sat on each
side of the vanquished little major, whose hands were tied together so
that he could do no harm. I ran the yacht up into the wind so that her
bowsprit was over the boat.
“What are you about? You will run into us!” shouted one of the
sentinels.
“We won’t hurt you,” replied Tom Walton, as he hooked on to the boat.
I ran forward, and Tom and I dropped into the boat, while Joe Poole
held the painter, which I threw up to him to avoid accidents.
“Wolf Penniman!” exclaimed Baxter, one of the guards, when he
recognized me. “What do you want?”
“I want Major Tommy,” I replied, cutting that young gentleman’s
fetters, while Tom Walton stood between me and the astonished sentinels.
“You can’t have him! He is a prisoner,” retorted Baxter, picking up his
musket.
“He was a prisoner, but he isn’t now,” I added. “You are free, Tommy.
Jump aboard as quick as you can.”
But Raymond, the sentinel in the bow of the boat, presented his
bayonet, while Tom Walton, with an oar in his hand, was checking a
forward movement on the part of Baxter. It is not easy to walk over
a bayonet in the hands of a stout fellow who has been trained to use
it skilfully, and the prospect before me was not very encouraging.
However, Joe Poole turned the fortunes of the day in our favor, by
fastening to the back of Raymond’s collar with the boat-hook, and
pulling him over backwards into the bottom of the boat. I seized his
musket, and wrenched it from his grasp, so that the obstacle to Major
Tommy’s escape was removed.
The little magnate was not slow to avail himself of his opportunity,
and springing over the prostrate form of Raymond, still pinned down
by the boat-hook, he leaped on board of the yacht. The combat, so far
as I was concerned, was happily ended, and Tom Walton and I made good
our retreat, which was effectually covered by Joe Poole, who flourished
his boat-hook with a vigor that set at nought the paltry bayonets of
the war-worn veterans from whose gripe we had rescued the unfortunate
commander of the Toppleton forces.
“Don’t let them go!” shouted Tommy, as he beheld the result of the
brief struggle. “Capture them!”
“Let go the painter!” I whispered to Joe Poole.
“Capture them!” repeated Tommy, furiously, as he saw the boat recede
from the yacht.
“Hard a-port the helm!” I called to Skotchley, who was in the
standing-room.
“What are you about?” demanded Tommy, as I went aft to take the helm.
“Don’t meddle with them, Mr. Wolf--don’t, please!” interposed Grace.
“Shut up, Grace! If you say a word, I’ll throw you overboard,” said the
ungallant major, who was unhappily one of those boys who believe they
may say anything to a sister.
“I came out here after you, Tommy,” I replied, indignant at the harsh
words the little major had addressed to Grace. “I don’t think it is
worth while to meddle with those fellows.”
“What do you suppose I care what you think!” cried Tommy. “Isn’t this
my father’s yacht?”
“It is your father’s yacht.”
“Then you will capture those fellows, or I will know the reason why,”
he added, stoutly.
“Don’t touch them, Mr. Wolf--don’t, please,” said Grace.
“Mr. Wolf!” sneered Tommy. “Mr. Wolf will do what I tell him.”
“I don’t think it is quite proper to get into a row with a young lady
on board!” I added, mildly.
“Wolf Penniman, you are a coward and a traitor!” exclaimed Tommy. “And
you are another!” he added, fixing his indignant gaze upon Skotchley.
“Thank you, Tommy,” replied the dignified student, coolly.
“You shall be court-martialed as a deserter and a coward!”
“Well, I think I can stand it.”
Major Tommy glanced at the boat from which he had been removed, and in
which his two guards had taken the oars and were pulling for the shore.
He seemed to think that they would add two more to the force of the
Wimpletonians, and that it was a grave military indiscretion to permit
the enemy thus to be augmented. Besides, he must have his own way, and
any opposition was quite enough to rouse the evil spirit in his nature.
He insisted again that the two guards should be captured. I tried to
excuse myself from meddling in the warfare, and Grace stood by me with
a zeal which brought down the wrath of her brother upon her.
“I say that boat shall be taken,” persisted he, violently.
“It is impossible,” I replied, weary of his tyranny. “She is dead to
windward of us.”
“Please don’t, Mr. Wolf,” added Grace.
“Hold your tongue, Grace!” snapped he, as he sprang to the tiller, and
shoved me one side.
“Don’t, Tommy,” added Grace, placing her hand upon his shoulder to
deter him.
The little monster actually turned upon her, and struck her a blow in
the face which sent her reeling over into her seat. I could not stand
that; my blood boiled up, and boiled over. I sprang upon him, and in a
small fraction of an instant, Major Tommy Toppleton was lying flat on
the floor of the standing-room.
“O, don’t touch him, Mr. Wolf!” begged Grace.
“You villain you, how dare you put your hand upon me?” gasped Tommy,
springing to his feet, as savage as a young tiger.
“I don’t like to see any one strike a young lady, least of all when she
is his sister.”
“I’ll let you know!” whined he, crying with passion, as he leaped upon
me.
Walton and Skotchley each grasped one of his arms, and held him so that
he was powerless. He raved, tore, and swore; and it was evident enough
to me, when my indignation subsided, that I had sacrificed myself, if
not my father and the whole family.
“I won’t say anything more, Tommy,” interposed Grace, terrified by the
violence around her. “You may have your own way.”
“Give me that helm, Wolf!” cried Tommy.
“I will give it to you,” I replied, moving aside, influenced by the
action of Grace; and I don’t know but Tommy would have beaten his head
to jelly against the trunk if some concession had not been made to his
wrath.
He cooled off as rapidly as he had become heated, when all opposition
was removed. He threw the yacht up into the wind, and Tom Walton and I
trimmed the sails; but the new helmsman could not manage her, and she
lay with her sails flapping idly in the wind.
“Ease her off a little, Tommy, and she will go it,” I ventured to
suggest.
“Mind your own business, Wolf Penniman. Your time is out from this
moment, and Grace shall never put her foot into this yacht again, if it
is named after her,” blustered Tommy.
I subsided, and seated myself on the trunk amidships to wait the issue.
The new skipper, however, adopted my suggestion, though he snubbed me
for making it. The Grace, accommodating as she was, would not sail into
the wind’s eye, and before Tommy was ready to tack, in beating up to
the chase, the boat landed her hands on the beach. I saw that he was
vexed; but he “chewed up” his wrath. He soon came about, and headed for
the channel between the Horse Shoe and the Shooter. I concluded that
he must be anxious to join his battalion; but it would be impossible
to beat the yacht up the narrow passage. It was no use for me to
say anything, and I did not, for he would be sure to go in direct
opposition to any suggestion of mine.
He ran the Grace up to the north point of the Shooter, and came about.
I thought it my duty to tell him that the water was very shoal ahead
of him, as he approached the Horse Shoe on this tack. He politely
insinuated that I was to hold my tongue, which I succeeded in doing for
a moment longer, until the yacht grated on the gravel bottom, and stuck
fast.
“That’s just where I wanted her,” said Tommy, unmoved by the event.
“Joe Poole!”
Joe Poole appeared before the imperious little magnate, and was
directed to bring up the boat and land our uncomfortable passenger.
Tommy jumped into the boat, and as he took his seat in the
stern-sheets, he delivered his parting volley at me, to the effect
that, like Othello, my occupation was gone, and that I should be driven
out of Middleport as a coward and a traitor. To this mild speech I
permitted myself to make no reply.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the Toppleton battalion on the shore.
This shout of triumph attracted the attention of the major, and he
hurried up Joe Poole, who soon landed him on the beach. On the whole, I
concluded that I had not made much by meddling with the conflict, even
so far as to rescue Tommy from his captors. During the events which I
have related, I had closely watched the movements of the contending
forces. Company B of the Toppleton battalion had been sent round the
island to flank the enemy, and obtain a position where stones were
available as ammunition. This operation had been successful, and the
Wimpletonians had been forced back from their stronghold, for they
could not stand up against volleys of stones any better than their
rivals. Company A had dashed down the hill at the right time, and the
enemy were driven upon their baggage. This success had drawn forth the
shout of triumph.
Fortunately for us on board of the Grace, Tommy had sailed her shaking
in the wind, so that she had gone on the shoal very gently, though
hard enough to give us two hours of severe exertion. As we worked,
moving ballast from the forward to the after part of the yacht, we
watched the movements of the contending forces. As I anticipated, Tommy
ordered another charge as soon as he reached the battalion, though the
Wimpletonians were actually engaged in loading their baggage into the
boats. We saw a flag of truce hoisted by the defeated party, and a
parley took place, the result of which was, that they were permitted to
retire without further molestation. Long and loud were the cheers of
Toppleton when the fleet moved away from the island, and pulled towards
the Shooter. The victors then returned to their camp.
We got the Grace off at last, and, after passing around the Horse Shoe,
I anchored off the pier in the channel. Major Toppleton soon appeared,
accompanied by Tommy, and I expected to be discharged at once.
CHAPTER XIX.
A TYRANNICAL SON.
“I suppose my time is out, Miss Toppleton,” said I to Grace, as I saw
the big major and the little major approaching the pier.
“Your time out?” she replied, looking anxiously at me.
“I shall be discharged from my situation, and perhaps be driven out of
Middleport.”
“O, no! I hope not, Mr. Wolf.”
“Tommy is very arbitrary, and after what has happened, he will not
permit me to remain on the same side of the lake with him.”
“I am sorry you touched him,” said she, musing.
“I should not have touched him if he had struck me. I was indignant and
angry.”
“Well, I don’t blame you, Mr. Wolf, for it is abominable for a boy to
strike his sister,” she added, placing her hand upon her pretty face,
where her brother’s rude hand had left its mark. “But Tommy rules the
whole house at home; and I suppose he will have his own way now, as he
always did.”
As Tommy got into the boat which I had sent for him and his father, I
saw that he was still in a very unamiable frame of mind. He was talking
loudly and indignantly to his father, who appeared to be trying to
soothe him and moderate his wrath. For my own part, I could not regret
what I had done, unpleasant as the consequences promised to be. It was
not in my nature to stand by and see a little bully, like Tommy, strike
a young lady,--not pat her gently, but strike her a heavy blow,--not
even if he were her brother. I had been tempted to give the young
ruffian the pounding which he richly deserved, and to continue the
operation until he was willing to promise better things.
Perhaps the handsome offer which Colonel Wimpleton had made me rendered
me somewhat more independent than I should otherwise have been. I
was certainly in good condition to be discharged, and did not feel
much like submitting to any gross indignities from the great man of
Middleport, or his hopeful son. But Major Toppleton had been very kind
to me, and to my father, and I could not forget the service he had
rendered to us.
The boat came alongside, and Tommy leaped upon the deck, followed by
his father; and I could not help noticing that the senior major looked
very anxious and uncomfortable. Tommy had doubtless been making strong
speeches to him, and it was really melancholy to think of a man of his
abilities, dignity, and influence reduced to a kind of slavery by the
tyranny of his own son; and all the more melancholy because he could
not realize that he was spoiling the boy by this weak indulgence.
“Wolf Penniman,” said the little major, majestically, “I always keep my
promises.”
“Keep cool, Tommy,” interposed his father, stepping into the
standing-room, where Grace and I were seated alone, for Skotchley and
Tom Walton had gone forward.
“You know what I said, father. I won’t have Wolf around me any longer.
He has been a coward and a traitor, and he had the audacity to knock me
down. Wolf Penniman, you are discharged!” continued Tommy, blustering
furiously.
“Don’t be too fast, Tommy,” interposed his father. “Wolf went after the
boat in which you were a prisoner, captured it, and restored you to
your command. Captain Briscoe told you that he did not dare to make his
last move till he saw that Wolf had taken you out of the hands of the
enemy.”
“I don’t blame him for that; but he refused to obey my orders, and then
knocked me down. I say you may discharge him, or discharge me.”
The alternative was a reminder of the Hitaca incident, and a hint that,
if his father did not obey orders, Tommy would run away again, and
there would be no suitable person to inherit the great man’s millions.
I made no reply, but bowed meekly to my fate. It appeared that, after
all, I was not to run the Lightning Express train, about which so much
had been said.
“Don’t let him discharge Mr. Wolf, father,” interposed Grace, her
pretty cheeks red with indignation; and with such an advocate I could
afford to be still.
“Discharge Mr. Wolf!” sneered the little magnate. “Will you learn to
mind your own business, Grace?”
“He struck me in the face, father, and that was the reason why Mr.
Wolf knocked him down. I am sorry he did so, but I think Tommy was to
blame,” continued Grace.
“You needn’t stick up for him; if you do, it won’t make any difference.”
“I am astonished that you should strike your sister,” added Major
Toppleton, whose painful expression fully proved his sincerity.
“Well, you needn’t be!” replied Tommy, rudely and disrespectfully. “If
she don’t mind her own business, and let my affairs alone, I shall
teach her better. I have said all I have to say, and I’m going ashore
to look out for my battalion. Remember, Wolf is discharged!”
Tommy abruptly left the yacht, and, leaping into the boat, ordered Joe
Poole to pull him ashore. The fiat had gone forth. I was discharged.
Tommy was the president of the road, and doubtless he had the power to
dismiss me.
“Here is trouble,” said Major Toppleton, with a sigh.
“I hope you won’t let Mr. Wolf be discharged,” said Grace, when the
irate little magnate was out of hearing.
“What can I do?” replied the major, impatiently. “Tommy is the
president of the road, and he has the right to discharge an employee.
If I interfere, there will be such a tempest as we had a year ago.”
Poor magnate! How I pitied him! Just as I had seen a baby tyrannize
over its loving mother, so did Tommy tyrannize over his father. The
great man--how little he seemed to be then!--mused for a while over the
unpleasant situation.
“I’ll tell you what we can do, Wolf. I want a skipper for this boat. If
you will withdraw from the railroad for a time, I will give you this
situation, with the same pay you are now receiving.”
“I am entirely satisfied, sir, and shall be, whatever you or Tommy may
do,” I answered, meekly. “I certainly like the boat better than the
train; but I suppose Tommy will not permit me to take charge of her.”
The major bit his lips with vexation. His fetters galled him, and he
had not the resolution to shake them off. He ordered me to get the
yacht under way, and start for Middleport. As soon as she was clear of
the narrow channel, the major asked me down into the cabin, and we had
a talk, which lasted till the Grace came to anchor before the owner’s
mansion.
“You know how I’m situated, Wolf,” said he, turning his gaze from me,
as if ashamed to acknowledge his subservience to the wilful boy. “Tommy
must have his own way; he is desperate if he does not. He will run
away, or drown himself in the lake, if he does not.”
I could not help smiling at the infirmity of the father, and he made
haste to defend himself. Tommy was subject to fits when he was a child,
and he was fearful that irritation would bring on a return of the
malady. The young gentleman had actually threatened to commit suicide
if he could not have his own way.
“I only wish to smooth the thing over for a time, for Tommy is
a good-hearted boy, and he will come to his senses if he is not
thwarted,” added he. “You are not a father, Wolf, and you can’t
understand the matter.”
“I am willing to do whatever you desire, sir,” I replied. “Perhaps I
ought to say, that I can afford to be discharged just now. You have
used me very handsomely, Major Toppleton, and I am grateful for your
kindness. I will never leave your service of my own accord. Last night
Colonel Wimpleton told me about his new steamer, which is to run in
opposition to our Lightning Express, and offered me a man’s wages to go
either as engineer or as captain of her. I told him I could not leave
my friends while they used me so well, and declined the offer. I did
not mean to tell you of this, and should not, if things had not turned
out just as they have.”
The major bit his lip again. He was disposed to be angry; and, in a
passion, he was as nearly like Tommy as one pea is like another. But he
did not give way to the inclination.
“I declined the offer,” I repeated, when I saw him struggling with the
mischief within him.
“When will that steamer be ready to run?” he asked.
“In a couple of months, the builder told me.”
“I’m glad you told me of this,” he continued, after chewing upon it for
some time. “Perhaps it will have some influence upon Tommy.”
And there the matter ended for the present, Grace said she would do all
she could for me; and however the rest of the house might regard me,
I felt sure of an earnest advocate in her. She went on shore with her
father, and as the skipper of the yacht, I spent the rest of the day in
working upon her, and in putting down a set of moorings for her.
The next day I took a party up the lake in her, and for the rest of the
week I was kept busy in my new occupation. I acquitted myself to the
satisfaction of my employers, not only in pleasant weather, but in a
heavy squall, which caught us in the middle of the widest part of the
lake, off Gulfport.
The Wimpletonians encamped on the Shooter after they were driven
from the Horse Shoe. The combat of Monday was not decisive enough to
satisfy them, and the war was renewed, and continued during the week,
with varying success. Each party stole the boats of the other, and
inflicted whatever mischief it could. On Thursday night, in the midst
of a violent storm, when the Toppleton Guards sought shelter in their
tents, the invading hordes of Wimpletonians crossed the channel, and
actually conquered the territory of their rivals. Having levelled their
tents, cut the cords, and broken up the tent-poles, they retired,
satisfied with the mischief they had done. The Toppletonians were
defeated in a similar attempt to invade the Shooter the next night;
and when the end of the week arrived, neither could claim any material
advantage over the other. The Wimpletonians had retrieved the disaster
of the first day, and would have held the island if they had not been
afraid of the interference of the owner.
Both parties returned to their studies, their hatred of each other not
a jot abated, and more than ever before the Toppletonians were on the
lookout for some opportunity to spite the other side.
When the battalion returned on Saturday night, I was up the lake in
the Grace, and I did not see Major Tommy for several days. When we did
meet, he seemed to have forgotten everything that had happened; but
Grace told me she had listened to the conversation between her father
and him relating to the affair with me. At first the young gentleman
was furious at the idea of retaining me in the yacht; but when he heard
of Colonel Wimpleton’s offer he yielded the point, and permitted me to
remain.
On the 1st of September the Lake Shore Railroad was completed. Lewis
Holgate had run the dummy while I was skipper of the yacht; but the
major would not permit him to go on the locomotive, and I was summoned
back to my old position without opposition from the little magnate.
CHAPTER XX.
THE LIGHTNING EXPRESS TRAIN.
There was something about Tommy’s actions which I did not like. Though
he spoke to me, as before, the old grudge was not wiped out. I saw that
he and Lewis Holgate were very thick together, and I soon found that
my fireman had ceased to be as tractable as at first. I heard he had
reported among the boys that I was a Wimpletonian at heart, and would
sell out the Lake Shore Railroad to the other side any time when I
could get a chance.
The road was completed, and I ran the first train through to Ucayga.
Major Toppleton had altered the Middleport into a ferry-boat at my
suggestion, and she plied, in connection with the railroad, from our
station on one side of the river to the town on the other. When we
had gone over the ground a few times, the major sprang the trap. The
two boats which ran the whole length of the lake were advertised to
start from Middleport, touching at Centreport. Passengers from the
latter place could cross in one of them, and go by the railroad to
Ucayga--they could, but they did not like to do so. The steamers plied
in connection with the road, and the Centreporters were as angry as
though they had been shut out from the rest of the world; for their
splendid boat was not yet ready to run in opposition to the new
arrangement.
On Monday morning the Lightning Express train was to make its first
trip. Major Toppleton told me to be sure and “make time.” The track had
been carefully examined, and strengthened where it was weak. I was to
prove to the Centreporters that a steamboat could not compete with the
Lake Shore Railroad. Everybody was excited, and the president of the
road absented himself from school, in order to see that the programme
was properly carried out. I could have dispensed with his services; but
he insisted upon riding on the foot-board, probably to see that I did
not sell out the concern to the other side.
“The cars are full, Wolf;” said Tommy, after I had backed the
locomotive into the station, and the cars were shackled to it.
“I am glad to hear it,” I replied.
“I saw quite a number of people from the other side among the
passengers.”
“So much the better. We shall convince them that we can make time on
this side of the lake.”
Turning suddenly as I made this remark, I saw Lewis Holgate give Tommy
a significant wink. I did not understand what it meant, and it troubled
me a little. I should have been very glad to get rid of my fireman; but
he was on such intimate terms with the president that it was useless
for me to say anything. He did not attend to his duty, did not keep the
working parts of the engine well oiled, and even neglected his fires.
In fact, he had risen above his business since he had run the dummy.
“All aboard!” shouted the gentlemanly conductor, as he gave me the
signal to start.
As I always did before I let on the steam, I glanced at the machinery
around me. The reversing lever had been changed since I adjusted it.
It must have been done by one of my companions in the cab. I restored
the lever to its proper position for going ahead, and opened the
throttle valve. The train started, but it went heavy. The engine acted
weak. Glancing at the steam gauge, I saw that it indicated only three
quarters of the necessary pressure.
“How’s your fire?” I asked of Lewis.
“Good!”
“Look at it and see. The steam is low.”
He obeyed me; but I saw that he put hardly a spoonful of coal into
the furnace, and closed the door, while I was looking out ahead. The
train went well down the grade; but when we approached Spangleport, we
dragged hard.
“Fill up your furnace, Lewis,” said I, rather sharply, as I observed
that the gauge had hardly gained anything.
He put another spoonful of coal into the furnace.
“Fill it up!” I added, warmly; and I began to feel that some one was
trying to sell me out.
“It won’t burn if I put in too much,” growled Lewis.
“Shovel it in,” I continued, glancing into the fire box, which was
nearly empty.
“More yet,” I added, as he attempted to close the door.
I kept my eye on him till I was satisfied that we should soon have
all the steam we could use. When I stopped the train at Spangleport
we had lost five minutes, and, what was worse, I had nearly lost my
temper. Lewis Holgate appeared to be laboring for the defeat, rather
than the success, of the Lightning Express train. The presence of Mr.
President Tommy on the foot-board seemed to be a partial explanation
of his conduct. But I was determined that the enterprise should not
be a failure. I was fully resolved to make time if steam could do it.
Lightning Express was on trial, and if it failed, the Centreporters,
whom I was now accused of favoring, would take courage.
We stopped but a moment at Spangleport. I opened the furnace, and
stirred up the fire myself. At the same time I kept one eye on Lewis,
and the other on Tommy; for I wanted to catch one of them reversing
a crank, or doing any other mischief. Both of them looked innocent,
though I saw them exchanging significant glances. By this time I had
a full head of steam, and was satisfied that I could make up the lost
time, if no further obstacles were thrown in my way. The eight miles of
road between Spangleport and Grass Springs was almost as straight as an
arrow, and I expected to recover the lost ground on this run. Only an
hour had been allowed for the passengers to reach Ucayga. If the train
was behind time, those going east and west would lose their passage.
“All aboard!” shouted the conductor, as he gave me the signal to start
the train.
“You are on time, Wolf, and you needn’t hurry yourself,” said Tommy, as
he consulted his watch.
“There’s time enough,” I replied, determined not to be deceived by him.
I was nervous and excited, for I was conscious that both of my
companions on the engine were laboring to make the Lightning Express
a failure in my charge. I kept my hand on the lever of the throttle
valve, almost afraid that it would be wrenched from my grasp. I let on
the steam, and kept letting it on till the Ucayga--for that was the
name which had been given to the locomotive, in compliment to the
place which it was necessary to conciliate--seemed to fly through the
air.
“Shovel in the coal, Lewis,” said I to my unwilling fireman, while we
were rushing on at this furious rate.
“I think there is enough coal in the furnace,” replied he, opening the
door.
“I don’t think so. Shovel it in!”
He put in about half a shovel full, and did it so doggedly that I was
fully convinced he was laboring to defeat the experiment. I spoke to
him very sharply. I threatened to stop the train, and send for Major
Toppleton.
“I am the president of this road. If you have any complaints to make,
you will make them to me,” interposed Tommy, who was holding on to the
cab with both hands.
“Will you tell the fireman, then, to do his duty?”
“He is doing it.”
“Will you tell him to put in more coal?”
“Fill it up, Lewis,” added Tommy, who seemed to be conscious that there
was a point beyond which even he could not go.
My rascally assistant then attempted to choke the fires by overloading
the furnace; but I watched him, and succeeded in preventing him from
doing the mischief he intended. I continued to increase the speed of
the Ucayga until, I think, we were going at the rate of forty miles an
hour. Tommy’s hair stood on end, and so did my own, for that matter;
but I was desperate. I blew a long whistle as we approached Grass
Springs. When I shut off the steam I looked at my watch. We had made
the eight miles in twelve minutes, and the train was on time when we
went into the Springs. I was satisfied then.
The moment the engine stopped, Tommy jumped off. He did not say
anything, but I was convinced that he did not like riding on the
locomotive, going at lightning-express rates. I was glad to get rid
of him. I need not say that the events of the morning made me very
uncomfortable. I had seen but little of Tommy since the events on the
Horse Shoe; but I was conscious that he was nursing his wrath against
me. Long before this time he would have driven me out of Middleport if
he had not been so unpopular himself among the boys. My friend Dick
Skotchley--for as such I was proud to regard him--had fought my battle
for me among the students. Tommy was so conceited and overbearing that
all the fellows hated him; and they were ripe for a mutiny against him
in his capacity as president of the road, as well as in that of major
of the battalion. More than this, Tommy’s father was still my friend,
though he feared his son. Without egotism I may say that I was popular
in Middleport. If I had not been, I should have been kicked out, like a
dog, by my imperious little master.
“How are you, Wolf?” shouted Tom Walton, as I was about to start the
train.
“Jump on, Tom,” I replied, as the conductor gave the word to go ahead.
My friend leaped into the cab, and I let on the steam. He told me
he was spending a few days with his aunt at the Springs, and that
he was looking for something to do. He was an active, industrious,
quick-witted fellow, who never needed to be told twice how to do the
same thing. Though he knew nothing about an engine, he had the ability
to learn, and it immediately occurred to me that he would make a
first-rate fireman, for it was evident that Lewis Holgate and myself
could not much longer stand together on the same foot-board.
“This is bully--isn’t it, Wolf?” said Tom, as the engine attained her
highest speed, though, as there were now occasional curves, I was
obliged to ease her a little at times.
“Do you like it?” I inquired.
“First rate. It is almost as good as the Grace--not quite,” replied he,
with proper enthusiasm. “Is this the Lightning Express folks talk so
much about?”
“This is the Lightning Express. We have come through in a hurry this
time. Five minutes’ delay would ruin the Lake Shore Railroad, and cause
more crowing over at Centreport than ten thousand roosters could do in
a year. But we are on time.”
“I’m glad you are,” laughed Tom. “I expect the train will always be on
time while you run it.”
“If nothing happens, I shall put my passengers down in Ucayga at the
time promised.”
“I hope nothing will happen, then.”
But at that very instant, before he had finished the remark, I saw, as
we shot round a curve, a little child at play between the two rails.
A woman was running towards it in frantic haste. My blood froze with
horror. At first I felt like fainting; but I closed the valve and
whistled to put on the brakes.
“Jam down that brake, Lewis!” I gasped to the fireman, indicating the
one on the tender.
Tom Walton did not say anything, but passing through the window in
the cab, he made his way to the cow-catcher. I grasped the reversing
levers, and I think all the passengers must have been thrown off their
seats when I checked the train. But it was still doubtful whether I
could stop in season to save the child, and my heart was in my mouth.
CHAPTER XXI.
MAKING UP TIME.
It seemed to me, if the locomotive ran over that child, that I could
not have the audacity to live another day, though it would not be my
fault. It was so awful, so horrible, that I prayed to be saved from
the catastrophe. I did not feel as though I could ever hold up my head
again if that innocent little child was sacrificed. It would be better
that the Lake Shore Railroad should be sunk at the bottom of the lake
than that a single precious life should be lost.
My blood ran cold through my veins as I gazed at the little child, who
seemed to be paralyzed with astonishment as the iron monster swept
towards her. It was a little girl, not more than four or five years
old. The woman who ran shrieking towards the track was doubtless her
mother. What a moment of agony it was to her! My heart bled for her,
and the triumph of the Lightning Express sank into insignificance as I
contemplated the thrilling scene.
As the engine came nearer to the little girl, my hopes rose higher,
for our speed was effectually checked by the efforts we had made. Tom
Walton was on the cow-catcher, and I knew that he would do the right
thing at the right time. The child showed no disposition to move;
indeed, I think she had no power to do so, even if she comprehended the
nature of her peril. As we came near enough, I saw her eyes set in a
kind of fixed stare, which indicated astonishment rather than fear.
“Jam down the brakes, Lewis!” I called to the fireman, as I labored to
check the speed of the engine; and I must do him the justice to say
that he was not at all backward in obeying my order, though I doubt
whether he would have been equally zealous if it had been I, instead of
the child, who was on the track.
The speed of the train was checked, but it was not stopped; and
so far as the life of the child was concerned, we might as well
have been going at the rate of forty as five miles an hour, for the
slightest blow of the cow-catcher would have killed her. All this
transpired within a few seconds. Hardly an instant elapsed after the
steam was shut off, and the brakes put on, before I was trying to
back the engine. The sparks flew under the drivewheels, but still the
iron mass swept on towards the child, whose instants appeared to be
numbered. It seemed to me that I stopped breathing as the little child
disappeared behind the forward part of the locomotive. I expected to
hear a shriek--to be conscious that the child was a gory, mangled, and
shapeless mass beneath.
Almost at the same moment, Tom Walton straightened up, holding the
child in one arm. The engine had almost stopped, and was still groaning
and struggling under my ineffectual labors to bring it to a complete
stand. My heart leaped the instant I saw the child in the arms of my
friend. My blood, rolled back by the fearful suspense, seemed to be
bursting through my veins, and I was disposed to shout for joy.
[Illustration: THE RESCUE.--Page 246.]
“She is safe!” cried Tom, at the top of his voice, as he leaped from
the engine upon the ground, and placed the little girl in the arms of
her mother.
I saw the horror-stricken parent press the little one to her bosom.
I heard the sob of convulsive agony which attended the tremendous
reaction. It was like passing from death to life for her, and I felt
that I could almost understand even a mother’s emotion.
“Thank God! Thank God!” I cried; and they were not idle words that I
uttered, for it seemed to me that the Good Father had interposed to
save me from what I should have remembered with horror all the rest of
my life.
I could not but regard it as an interposition of Providence in my
favor, rather than the child’s; but in the mother’s favor rather than
that of either of us, for she would have been the greatest sufferer.
I am sure this incident had a powerful influence upon me, not for the
moment, or the day only, but for all the rest of my life. It has kept
my eyes open when I was disposed to close them; it has decided the
question of running a risk when nothing else seemed to restrain me; it
taught me to regard human life as too sacred to be trifled with.
I saw the fond mother clasp her child, and with the reaction came
the thought that I was running the Lightning Express train; that the
reputation of Middleport depended upon the time I should make.
“Jump on, Tom!” I called to my friend, as he paused for a moment to
gaze at the mother and her rescued child.
“That was a narrow squeak!” said he; and the whole face of the generous
fellow expanded into one smile of satisfaction.
“It was, indeed, Tom,” I replied, as I let on the steam, and whistled
to take off the brakes. “It was a merciful providence that you were on
the engine with me. If you had not been, the child would have been dead
at this instant.”
“I am glad I was here, then. I think that woman will keep her child in
the house after this,” replied he.
I crowded on the steam again, and once more the train flew like the
wind along the lake shore. All the time I was thinking of that little
child; of the anguish that would have filled that cottage by the lake,
at this moment, if Tom Walton had not happened to be on the engine with
me. I could have done no more than I did do, and though the train was
on the very point of stopping, there was still momentum enough left in
it to have crushed the little one to death. I was grateful to God as I
had never been before for sparing me such a calamity.
In the exhilaration of the moment I urged forward the locomotive till
I saw the steamer which was waiting to convey the passengers across
the river. I looked at my gold watch, thought of Grace Toppleton, as
I always did when I glanced at its face, and almost forgot why I had
taken it from my pocket in thinking of the expression of her beautiful
face when I should relate to her the thrilling incident which had just
occurred. I was on time; I was ahead of time, for I had driven the
engine at a furious speed. But I had worked carefully; I had favored
it on the curves, and I felt as safe myself as if I had been in my
father’s house.
The brakes were put on, and the train stopped at the rude pier
which had been built for the steamer. Major Toppleton had carefully
instructed Captain Underwood, and the boat was ready to start on the
instant. Hardly had the cars stopped before the deck hands began to
load the baggage on the trucks. Everybody worked as if the salvation
of the nation depended upon his individual exertions, and I am afraid
that some of the passengers had occasion to weep as they saw the
rude manner in which their baggage was tossed about. I do not think
it would have taken a moment longer for the men to handle the trunks
respectfully--for this seems to me to be the proper word, since the
feelings of the traveller are so largely centred in his luggage.
Major Toppleton stood on the platform, and drove up the men. He did not
seem to care whose trunk was smashed if he only succeeded in carrying
out his own plans. He had allowed just one hour for the transportation
of the passengers from Middleport to the station in Ucayga, and I
think he would cheerfully have given ten thousand dollars rather than
fail in the enterprise.
Tommy stood on the platform near his father; but there was no
expression of satisfaction on his face. He had labored to defeat the
enterprise in order to overwhelm me. It was disaster to him, and I
am inclined to think he was still holding in lively remembrance the
disobedience of which I had been guilty three months before.
The trucks, piled high with trunks and valises, were wheeled on the
forward deck of the Middleport, from which they could be rolled to the
baggage car on the other side when the train arrived. The boat started.
The long experience of Captain Underwood enabled him to clear or make
a landing in the shortest possible time. But fifteen minutes had been
allowed for getting the passengers over, and I had the satisfaction
of seeing the trucks on the platform upon the other side of the river
full five minutes before the train was due. My anxiety had come to an
end. I looked upon the Lightning Express as a glorious triumph, and,
in contrast with it, I could not help thinking how cheap and mean we
should have felt if the train had rushed off before the passengers
arrived. The failure would have been charged upon me, and I am afraid I
could not have saved myself by exposing the conspiracy which had been
instigated by Tommy.
The trains from the east and from the west, which passed each other
at Ucayga, were both on time, as they generally were. I saw the truck
unloaded, then loaded again with the baggage of the passengers who were
going up the lake, and in a few moments the Middleport was crossing the
river. The train was to leave at quarter past ten, but the promptness
of the steamer’s people allowed me five minutes of grace. Lewis had
left the engine, when he knew that it was his duty to “oil up,” and I
was performing this work myself, when Major Toppleton came up, his face
beaming with smiles. My fireman was talking with Tommy on the platform.
“Well, Wolf, this works to a charm,” said the magnate, rubbing his
hands with satisfaction.
“Yes, sir; we came through on time, after all,” I replied, as I poured
the oil on one of the piston rods.
“I heard there was a child on the track this side of the Springs.”
“Yes, sir; Tom Walton, who was on the engine with me, went out on the
cow-catcher and saved it. I think we should have lost the trip if Tom
had not been with me,” I continued, fully explaining the exciting
incident.
“Tom is a good fellow, and he always has his head near the ends of his
fingers,” answered the major.
I wanted to tell him that Tommy and my fireman had done what they
could to defeat the great enterprise; but I concluded that it would
be useless to do so, for the son was the master. I had made a good
impression in Tom Walton’s favor, and I reserved my next step till a
more convenient season.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE NEW FIREMAN.
“All aboard!” shouted our bustling conductor, who was a very
gentlemanly young man, and had had considerable experience in this
capacity.
He wore a gold badge on the lapel of his coat, wrought in the shape of
a train of cars, on which was inscribed the word “Conductor,” in such
curious old English text that no one who did not know what it was could
read it. He alleged that the jewel had been presented to him by a host
of admiring passengers; but those who knew him best declared that he
had spent a whole month’s salary in its purchase. It was a very pretty
thing, and, wherever he got it, he was certainly polite enough to have
merited it.
The gentleman with the gold jewel bowed, and gracefully made the
signal to me; and, after glancing at the reversing handle, I grasped
the throttle valve, ready to start. At this moment Lewis sprang upon
the foot-board. I had attended to the fire myself, and was thoroughly
disgusted with the conduct of my fireman.
“Stop!” shouted Tommy, imperiously.
It was the president of the road who spoke, and I was obliged to obey.
“It is against the rules of the road for any one to ride on the
engine,” continued the little magnate.
“I never heard of any such rule before, Mr. President, or I should not
have disregarded it,” I replied, as gently as I could, though I know my
face flushed with indignation.
“I make the rule now, then,” added Tommy.
“Tom is only going to Grass Springs with me,” I ventured to suggest.
“He shall not ride on the engine. Conductor, you will collect his
fare,” replied Tommy, glancing at the gentlemanly person with the gold
jewel.
“Wolf, I haven’t a red cent in my trousers pocket; but I suppose I can
walk to the Springs,” said my friend, who knew how vain it would be to
appeal against the orders of the magnificent little president.
I slipped half a dollar into his hand, and he jumped down.
“Have you the money to pay your fare?” demanded the gentlemanly
conductor, for he was ready enough to “spoony” to the president.
“I have,” answered Tom, with dignity, as he stepped into the forward
car.
It was a gratuitous insult to me, and Lewis Holgate chuckled with
delight. I bit my lips with vexation; but I said nothing--it was of no
use to say anything. Even Major Toppleton himself would not have dared
to dispute the fiat of his son.
“All right!” cried the conductor; and I started the train, a minute
behind time.
I was vexed and unhappy. I felt like a free man reduced to slavery. I
had lost Tommy’s favor, and I was nobody, though everybody else praised
me. I felt that I had done my duty to the road, and to Middleport in
general. I had worked hard at electioneering to keep Tommy in his
position as president. I had supported him to the best of my ability;
but he insulted me without remorse. I could not help thinking that it
was stupid and servile in me to stand it; and I did not think I could
endure another snubbing without resenting it. I felt weak and ashamed
of myself, especially as Colonel Wimpleton was still anxious to have me
go in the new steamer.
I ran into Grass Springs on time, and Tom left the train, though not
without saying a parting word to me. I wanted him to “fire” with me,
and I had a plan in my mind to bring it about; but while the president
of the road was bottling up his spite against me, I could hardly hope
to gain my point.
The steamer for Hitaca was advertised to leave Middleport at eleven
o’clock, and at the appointed hour I had the passengers on the wharf.
Within a few moments of the time, the boat was off, and those who were
bound to Centreport made the passage in an hour and a quarter from
Ucayga, which was three quarters of an hour less than they had ever
accomplished it before. Major Toppleton was more delighted than ever,
and, though it was against the rules of the road for any one to ride on
the engine, he jumped upon the foot-board as lively as though he had
been a boy. I ran up to the engine-house.
“It works splendidly, Wolf!” said the great man, rubbing his hands.
“It has come out right this time; but I think it is making rather close
calculations,” I replied, as we walked out of the building.
“What do you mean, Wolf?” he asked, anxiously, as though he feared
there was still room for the great enterprise to fail, as indeed there
was if Lewis Holgate continued on the engine with me.
“We have hardly five minutes to spare now, and the slightest accident
might cause us to miss our connections.”
“But with me the battle is to make the time to Ucayga inside of an
hour. If it is more than an hour, it will sound bad, and we might just
as well be an hour and a half as an hour and a quarter. I thought it
was done handsomely this trip.”
“Perhaps it was, sir; but I was five minutes behind time when we
reached Spangleport, and if I had not run at the rate of a mile in a
minute and a half we should have missed the trains. Then the child on
the track threw me back two minutes more, and compelled me to run the
engine at its highest speed. The iron on the track is not heavy enough
for such high rates.”
“But why were you five minutes late at Spangleport?” asked the major.
Should I tell him why? It might endanger my place to bring a charge
against Tommy; but I felt myself independent enough to do so.
“My fireman did not do his duty. I have been obliged to run the engine
and fire too,” I replied, explaining all that Lewis had done.
“What, Holgate! Discharge him then, at once,” said the great man,
impatiently.
“I am afraid that will not be so easy a matter,” I added, with a smile.
“I think it will.”
“Lewis does not act altogether on his own account, though he wants my
place.”
“Turn him off. Don’t let him run another trip.”
“I am sorry to say, sir, that Tommy is at the bottom of the mischief.”
“Tommy?”
“Yes, sir.”
I told him that Tommy had been working against me since the affair
at the Horse Shoe; that he was trying to undermine me. The major was
incredulous. Tommy was obstinate, he knew, but the president would
not do anything to injure the Lake Shore Railroad. He was willing to
believe that Lewis Holgate wished to get me out of my place, but not
that his son was a party to the conspiracy.
“Lewis left the engine while we were waiting for the boat at Ucayga,
and I should not have had steam enough to start the train if I had not
shovelled in the coal myself. He did not even oil up, as he should have
done, and as I told him to do,” I continued.
“Discharge him, then.”
“But all this time he was talking with Tommy; and you may be sure that
your son will not permit him to be discharged.”
Major Toppleton bit his lips. He was beginning to comprehend the
situation. He was actually afraid to carry his purpose into execution
now, and, as I expected he would when the pinch came, he changed the
subject of conversation, and said no more about getting rid of Lewis
Holgate.
“I think, if we could save the two stops at Spangleport and Grass
Springs, I could make the time without difficulty, even if we lost a
few moments on the way,” I suggested, as the entering wedge of the plan
I had formed.
“But we can’t neglect those two places. The people would tear up the
rails if we failed to accommodate them.”
“We will not neglect them. I suggest that you run the dummy half an
hour before the Lightning Express for way passengers.”
I explained fully my plan, and he was willing to adopt it, especially
when I added that Lewis Holgate could handle the dummy very well
indeed. He understood me then, and I thought I could see a smile of
relief on his face.
“But you must have a fireman,” he added.
“Yes, sir; and I would like to have Tom Walton. He is a faithful
fellow, and learns quick.”
“Engage him then at once. Who is the superintendent now?”
“Wetherstane, sir.”
He knew very well who the superintendent was, and knew also that he
was one of the president’s most bitter opponents. Wetherstane would
discharge any one whom Tommy did like, or hire any one whom he did not
like, without any scruples, and enjoy the operation. When the session
of the Institute closed, the superintendent was waited upon by the
major. I do not know what passed between them; but the next day posters
in all the places on the line announced the new arrangement. Tom Walton
was engaged.
In the afternoon I ran the Lightning Express through the second time.
Tommy was not on the engine this time, and by closely watching my
fireman, I compelled him to do his duty; but without this care on my
part, we should have failed in our connections. The next day, the last
that Lewis was to run with me, for the new arrangement was to take
effect on Wednesday morning, I found that the tender tanks were empty
just as the engine was to move down to the station for the train.
They had been filled an hour before, and I was satisfied this was
another trick to bring me into disgrace. If I had not discovered the
fact in season to correct the mischief, the trip would have been lost,
to say nothing of a worse calamity, if anything could be worse in the
estimation of the major.
The pit under the track where the engine stood was half filled with
water, and it was evident enough to me that my rascally fireman had
uncoupled the connecting hose while I was at dinner, and emptied the
tanks in this manner. I was provoked, and disposed to pitch into the
rascal. But this was his last chance, I thought, and I concluded to
hold my peace. The scoundrel had probably drawn off more of the water
than he intended, or I might not have discovered the condition of the
tender in season to fill it. But the train started on time, and I was
fortunate enough to make the connection at Ucayga.
I had Tom Walton’s appointment in my pocket, and when we stopped
at the Springs I gave it to him, telling him to be at Middleport
the next morning. This sharp movement had been prudently kept from
the president, and I hoped, as he would be in school when the train
started, that he would not ascertain what had been done until my friend
had made one or two trips.
The next morning, at half past eight, Lewis Holgate started the dummy
for Ucayga. He was very curious to know what I was going to do for
a fireman; but I kept Tom in the shade till he was on the way to
the foot of the lake. There was to be an awful row soon; but I was
willing to postpone it as long as possible. My friend was faithful and
intelligent, and before the train reached Ucayga, he comprehended his
duties. I made my time without hurrying on this occasion.
In the afternoon, just as the Lightning Express was to start on her
second trip, Tommy rushed up to the engine, looking as furious as a
lunatic. At Ucayga, where the dummy waited till the express train had
started, Lewis Holgate discovered who his successor was. That Tom was
a friend of mine was enough to bring down upon him the wrath of the
president. With such an assistant, I was not likely to permit the
Lightning Express to be a failure.
“What are you doing on that engine?” demanded Tommy.
“I fire on this engine now,” replied Tom Walton, good-naturedly.
“No, you don’t! not while I am president of the Lake Shore Railroad.
Get off, and clear out!”
“If he leaves, I do,” I interposed, quietly; but my blood was up.
Tommy looked at me, and ground his teeth with rage.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PRESIDENT AND THE ENGINEER.
In five minutes it would be time for the Lightning Express train to
start, and that was a very short time in which to fight the impending
battle. Tommy was as unreasonable as a mule, and it was useless to
attempt to conciliate him. Besides, I was tired of being buffeted
by him. I was ashamed of my own servility, and much as I liked my
occupation, I had deliberately come to the conclusion that it would
be better for me to “hire out” for my board and clothes, than be
a football for Tommy’s capricious toes. I had always treated him
respectfully and kindly; but he had insulted me a dozen times within a
month.
“Are you the president of the Lake Shore Railroad?” demanded Tommy,
violently.
“I haven’t that honor,” I replied.
“Then it is not for you to say who shall and who shall not run on the
engine.”
“That is very true; but it _is_ for me to say whether I will run on it
myself or not. Tom Walton was regularly appointed by the superintendent
to fire on this engine. He does his duty to my satisfaction.”
“Who appointed him? I never heard of his appointment till half an hour
ago.”
Tom coolly took the letter of the superintendent from his pocket, and
exhibited it to the president.
“If that isn’t all right, it isn’t my fault,” added the new fireman.
“That isn’t worth the paper it is written on,” said Tommy, his face red
with wrath.
“What’s the reason it isn’t?” inquired Wetherstane. “I wrote it and
signed it, and I am superintendent of the road.”
“Did you write that?” gasped Tommy.
“I did; and I’m superintendent of the Lake Shore Railroad,” answered
Wetherstane, whose back was up.
“Without consulting me?”
“I didn’t know that the superintendent had to go to the president every
time a new fireman was wanted. If Tom Walton isn’t fireman, then I’m
not superintendent.”
“I won’t have Tom Walton on the road,” fumed Tommy, as he glanced at
the fireman, who looked as good-natured as the quarter of an apple pie.
“I’m president of this road.”
“And I’m superintendent,” retorted Wetherstane.
“Then I order you to discharge Tom Walton at once. If you appointed
him, you did. Now discharge him.”
Wetherstane saw that he could not very well refuse to obey this order,
since his right to appoint the obnoxious fireman was not now disputed.
“I’ll discharge him to-night, if you insist upon it,” said he, doggedly.
“I insist upon it now. Tom Walton, you are discharged,” added the
president.
“I don’t want to make a row, and I guess I’ll be off,” whispered the
new fireman to me.
“You can’t help yourself,” I replied; and he jumped down from the
foot-board.
“All aboard!” shouted the gentlemanly conductor.
I let off steam, and stepped down from the locomotive. The conductor
made the signal to start; but I did not heed it; I had lost my interest
in the Lightning Express.
“All right! Go ahead!” said the conductor, impatiently, when his signal
was disregarded.
“Jump on your engine, and go ahead,” added Tommy.
“I can’t run the engine without a fireman; and I would not if I could,”
I replied; and I felt that I was vindicating myself.
“Do you mean to say you won’t run this train?” demanded Tommy.
“That is precisely what I mean. I won’t run it without Tom Walton. You
discharged him on purpose to insult me.”
“Where’s Faxon?” asked Tommy, who seemed to be conscious, at last, that
the train must go.
Faxon was in the station, and appeared to answer to his name.
“Faxon, you will run this train through,” continued Tommy.
“I don’t know how. I can run the dummy, but I don’t know anything about
running a locomotive,” replied Faxon, who was among the number of
those who were utterly disgusted with the tyranny of the president.
“We are five minutes behind time now,” fretted the conductor, who had
come forward to learn the cause of the delay.
“Here comes Major Toppleton,” said half a dozen of the interested
spectators.
The magnate bustled into the centre of the group, and Tommy told him I
refused to run the train, and had taken that moment to spite him.
“My fireman has been discharged,” I replied.
“Tom Walton!” exclaimed the major.
“Yes, sir; turned out!” laughed Tom.
“This won’t do, Tommy,” said the great man, pulling out his watch.
“Tom Walton can’t run on this train,” replied the little president,
decidedly.
“Let him go this trip, till we can arrange matters,” pleaded the father.
“No, sir; he shall not put foot on the engine again.”
“But we are losing the trip,” protested the major.
“I can’t help that.”
“Won’t you run this trip through to oblige me?” said the magnate,
taking me aside.
“I can’t run it without a fireman,” I replied. “I will do anything to
oblige you, sir; but Tommy means to ruin me if he can.”
“Start the train, and I will see that Tom Walton is with you as soon as
you will need him,” added the great man, in a whisper.
“I will, sir.”
I jumped upon the engine, and started her, just ten minutes behind the
time. I saw Major Toppleton take Tom Walton into the forward car with
him, as I opened the throttle valve. The president also jumped upon the
rear car, after the train started, as though he suspected the purpose
of his disobedient father, and intended to defeat him. As the train
went out of the station, Tom crawled over the tender, and took his
place on the foot-board.
“Tommy is rather rough on me,” said he, with his usual good-natured
smile.
“He is rough on almost everybody, and the roughest of all upon his own
father,” I replied, as I let on more steam. “Fill up the furnace, Tom.
We are behind time, and must make up ten minutes. We will make time as
long as we are on the engine.”
In a few moments the train was flying down the gentle slope, and, by
the time we came to the up grade beyond, Tom had steam enough to do
anything of which the engine was capable. I knew that Tommy was in one
of the cars, and I wondered that he did not stop the train, as by this
time he must be aware that his father had disobeyed and evaded his
peremptory mandate. I could hardly keep from laughing when I thought of
the magnate of Middleport, so haughty and unyielding to others, bowing
so low to his own son. It was simply ridiculous, and very ludicrous.
But I had little doubt of the ultimate fate of Tom Walton and myself.
The world was upside down on our side of the lake, and the great man
had virtually become the little man.
I was not quite sure that Major Toppleton could help himself, after
he had so often yielded to Tommy, and thus encouraged him to insist
upon having his own way. After abandoning his fortress even once
before, I did not see how he could hold it afterwards. But all this
was a question between Tommy and his father, and they must fight it
out themselves. My self-respect would not any longer allow me to be
the victim of his petty tyranny. Yet I have no hesitation in saying
that Tommy, if his wilfulness could have been subdued, would have been
one of the best fellows in the world; and the sequel of my story will
justify my belief.
I had no difficulty in making up the ten minutes we had lost by the
president’s unseasonable demonstration, and at a quarter to ten I
stopped the train at the ferry landing. I confess that my heart beat a
lively tattoo against my ribs, as I saw the passengers hastening into
the boat, for I dreaded a scene with Tommy and his father. I would have
avoided it if I could, for I had no taste for disturbances. But neither
Tommy nor his father appeared at once.
“Wolf, I don’t want you to get into trouble for my sake,” said Tom
Walton. “I am willing to take myself off, and let you live in peace
with Tommy.”
“Tommy don’t want peace with me. Ever since our affair at the Horse
Shoe, he has been down upon me,” I replied. “I don’t know how the
major prevailed upon him to let me stay as long as I have. But he has
insulted me and domineered over me in every possible manner, and I have
stood just as much of it as I can. If you were not a friend of mine,
Tommy would not object to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to stand in your way, Wolf,” added Tom.
“You don’t stand in my way. If you are discharged, it will be for my
sake. I think we had better hang together. If I can’t hold this place
for you, I may be able to get you another quite as good.”
“Thank you, Wolf; you have always been a good friend, and I will do
just what you say. If you think it would be best for me to go, I want
you to say so.”
“I don’t think so. My mind is made up. If you can’t stay, I can’t;
and I shall stick to my text to the end of time,” I replied, with
sufficient emphasis to be understood.
The gentlemanly conductor, with the gold jewel, walked up to the engine
at this moment, and interrupted our conversation.
“There’s going to be the jolliest row you ever heard of,” said he,
chuckling as though he enjoyed the prospect.
“Where is the president?” I asked.
“He and his governor are talking over the matter in the car. The little
gentleman made an awful tempest on the train, and all the passengers
laughed, and enjoyed the fun. The president is going to have his own
way, or drown himself in the lake,” laughed the conductor.
I learned that this remark was “founded on facts,” and it was evident
that Tommy had not forgotten his old tricks. I stood on the engine,
expecting the crash every moment; but I was ready for it.
The dummy, in charge of Lewis Holgate, stood on the track ahead of the
locomotive, prepared to follow our train. Tommy and his father seemed
to be having a hard time of it, for neither of them had appeared when
the boat from the other side returned, and I concluded that the scene
was to be deferred till a more convenient season. As the passengers
were getting into the cars, I saw the major go on board of the steamer,
which immediately started for the other side. A moment later Tommy
approached the engine, attended by Lewis Holgate.
“Our time has come, Tom,” I whispered to my companion.
“Now, Tom Walton, you will get off that engine, or the baggage masters
shall pitch you off,” began the president.
“I got off before when you told me,” replied Tom, laughing. “I always
obey orders.”
“Of course you include me in the order,” I added.
“I don’t include you, Wolf Penniman; but you will find that you are not
the president of the Lake Shore Railroad, and can’t dictate to me. If
you are mean enough to leave, after all we have done for you, you can
do so.”
I was mean enough to leave after all they had done for me, and stepped
down upon the platform.
“Just as you like; but don’t let me see you round this road again,”
continued Tommy, his face red with anger.
I walked away with Tom Walton.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PRESIDENT HAS A FALL.
I do not think, after all Tommy’s blustering, that he believed I
would really leave the service of the Lake Shore Railroad. It was
plain enough that Major Toppleton had been crowded down in the debate
with his son, and had yielded the point. I supposed he had gone over
to Ucayga, to avoid the unpleasant scene that was likely to ensue.
In this, however, I was mistaken, for I afterwards learned that he
had gone to procure the services of an engineer, for he had not much
confidence in the ability of Lewis Holgate to run the locomotive.
I bought two tickets for Middleport at the office, and with Tom took
a seat in one of the cars. Tommy was busy instructing Lewis in regard
to his duties on the engine, of which he knew as little as any person
connected with the road, and he did not follow my movements.
“Well, we are men of leisure now, Tom,” I remarked, as we seated
ourselves.
“I have had rather too much of that sort of thing lately, and I would
rather not be a man of leisure,” answered Tom, dryly.
“You will soon find something to do,” I replied.
“Is Lewis Holgate going to run this train?”
“I suppose so. Tommy and he are on the best of terms; and I know that
Lewis has been trying to use me up for some time, in order to get my
place. I hope he is satisfied now.”
“Does he understand the business?” asked Tom, curiously.
“He did very well on the dummy; but he is too careless to be relied on.
I don’t think he understands a locomotive. He hasn’t his thoughts about
him always. But I hope he will do well.”
The train started, and dragged at a snail’s pace for a mile. I
realized from the motion that the engineer did not feel at home on the
foot-board, for it was attended by frequent jerks, and by as frequent
slacking of the speed. When the conductor picked up the tickets, he
told me Lewis had with him on the foot-board a man from the steamer,
so that he could not have been embarrassed by having too much to do.
At Grass Springs we were ten minutes behind time; but Lewis did better
on the next stretch, which was level and straight; but even here he
was losing time, and it was fortunate that the boat would wait at
Middleport until the arrival of the train.
After we passed the Springs I saw Tommy stalking through the car, and
coming towards me. I pitied him much more than I should if he had
been defeated in his purpose, for success to him was ruin. In spite
of all he had done to vex and annoy me, I tried to harbor no ill will
against him. He knew that the train was behind time, and that it was
still losing. I had no doubt that the fact vexed him. It seemed to me
that an opportunity presented itself by which I could show him that I
had no ill feelings towards him. I wished still to carry out the good
principles which my mother had taught me; and, as the little president
approached my seat, I promptly decided that I would ride on the engine
the rest of the way, and give Lewis such instructions as he evidently
needed. I meant to do this, hoping it would make things a little
pleasanter between us.
“Tommy, I suppose you see that Lewis is losing time,” said I, as he
halted in the aisle, and stared at me as savagely as though I had been
a snake in his path.
“What are you doing here?” demanded he.
“I was going to say, if I could be of any service, I would ride on the
engine with Lewis, and show him how to run it.”
“I guess not,” said he, shaking his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m going home,” I replied, not comprehending what he was driving at.
“Didn’t I tell you never to let me see you about this road again?”
continued he, with imperial majesty, and, I may add, with lion-like
ferocity.
“I believe you did; but I am going home, and the railroad is now the
only conveyance up the lake.”
“How dare you disobey me?” stormed he.
“I was not aware that I had disobeyed you.”
“What are you on this train for, then?”
“But I paid my fare, and Tom Walton’s too,” I replied.
“I don’t care if you did! After what has happened, I won’t have you on
the road.”
“Even Centreporters are allowed to ride on the road by paying their
fare.”
“No matter if they are; you can’t.”
“After I get home, I won’t trouble you or the road,” I added, mildly.
“But you won’t get home on this road,” said he, seizing the connecting
line which ran through all the cars to the engine, and giving it a
violent twitch.
Lewis Holgate, unfortunately for me, understood this signal, and
whistled to put on the brakes. The conductor was counting his tickets
at the end of the car, and came forward to witness the scene. The train
came to a halt.
“Now, Wolf Penniman, out with you!” said Tommy, fixing a savage gaze
upon me.
“I don’t wish to make any trouble, Tommy; but I have paid my fare,
and I intend to ride to Middleport,” I replied, as calmly as I could,
though my blood was boiling with indignation at the gratuitous insults
heaped upon me.
“Good, my boy! Don’t budge an inch,” said a respectable-looking
gentleman in the seat behind me.
“Mind your own business!” snapped Tommy to the speaker.
“What, you young puppy!” said the gentleman, springing to his feet.
“Don’t you give me a word of impudence! If you do, I’ll thrash you
within an inch of your life!”
This was not exactly the kind of customer Tommy liked to deal with, for
there was fight in the stranger’s eye; but he was just the person whom
Tommy’s case required.
“Are you going to get out, Wolf Penniman, or are you going to be put
out?” added the president, turning from the stranger to me.
“I’m not going to get out, and it remains to be seen whether I’m going
to be put out.”
“He has paid his fare,” suggested the gentlemanly conductor, in a low
tone.
“Give him back his money, then.”
I refused to take it, and the belligerent gentleman urged me not to
budge an inch.
“Put him out, conductor,” said Tommy.
“If you put him out, you must put me out,” suggested Tom Walton, with
one of his broad, good-natured laughs.
“Put them both out!” stormed Tommy.
“I shall be prosecuted, if I do, for assault and battery.”
“That’s so,” growled the gentleman behind me.
“I’ll see you through,” interposed Tommy, violently.
“This thing has gone far enough,” said the stranger, rising in his
seat. “This road was chartered for the accommodation of the public.
These two young men have paid their fare, and have behaved themselves
properly in the car. I say, for one, they shall not be put out.”
“So say we all of us!” shouted several of the passengers, who were
annoyed by the delay; and most of them understood the merits of the
case.
“Now, conductor, start your train, and don’t keep us waiting here all
day,” added the gentleman.
“Go ahead!” shouted some of the passengers.
“You can’t go ahead till these fellows are put out,” replied Tommy, who
seemed to feel that he had the weather-gage in the dispute.
“Go ahead!” “Go ahead!” cried the passengers.
“Why don’t you put them out, as I tell you?” said Tommy to the
conductor.
“If you say so, I will, whatever happens,” replied the conductor.
“I do say so!”
The proprietor of the gold jewel put his hand upon my collar; but he
had hardly done so before my belligerent friend did him a similar
service, and jerked him away from me. Other passengers crowded forward.
“It’s an outrage! Bully for the young engineer,” shouted the noisiest
of the crowd.
The conductor was intimidated. He had no heart in the job he had
undertaken, and he gave up with no show of fight.
“Now go ahead!” said the belligerent stranger. “We won’t submit to any
outrage here.”
“This train won’t start till those persons are put out of the car,”
added Tommy.
“Won’t it?”
“No, it won’t. I’m the president of this road,” replied Tommy.
“Are you? Well, this train’s going ahead,” added the stranger.
To my astonishment, he seized the distinguished little functionary by
the collar, and dragged him towards the door. The conductor attempted
to interfere; but the passengers, among whom there were hardly a dozen
Middleporters, crowded upon him, and prevented him from doing anything.
“Out with him!” “Out with him!” called the indignant passengers, not a
few of whom were Centreporters.
[Illustration: THE PRESIDENT IS INSULTED.--Page 286.]
The stout stranger landed Tommy on the ground, and then, by a dexterous
movement, pitched him down the steep bank to the beach on the shore of
the lake. If the president of the road was never astonished before, he
was astonished then. He had discovered that his lordly will, though
it carried terror into his own family, could not accomplish much among
the general public.
“Now go ahead!” said the gentleman, as he stepped into the car.
“I can’t go without the president,” replied the conductor.
“Then go with him!” yelled a stout fellow, who, I think, had drank more
liquor than was good for him, as he seized the gentlemanly official,
and hustled him after the president.
Some one pulled the string; but the train did not start. I looked out
the window. I was sorry to see that Tommy appeared to be hurt, for he
sat on the ground, rubbing one of his legs. The conductor went to his
assistance. Lewis Holgate now appeared, and I told the stranger he was
the engineer.
“Will you go ahead now?” demanded my uncompromising friend.
“What’s the row here?” inquired Lewis.
He was informed; but, instead of going ahead, he went down to the
place where Tommy and the conductor were. Several of the passengers got
out, and went forward to the engine. Half a dozen of them beset me with
entreaties to run the train up to Middleport; but I positively refused.
Indeed, I was thinking of going to the assistance of the disabled
president, though I was sure my services would not be welcome, when the
train started. The passengers crowded in, and it was evident that some
one had taken possession of the engine.
“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish!” said Tom Walton.
“I’m sorry for it; but I can’t help it. I have as much right to ride on
this road as any one else,” I replied.
“We are going it now,” added Tom, as the train began to leap forward at
the rate of thirty miles an hour.
“Don’t you submit to any imposition, young man. I’ve heard all about
your case, and if you want any help, call on me,” said my belligerent
supporter.
I thanked him, and he gave me his card, which I deposited in my wallet.
The new engineer understood his business, and in less than half an hour
we entered the station at Middleport.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE PRESIDENT IN TROUBLE.
I had not waited to ascertain the condition of Tommy Toppleton. I
had seen the stout stranger pitch him down the bank. The gentlemanly
conductor had rushed down after him, to render whatever assistance he
might require. Lewis Holgate had left the engine to sympathize with his
powerful young friend. My occupation was gone; but I felt a certain
pride and satisfaction in having stood up for my rights. I had not
allowed Tommy to tread upon me this time, and I felt more like a man
than I had ever felt before.
I wish to add, to some of my unreasoning young friends, that I felt an
equal pride and satisfaction in the fact that I had so often submitted.
I had not made haste to get into a row, and it was just as pleasant
to think of what I had endured, as of the resistance I had made to
oppression. If Tommy had been even tolerably reasonable, there could
have been no trouble. It was a very agreeable reflection that I had
not been forward in making issue with my imperious young master. If he
had not been laboring to ruin me, I think I could even have borne his
insults.
I was very curious to know what construction Major Toppleton would put
upon my conduct. My gratitude to him made me anxious to retain his good
opinion, and I had submitted to much for his sake. He certainly could
not blame me for what I had done. I had merely refused to be put out
of the cars after I had paid my fare. I had simply rebelled against an
exhibition of petty malice, as contemptible as it was unreasonable.
But, after all, it was not safe to predict what the magnate of
Middleport would do when his son was involved in the affair, for the
father was quite as much a victim of the young gentleman’s tyranny as I
was.
The stout stranger was on his way to Hitaca, and he went on board
the steamer to continue his journey. Of course there was a great
deal of excited talk about the incident of the day, and of the dozen
Middleporters on board, those who had the courage to say anything
condemned Tommy and upheld me. I thought I was safe enough; and perhaps
I should have been, if exciting news had not come down from the scene
of the affair.
The engineer who had taken possession of the locomotive let off the
steam; and being on his way up the lake, he abandoned the machine. As
there was no one to take charge of it, Wetherstane, the superintendent,
asked me to run it into the engine-house, which I did. I had been duly
discharged, and it was not proper for me to do anything more. I walked
home with Tom Walton; and we discussed the matter as thoroughly as the
occasion required.
“How do you suppose it’s coming out, Wolf?” asked Tom, as
good-naturedly as ever, but still anxiously.
“I haven’t the least idea,” I replied. “I have yielded as long as I
could, and I am willing to take the consequence.”
I felt that I was not likely to be a martyr as long as Colonel
Wimpleton kept his offer of a place on the new steamer open to me, with
the promise of a man’s wages.
“If I were the major, I should rebel against Tommy a little, just to
see how it would seem,” laughed Tom Walton. “Don’t it look strange that
a great man like him--I mean the major--should be such a fool as to let
his son have his own way?”
“It is strange; but I have learned that Major Toppleton is more afraid
of Tommy than of all the rest of the world.”
“If my mother should let me have my own way like that, I couldn’t
respect her. I should think the major would turn over a new leaf, and
be a free man.”
“He is his own master--”
“Not much!” exclaimed Tom, interrupting me; “Tommy is master here.”
“Well, he has the right to obey his son, if he chooses to do so,” I
added. “I don’t know, but I can’t help thinking that this matter has
come to a head now. Major Toppleton wants me to run the engine, and
Tommy don’t want me to do it. I hope the thing will be settled to-day.”
It was settled that day.
I went home, and pretty soon my father came to his dinner. He had, of
course, been my confidant in all the matters relating to my quarrel
with Tommy. I told him all about the stirring events of the morning,
after we sat down to dinner; and he was so interested that he neglected
to touch the food before him till he had heard the whole of it.
“Have I done wrong, father?” I asked.
“Certainly not. You couldn’t have done anything else. You live here,
and the railroad is now the only way for you to come up the lake. You
paid your fare, and they had no more right to put you off the cars than
they had to throw you into the lake,” he replied, warmly.
I ought to add here, that my relations with the road had been discussed
every day, and often two or three times a day. My father, and my mother
especially, had cautioned me not to be impulsive, and not to resist
while it was decent to submit. Our obligations to Major Toppleton were
acknowledged, and all of us were very anxious to keep the peace with
him.
“I don’t see how Major Toppleton can uphold that boy any longer,” added
my mother.
“I don’t see how he ever could do it,” said my father. “But that is
his business, not mine. I don’t think we make much, however, by trying
to keep on the right side of these rich men by sacrificing our own
self-respect. I am thankful that the major does not hold the mortgage
on my house.”
“I suppose he could get it, if he wanted it,” suggested my mother.
“Well, it has two years to run, whoever has it; and as long as I pay
the interest, we shall be safe enough,” continued my father. “I am
thankful we are not in such a scrape as we were on the other side of
the lake.”
We ate our dinner in peace, in spite of the storm which had raged
without. My father was in deep thought, and it was not difficult to
conjecture the subject of his meditations. Doubtless he congratulated
himself most heartily that it was not in the power of either of the
magnates to harass and annoy him. The major could discharge us both,
and even make Middleport too warm to contain us; but the colonel was
ready to receive us both with open arms. It seemed just as though I was
a shuttlecock, to be batted back and forth from one side of the lake
to the other at the will and pleasure of the mighty men who ruled the
neighborhood.
But I had some hope that Major Toppleton would sustain me, or at least
that he would not persecute our family, even if he yielded to the
caprices of his son. Whatever mischief had been done, I had not done
it, though I had been the indirect cause of it. I had not stopped the
train; I had not put Tommy out of the car; I had not pitched him down
the bank. If these things had been done on my behalf, I had no agency
in them. The indignant passengers, who were detained by the whim of the
little president, had been the responsible actors, and I had no doubt
the stout stranger was ready to answer for his conduct. Whether he was
or not, this was not my affair. I had his card in my pocket; but so
far as I could ascertain, no one knew anything about him. I regarded
him as a person of some consequence.
We finished our dinner, and my father was on the point of returning to
the mill, when Tom Walton rushed into the kitchen, out of breath with
running. His appearance indicated that some unusual event had occurred,
for my friend was one of the cool sort, and not easily stirred by small
matters.
“The dummy has just come in,” exclaimed Tom, in the intervals between
his rapid breathing.
“Well, what of it?” I inquired, not deeming this very startling
intelligence.
“Tommy Toppleton’s leg is broken,” gasped Tom.
“Broken!” I exclaimed.
“Snapped off, like a pipe-stem, below the knee, they say.”
“I am sorry for that,” I added; and I almost wished it had been my leg,
instead of the little tyrant’s.
“His father is the maddest man that ever drew the breath of life.”
“I dare say,” said my father, shaking his head.
“How did it happen?” I inquired.
“Why, that stout man did it when he pitched him down the bank,”
answered Tom. “I’ll bet it will cost that man a penny or two. That’s
what they say up to the station.”
“I will go up and see about it,” I added, taking my hat.
“You!” ejaculated Tom, with a stare of astonishment.
“Why not?”
“If you know what you are about, you will keep out of the way,”
suggested Tom, with significant emphasis.
“I haven’t done anything that I am ashamed of,” I replied. “I am not
afraid to see the major, and tell him the whole story. I’m sorry for
Tommy’s misfortune, but it is all his own fault.”
“Face the music, Wolf,” said my father. “No one ever makes anything by
skulking in the dark. You have a tongue, and you can explain your own
conduct better than any one can do it for you.”
“But they are all down upon you like a hundred of brick, Wolf,”
continued Tom, who was fearful that I might be lynched in the
excitement which he said prevailed in the vicinity of the major’s house.
“I can’t help it. When I was insulted, I did not resist nor make any
row.”
“But you left your train at the time it ought to have started,” said
Tom.
“I should not have done so if the president had not taken that time to
insult me. It was not necessary for him to discharge my fireman at such
a time. But no matter for all this; I am going up to Major Toppleton’s
house. It he chooses to kick me out, he may do so.”
I could not help feeling that my chances of a fair hearing at such a
time were very small, but I could not have kept away from the centre of
the excitement if I had tried. I must know my fate, whatever it might
be.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE NEW STEAMER.
However much Tommy Toppleton deserved the fate which had befallen him,
I really pitied him. I am sure that not a single emotion of triumph
had a place in my heart. I neither said nor thought that it served him
right. I was sorry for him, and my regret was entirely unselfish. The
only personal consideration that disturbed me was the reflection that
I must in the future be entirely banished from the presence of Grace
Toppleton. I had not the impudence, boy of sixteen as I was, to believe
that I was in love with her. If such a thought had entered my head, the
wide difference between her social position and mine would have driven
it out.
I was deeply interested in her as a friend. She had been very kind and
considerate towards me. She had treated me with respect and regard,
and did not seem to think that I was not her equal in the social scale.
I never spoke to her, and never even thought of her, except with a
respect bordering upon reverence. I was content to stand off at a
proper distance and admire her pretty face, her graceful form, and her
gentle manners. I thought she was an angel; not merely because she was
beautiful in person, but because her pure heart and kind manners seemed
to elevate her far above the low and selfish lives of those around her.
By the time I reached the mansion of Major Toppleton, the excitement
had in a measure subsided. The bone of Tommy’s leg had been set, but
he was suffering severe pain. It appeared that the major had procured
the services of an engineer at Ucayga, who had run the dummy up from
that point, starting only half an hour behind the Lightning Express.
Arriving at the place where the imperious little president had stopped
our train, the magnate found the conductor and Lewis Holgate bearing
Tommy towards the nearest house. He was placed in the dummy and brought
home.
Of course Lewis and the conductor told their own story, and I was
represented as the wickedest fellow in that part of the country. All
the mischief had been done by me; and as Tommy lay writhing in agony,
my sins became as mountains in the eyes of his father. Tommy was a
saint then, and I was a demon.
I went to the side door of the mansion and rang the bell. The servant
who opened the door bestowed upon me a look of positive horror. I
inquired for Major Toppleton, and was shown into the library, where I
had so often before conferred with the great man. As I was entering the
room, Grace crossed the hall, and discovered me.
“O, Mr. Wolf! Why did you come here?” exclaimed she; “my father is
terribly incensed against you.”
“I have only done what I thought was right, Miss Grace,” I replied. “I
did not even know that Tommy was hurt, till a few moments ago.”
“Father says you were the cause of it.”
“I was not--at least, not intentionally.”
“I know you were not. Whatever happens, Mr. Wolf, we shall be friends.”
To my astonishment she extended her pretty, white hand, and I took it.
It was her good by to me.
“I know you would not do any wrong, Mr. Wolf,” she continued; “and I
wish Tommy was like you.”
She gently shook my hand, and left the room. Whatever her father
thought, she understood the situation without any explanation. She had
hardly left the room before her father came in. He looked ugly and
remorseless, as he had never before been to me.
“Have you the impudence to come here, after what has happened, Wolf?”
said he, with a heavy frown.
“I hope you will not consider it impudence, sir. I did not know that
Tommy was hurt till a little while ago,” I replied, as meekly as the
occasion required. “I am very sorry indeed that anything has happened.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Wolf!”
“I am not, sir; I am truly sorry that Tommy was hurt.”
“You are the cause of all this; and if you had broken his leg yourself,
you would not have been more to blame.”
“You have always been very kind to me, and you cannot understand the
matter, or you would not say that.”
“I understand it very well. I think, after all I have done for you,
I had a right to expect something better from you. You insisted upon
crossing and vexing Tommy.”
“He was very unreasonable, and I could not submit any longer. I paid my
fare in the cars, and there was no other way for me to get home.”
“That’s enough. You needn’t attempt to explain it. Perhaps Tommy was
wrong; I don’t say that he was not. But it was not for you to make
trouble.”
“I don’t think I made it, sir.”
“I think you did. No more words. You have abused my good nature. I
don’t want to see you again. You and your father are both discharged,
and the sooner you leave Middleport, the better you will suit me.”
I afterwards ascertained that Tommy had insisted, even in the midst
of his agony, that my father and I should be immediately discharged.
Grace told me this when I met her on the lake a few weeks later in the
season. She said it to defend her father, who, arbitrary as he was, had
some well-defined ideas of justice.
I took my cap and left the house, after an attempt to declare that I
felt no ill-will towards the major, who, however, would not permit
me to finish the sentence. The catastrophe had come. The hint that
the sooner our family left Middleport, the better it would suit the
magnate, seemed to indicate an intention on his part to drive us out
of the town. When I reached home, I found my father there. The mandate
dismissing him had already been sent to him. We talked the matter over
for a time; and while we both regretted Tommy’s misfortune, we agreed
that it would be better for both of us to work for half the wages we
had been receiving, rather than be the slaves of the little magnate.
For my own part, I felt that I had borne enough from Tommy. I was
willing to be tried on the facts of the case, for I think no one will
say that I ought to have submitted to being put out of the cars, after
I had paid my fare, just to gratify the petty malice of the little
tyrant. I had done my duty faithfully, even while the president of the
Lake Shore Railroad had been willing to sacrifice the interest of the
concern for the sake of ruining me.
In the afternoon, when it was time for the train to arrive from Ucayga,
I went to the station. The Lightning Express had not appeared, and it
did not come till half an hour behind time. In spite of his sufferings,
Tommy still felt an interest in the outside world, and insisted that
Lewis Holgate should have the locomotive. His father could not deny his
request, though he knew that Lewis was incompetent. The engineer, whom
the major had engaged, refused to serve as fireman under a boy, and the
steamboat hand was retained in this position. The trains east and west
had waited that day for the Lightning Express, or the passengers would
have been compelled to lie over.
The next day, Lewis did a little better; but in the course of the week
he was behind time twice; and once the conductors on the other lines
refused to wait. But Tommy obstinately declined to permit his friend
to be superseded by the experienced engineer who ran the dummy. Lewis
declared that it was not his fault that the train was behind time; but
I knew that he was lacking in judgment. He did not understand when to
ease off the machine and when to crowd on the steam. He had no talent
or fitness for his occupation.
I had made up my mind not to apply to Colonel Wimpleton for any
situation. If he wished to employ me, and to redeem some of his large
promises, he knew that I was out of a situation, and he could send for
me. I did not mean to begin by cringing to him. I suppose, after the
first impulses of gratitude subsided, some of the old feeling of malice
towards me came back to him. It is very likely that Waddie, who had
never forgiven me for deranging his plans, during the battle on the
Horse Shoe, by recapturing Tommy, had some influence with his father.
Whatever the reason was, I was not sent for. Father and I worked in
the garden, where there was enough for both of us to do. He had money
enough on hand, our joint earnings, to support the family for some
months. We were both of the opinion that it was not prudent to apply to
Colonel Wimpleton for situations. If he wanted us, he must come for us.
While we were thus waiting for “something to turn up,” the Ucayga, the
new Centreport steamer, arrived. She was certainly a magnificent boat,
surpassing all the ideas I had ever formed of a floating palace. I
went over to see her, and I could not but realize that she would be a
formidable rival of the Lightning Express, even if she did require half
an hour longer to make the trip. On her passage down the lake, she had
made sixteen miles an hour without pressing; but as half her freight
and passengers depended upon Ruoara, she was to be allowed an hour and
three quarters for the trip, against an hour and a quarter required to
make the passage by the Lake Shore Railroad.
Flaming posters about the streets of Centreport announced that the
Ucayga would leave at quarter past eight, and connect with the
trains east and west at the foot of the lake. It all looked very
pretty, but the battle was yet to be fought. The competition was for
through-passengers. When the boats from Hitaca reached Centreport twice
each day, the question with travellers was to be, whether they would
go to Ucayga by the new steamer or by the railroad. The boats from up
the lake usually arrived at quarter past eight and quarter past two,
allowing fifteen minutes at Centreport, and fifteen more to land their
passengers at Middleport. If the Ucayga could get off on time, she
was safe enough on her connections. It was a question of minutes and
seconds on which the success of the steamboat enterprise depended.
But of the hard-fought battle which ensued, I shall speak in another
story--“On Time.”
Everybody in Centreport and Middleport was excited over the impending
contest, for it was still a battle between the two sides of the lake.
Major Toppleton professed to be entirely confident of the result,
and mysteriously hinted at resources for winning the race which had
not yet been developed. The Ucayga made her first trip crowded with
passengers, while the Lightning Express train was comparatively
deserted. Still the major was confident, declaring that “a new broom
sweeps clean,” but the passengers would soon return to the railroad,
especially during the approaching winter, when the steamer was liable
to be troubled with ice in the lower part of the lake.
But a shadow soon came over the dream of Colonel Wimpleton, who boasted
grandiloquently over his success. The up-lake boats began to be
regularly ten minutes late; and one day, in spite of all the crowding
done on board of the Ucayga, she missed her connections. Then she did
it again, and again, and people would not trust her. Steamer stock went
down. As Major Toppleton’s hopes rose, Colonel Wimpleton’s fell. It was
plain enough now that the major required the Hitaca boats to be ten
minutes late. The colonel swore terribly when he realized the nature of
the trick.
As my connection with the Lightning Express had ceased, it would not
be proper for me to remain any longer under that flag; and I must take
leave of the Lake Shore Railroad for the present, to forage in a new
field.
About the time the Ucayga arrived at Centreport, Tommy Toppleton was
able to leave the house on crutches. The only word the major had spoken
to me since our interview in his mansion, was to tell me that I had
lamed his son for life. I did not believe this, and it was a great
satisfaction for me to hear the doctor say that Tommy’s leg would be as
good as ever in a few weeks. I hoped his sufferings would do him good,
and do something to modify his arbitrary character.
I need hardly say that the rival Academies were still rivals. Neither
was satisfied with the result of the battles on the Horse Shoe, and
each was thirsting for an opportunity to overwhelm the other. I could
not justify myself for giving the details of this miserable warfare, if
it were not for contrasting it with the glorious peace and fraternity
which grew out of it.
Tommy was, perhaps, as unpopular as ever; but his misfortune, if it
did not excite the sympathy of the Toppletonians, prevented them from
manifesting their feelings in a mutiny, as they intended, at my
discharge. I am happy to say that I stood first rate with the students
on the Middleport side, when Tommy and his father had done their worst;
but the mutiny came at last, when Tommy’s tyranny could be no longer
endured. I was satisfied. I shall always remember with pleasure most
of my experience on the Lake Shore Railroad, and especially on the
LIGHTNING EXPRESS.
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THE SOLDIER BOY; or, Tom Somers in the Army. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50.
“This is a story of the rebellion, narrating the adventures of a
patriotic youth, who left the comforts of home to share the dangers
of the field. He is carried through several battles, and for a while
shared the hospitalities of the rebels as a prisoner. The story is true
to history, giving in the form of personal adventure correct accounts
of many stirring scenes of the war.”--_Hartford Courant._
THE SAILOR BOY; or, Jack Somers in the Navy. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50.
“Jack is the brother of Tom, the Soldier Boy, whose adventures in the
army were so much enjoyed. We have only to repeat that there are few
better stories for boys than these of Mr. Adams’. Always bright and
even sparkling with animation, the story never drags; there are no
stupid tasks or tiresome descriptions; the boys whose characters are
drawn are real boys, impulsive, with superabundant animal life, and the
heroes are manly, generous, healthy creations.”--_Hartford Press._
THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT; or, The Adventures of an Army Officer. 16mo.
Illustrated. $1.50.
“The Young Lieutenant” is a sequel to “The Soldier Boy,” and carries
the reader through the stormy scenes of the rebellion, creates Thomas
Somers an officer, and as such he performs much difficult work in the
rebellion.
YANKEE MIDDY; or, Adventures of a Naval Officer. 16mo. Illustrated.
$1.50.
“The incidents of the story are those which have occurred on the
ocean, and on the bays, inlets, and rivers of the South, common in the
experience of all our naval officers who have been actively employed
during the war.”--_Notices of the Press._
FIGHTING JOE; or, The Fortunes of a Staff Officer. 16mo. Illustrated.
$1.50.
“The description of battles and sieges, of picket and skirmishing, of
camp life and marching, are wrought out with thrilling detail, making
the story truly fascinating; while, in connection with this, useful
and practical information respecting men and places is conveyed, and a
proper spirit of morality and patriotism inculcated.”--_Notices of the
Press._
BRAVE OLD SALT; or, Life on the Quarter-Deck. 16mo. Illustrated.
$1.50.
A book of adventure, of personal experience, describing a living
hero, and exhibiting the great truth that, by fidelity of conscience,
country, and God, earthly and heavenly blessings are secured.
Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, post-paid,
on receipt of price.
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.
LEE & SHEPARD’S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS.
OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS.
WOODVILLE STORIES.
_16mo. Handsomely Illustrated. In sets or separate._
RICH AND HUMBLE; or, the Mission of Bertha Grant. $1.25.
“No author is more welcomed by the young, and no books can be more
safely placed in their hands. His writings, as in this volume of ‘Rich
and Humble,’ inspire the reader with a lofty purpose. They show the
wrong courses of life only to present, by contrast, the true and right
path, and make it the way which youth will wish to walk in, because of
its being the most pleasant and inviting.”--_Mass. Teacher._
IN SCHOOL AND OUT; or, The Conquest of Richard Grant. $1.25.
“Oliver Optic is as well known and as highly appreciated among the
young people of our land as Charles Dickens is among the older folks.
‘In School and Out’ is equal to anything he has written. It is a
story that will deeply interest boys particularly, and make them
better.”--_Notices of the Press._
WATCH AND WAIT; or, The Young Fugitives. $1.25.
The author has used, to the best advantage, the many exciting incidents
that naturally attend the career of a fugitive slave, and the seeds
that he may sow in youthful hearts will perhaps bear a hundred-fold.
WORK AND WIN; or, Noddy Newman on a Cruise. $1.25.
“A nautical story of adventure and endurance, written to delineate
the upward progress of a boy whose moral attributes were of the
lowest order, in consequence of neglected education, but in whom high
religious principles were afterwards developed.”--_Notices of the
Press._
HOPE AND HAVE; or, Fanny Grant among the Indians. $1.25.
“This is a story of Western adventure and of peril among the Indians,
and contains the experience of Fanny Grant, who, from a very naughty
girl, became a very good one, by the influence of a pure and beautiful
example exhibited by an erring child, in the hour of her greatest
wandering from the path of virtue.”--_Philadelphia Age._
HASTE AND WASTE; or, The Young Pilot of Lake Champlain. $1.25.
“This is a story of boyish daring and integrity upon Lake Champlain,
and older heads than those of sixteen may read and profit by it.”
The stories in the “Woodville” series are hinged together only so far
as the same characters have been retained in each.
Sold by all booksellers, and sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of
price.
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.
LEE & SHEPARD’S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS.
OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS.
THE BOAT CLUB SERIES.
A library for Young People. Each volume illustrated. In sets or
separate.
THE BOAT CLUB; or, the Bunkers of Rippleton. $1.25.
“One noticeable feature of this author’s books is their purity. Not a
line is to be found in any work of his but what will tend to elevate
and purify the mind of the boy or girl who may peruse it.”
ALL ABOARD; or, Life on the Lake. $1.25.
“ALL ABOARD” was written to gratify the reasonable curiosity of the
readers of the “_Boat Club_,” to know what occurred at Woodlake
during the second season; and though it is a sequel, it has no direct
connection with its predecessor. The Introduction in the first chapter
contains a brief synopsis of the principal events of the first season;
so that those who have not read the “_Boat Club_” will labor under no
disadvantage on that account.
NOW OR NEVER; or, the Adventures of Bobby Bright. $1.25.
The author has been for many years a successful teacher in one of the
Boston Public Schools, and the knowledge of youthful character thus
obtained has been used to good advantage in his works.
TRY AGAIN; or, the Trials and Triumphs of Harry West. $1.25.
The story of Harry West is a record of youthful experience designed
to illustrate the necessity and the results of perseverance in well
doing. The true success of life is the attainment of a pure and exalted
character; and he who at three-score-and-ten has won nothing but wealth
and a name, has failed to achieve the noblest purpose of his being.
This is the moral of the story contained in this volume.
LITTLE BY LITTLE; or, the Cruise of the Flyway. $1.25.
Paul Duncan, the hero of this volume, is a nautical young gentleman,
and most of the events of the story occur upon the water, and possess
that exciting and captivating character for which this author’s books
are famous. But the author hopes that something more than exciting
incidents will be found upon his pages; that though he has seldom, if
ever, gone out of his way to define the moral quality, or measure the
moral quantity, of the words and deeds of his characters, the story
will not be found wanting in a true Christian spirit.
POOR AND PROUD; or, the Fortunes of Katy Redburn. $1.25.
The history of a smart girl, where fortunes are made to depend upon her
good principles, her politeness, her determined perseverance, and her
overcoming that foolish pride, which is a snare to the feet. In these
respects she is a worthy example for the young.
Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, post-paid,
on receipt of price.
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.
LEE & SHEPARD’S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS.
OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS.
YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD.
A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. 16mo. Illustrated
by Nast, Stevens, Perkins, and others.
OUTWARD BOUND; or, Young America Afloat. $1.50.
“In Outward Bound, the Ship Young America, sails for Europe, with a
school of eighty-seven boys aboard her, who pursue the studies of a
school, and at the same time work the ship across the Atlantic, being
amenable to regular naval discipline.”
SHAMROCK AND THISTLE; or, Young America in Ireland and Scotland.
$1.50.
“This volume continues the history of the academy ship and her crew
of boys, with their trips into the interior as well as voyages along
the coast of Ireland and Scotland. The young scholar will get a truer
and fuller conception of these countries by reading this unpretentious
journal of travel, than by weeks of hard study upon the geographies and
histories.”
RED CROSS; or, Young America in England and Wales. $1.50.
“The third volume of Oliver Optic’s Library of travel and adventure
chronicles the doings of the Young America and her crew in British
ports and waters, and is replete with thrilling adventures and
descriptions of noted places.”
DIKES AND DITCHES; or, Young America in Holland and Belgium. $1.50
“The author takes his readers on voyages up the rivers and canals of
Holland and Belgium, on tramps through the cities, their schools, their
art galleries, and their wonderful buildings, giving at every turn
vivid impressions of what is seen and heard therein and thereabouts.”
PALACE AND COTTAGE; or, Young America in France and Switzerland. $1.50
“This volume relates the history of the American Squadron (_Young
America_ and _Josephine_) in the waters of France, with the journey
of the students to Paris and through a portion of Switzerland. As
an episode, the story of the runaway cruise of the Josephine is
introduced, inculcating the moral that ‘the way of the transgressor is
hard.’”
DOWN THE RHINE; or, Young America in Germany. $1.50.
This volume concludes the first series of Young America, and is as
interesting and instructive as the preceding volumes. So great has
been the success of this series, that Oliver Optic is now preparing
a second. “Up the Baltic” will be the first volume, to be followed
by “Northern Lands,” “Vine and Olive,” “Sunny Shores,” “Cross and
Crescent” and “Isles of the Sea.”
Sold by all book-sellers and news-dealers, and sent by mail on receipt
of price.
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.
Transcriber’s Notes
• Italic represented with _underscores_.
• Small Capitals converted to ALL CAPS.
• Illustrations relocated close to related content.
• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.
• Archaic spellings kept as in the original.
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