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Title: Switch off
or, The war of the students
Author: Oliver Optic
Release date: September 13, 2026 [eBook #79562]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Lee and Shepard Publishers, 1869
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79562
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 SWITCH OFF ***
_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.
_THE LAKE SHORE SERIES._
SWITCH OFF;
OR,
THE WAR OF THE STUDENTS.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
_Author of “Army and Navy Stories,” “Great Western Series,” “Onward
and Upward Stories,” “Woodville Stories,” Famous “Boat-Club
Series,” “The Starry-Flag Series,” “Young America
Abroad,” “Lake-Shore Series,” “Riverdale Story-Book,”
“Yacht-Club Series,” and “The
Boat-Builder Series.”_
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
10 MILK STREET
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.
Copyright, 1897, by Alice Adams Russell.
_All Rights Reserved._
SWITCH OFF.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND
“_DOWNSEY_”
_This Book_
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
“SWITCH OFF” is the fourth of THE LAKE SHORE SERIES, and was one of
the serials which appeared in Oliver Optic’s Magazine. Its principal
incidents relate to the students of the Toppleton Institute, among whom
the war indicated on the title-page occurred. The story is told by one
of the young men, who is a prominent actor in the events he narrates.
Tommy Toppleton again appears, and is even more overbearing and
tyrannical than before; but the reader will be willing to congratulate
him, at the end, upon the happy influence of all his trials and
troubles on his character, and, perhaps, be better prepared to believe
that “oft from apparent ills our blessings rise.”
It has been the purpose of the author in this volume still further to
illustrate the precept of the gospel, “Love your enemies;” and the
conduct of Ned towards his defeated and mortified enemy is earnestly
recommended as a safe rule for life. The manner in which peace happened
to be made between the rival Institutes has always been found to work
quite as well in actual experience as in the story.
_Harrison Square, Mass._,
August 24, 1869.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
READY FOR A START. 11
CHAPTER II.
ON THE MARCH. 21
CHAPTER III.
MAJOR TOMMY UNHORSED. 31
CHAPTER IV.
THE BATTLE AT THE FARM-HOUSE. 41
CHAPTER V.
TO OBEY, OR NOT TO OBEY. 51
CHAPTER VI.
THE BATTLE IN THE WHEAT FIELD. 62
CHAPTER VII.
TOMMY YIELDS A POINT. 72
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FIRE IN THE FARM-HOUSE. 82
CHAPTER IX.
THE QUESTION OF RATIONS. 93
CHAPTER X.
WHO THE CRAZY MAN WAS. 104
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE WILD REGION. 114
CHAPTER XII.
BEFORE HIGH BLUFF. 124
CHAPTER XIII.
A SURVEY OF THE SITUATION. 135
CHAPTER XIV.
SERGEANT HACKER’S VISIT. 147
CHAPTER XV.
A STRATEGIC MOVEMENT. 157
CHAPTER XVI.
THE PINE TREE BRIDGE. 168
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRST BALLOT. 179
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE SECOND BALLOT. 190
CHAPTER XIX.
HEALING THE BREACH. 200
CHAPTER XX.
TOMMY TOPPLETON IN TROUBLE. 211
CHAPTER XXI.
CHRISTY HOLGATE. 222
CHAPTER XXII.
THE PENITENT. 233
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ATTIC CHAMBER. 243
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DISASTER ON THE WHARF. 253
CHAPTER XXV.
LET US HAVE PEACE. 265
CHAPTER XXVI.
TOPPLETON TRIUMPHANT. 276
SWITCH OFF;
OR,
THE WAR OF THE STUDENTS.
CHAPTER I.
READY FOR A START.
“Order--arms!” said Major Tommy Toppleton, mounted on his sorrel pony,
and facing the battalion formed of the students of the Toppleton
Institute.
The butts of the light muskets clanged in unison on the gravel walk,
where the column was drawn up. It was early on Monday morning, and
the young soldiers were in excellent spirits--better than they were
likely to be at a later hour in the day, for the programme included a
fatiguing march. On the road leading from the Institute grounds stood
three wagons, each drawn by two horses, upon which were loaded the
baggage, provisions, and camp equipage of the battalion.
At the head of the column was the students’ band of ten pieces, besides
a drum corps of eight, and two fifers. Signor Perelli, our music
teacher, had bestowed incredible care and pains upon these amateur
musicians, and those who were competent judges declared that the result
was highly creditable to his skill and perseverance. In other words,
the band played very well, though it did not undertake to compete with
Gilmore, Strauss, Jullien, or even with the Ucayga Cornet Band. The
drum corps was a perfect success, for most of its members had been in
practice over a year.
Not a few of the people of Middleport had gathered in front of the
Institute to witness the parade, for the occasion was no ordinary one,
and the programme of the battalion had been thoroughly discussed for
weeks. In years before the students had camped out during the June
vacation. During the preceding season the Toppletonians had pitched
their tents on the Horse Shoe, where the famous battles between the
rival academies had taken place, as my friend Captain Wolf Penniman
has related in his story.
Camping out had become rather stale with the students, and they longed
for a new sensation. If they could have encamped on the Horse Shoe,
and had another conflict with the Wimpletonians, perhaps it would have
satisfied them. But there was no prospect of any sport of this kind,
for Waddie Wimpleton, the haughty untamed, and tyrannical, was as
mild and gentle as a lamb. It was said among the fellows that he had
experienced religion, or something of that sort. It was certain he was
not the boy he used to be. He had voluntarily resigned his positions
as president of the Steamboat Company and major of the battalion.
Though Ben Pinkerton was commander of the forces on the other side of
the lake, it was supposed that Waddie’s influence as a peacemaker was
sufficient to control the movements of the troops, and prevent them
from engaging in another conflict with the fellows on our side of the
lake.
Besides, there was another circumstance which seemed to interfere to
keep the peace between the boys of the two Institutes. A military
gentleman, residing at Ucayga, had become interested in the two
battalions of juvenile soldiers, and had offered a prize of a
magnificent standard to the one which should excel the other in company
and battalion drill. With the vanity natural to boys, each party
believed that all the skill and precision was upon its own side, and
both had accepted the invitation to drill for the banner. This great
event was to come off on the following Friday morning at Centreport.
The place had been fixed by lot; and, when the arrangement had been
completed, it suggested the present movement of our battalion.
The Toppletonians did not care to encamp at any point near enough to
Centreport to enable them to keep their engagement, and when Captain
Briscoe jocosely proposed that the little army should march round to
the other side of the lake by the way of Hitaca, the idea was received
with tremendous enthusiasm. The excursion would be a tour of camp duty,
with an everchanging scene, and with no lack of novelty and excitement.
We voted almost unanimously that the long tramp of seventy miles was
just the thing we wanted.
It would afford us opportunity to display our new uniforms, our
band and drum corps, our drill and marching, to people on the route
who had hardly ever seen a company of soldiers. We should astonish
the Hitacaites with our music and parade, excite the admiration of
the ladies in general, and the young ladies in particular, and make
us all first-class lions. The people would turn out to behold us,
bestow delicate attentions upon us, and entertain us with generous
hospitality. We had all the elements for a splendid parade, including
our stylish uniforms, good music, and well-trained companies.
For two weeks hardly anything was talked about but this tour of
camp duty. Those who received the plan coldly at first, soon became
enthusiastic. Those who growled at the idea of marching twenty miles in
a day were persuaded to believe that our progress would be a continued
triumph, and that it would be accomplished in six or seven hours, so
that there would be plenty of time to rest. The authorities of the
Institute objected to the plan, but as Major Tommy Toppleton favored
it, there was not much to be said against it. His father was compelled
to indorse the march; and, of course, the instructors were obliged to
withdraw all opposition.
Two of the teachers, besides the drill-master, were detailed to
accompany the battalion in carriages, and prevent it from robbing
hen-roosts, or capturing any of the towns on the route. But when
Tommy heard of this little arrangement he was as indignant as though
the professors had given him a thrashing, and interposed his veto.
He would not have any schoolmasters dogging his steps, and spying
into his actions. He hated spies. The battalion was composed of young
gentlemen, and if they were a little fast at times, they knew how to
behave themselves, and did not need any pedagogues to watch them. He
could take care of his force himself. So the instructors were permitted
to spend their vacation in pursuits more congenial to their tastes than
following a multitude of crazy boys, under a crazy leader. Perhaps it
would have been better for Tommy if he had permitted these guardians of
the peace to attend the battalion.
We were all ready to start. The baggage wagons were to fall in behind
the column, and the drivers were on their boxes. Everybody was in high
spirits, and anticipated the greatest time known in the annals of the
Toppleton Institute. Major Tommy, in particular, was in full feather;
for he was the commander of the expedition, and a march of a week
through places which suggested honors and ovations was an event which
was calculated to stimulate his bump of self esteem.
On the preceding Saturday, the stockholders of the Lake Shore Railroad
had held their annual meeting. On the year before, the present
president had actually been defeated on the first ballot, and “your
humble servant” elected in his place. Not caring to endure the constant
browbeating and annoyance to which I should have been subjected had I
taken the office, and because I really believed then that Tommy ought
to have it, I had declined. Then, by a tremendous effort on the part of
the president’s friends, and particularly on the part of Wolf Penniman,
who pleaded for him as though he had been a friend in distress, Tommy
received a bare majority of the votes cast.
I was sorry afterwards that I refused the position, for Tommy always
overbearing and tyrannical, became to such an extent that the fellows
had been on the verge of mutiny for a year. They had waited with
impatience for the return of the annual elections, intending to pitch
him down from his high positions. But Tommy and his father had provided
for this emergency. The former had always nominally held--as, in fact,
the rest of the students owned their stock--a large proportion of the
shares. If a boy left the Institute during the year, his stock was
made over to Tommy, or some of his toadies, for he had a small army
of satellites of this species. The result was that the president was
reëlected by a small majority. Feeling that he was secure in his high
position, he had taken no pains to conciliate those who condemned his
tyranny, and, if possible, he was more unpopular than ever.
The students had become pretty thoroughly disgusted with the management
of the Lake Shore Railroad. Although the business of the company
was still carried on in their name; though the stock was bought,
sold and transferred on the books; though the boys discharged the
duties of their several offices,--they had but little interest in
the corporation. They had no real power. If the superintendent, the
road-master, or the directors did anything, it was by order of Tommy
or his father. But I ought to add, in justice to Major Toppleton, that
there was not a student in the Institute, who had been there a year,
that did not know all about the details of running a rail road, who
was not familiar with stock operations, and who was not prepared to
discharge his duty as an official in a railroad company. As a means of
instruction it was still a good thing; but it had ceased to be a source
of amusement, as it would have been if the president had not ruled so
arbitrarily.
As the railroad president, Tommy was safe for another year. Though
dissatisfied, our fellows had already begun to gather up the stock by
helping out weaker ones in their lessons, or by the purchase of it with
money, peanuts, and cream-cakes. The election of a commanding officer
of the battalion usually came off on the same day as the railroad
meeting; but it had been postponed to the following Tuesday, by what
influence I do not know. Those who accomplished this purpose either
forgot that on this day we should be on the march, or they expected to
derive some advantage from the fact.
Tommy Toppleton declared that he was sure of being elected; and I think
he was sincere in his belief. He had many devoted adherents, who bowed
down to his power and influence; but there were just as many active
opponents, and a great middle class who were not partisans either for
or against him. Electioneering on both sides was carried on with spirit
and energy, and the contest promised to be an exciting one.
CHAPTER II.
ON THE MARCH.
The battalion stood at “order arms,” waiting for the next movement.
Major Tommy galloped his sorrel charger up and down the line, looking
with great solemnity at the troops. We in the line wondered what was
going to happen, though we were all sufficiently aware of Tommy’s
propensity for making speeches to suspect that he meditated a flight of
rhetoric on the present occasion. The opportunity seemed to be too good
for him to neglect. He would not have thought of making a speech to the
battalion alone; but the instructors and quite a respectable crowd of
the town’s people were present, and we knew the oration was intended
for them rather than for us, to whom it was addressed.
“Soldiers,” Tommy began, with a flourish of his sword,--a very elegant
toy, which added much vim to his words,--“we are about to commence a
long march.”
“What’s the use of saying that? We knew it before,” said, in a low
tone, the first lieutenant of Company B, who stood near me.
“We are going without any of our instructors, entirely upon our own
responsibility.”
“We know that too,” growled the lieutenant; and no one will suspect
that he was a partisan of the major.
“Soldiers, we must remember the uniform that we wear, and never
disgrace it. We must bear in mind that we are the soldiers of the
Toppleton Institute, upon which rests no stain of disgrace or dishonor.
Wherever we go, let it be our purpose to reflect credit and honor
upon the institution. We claim to be young gentlemen; let us conduct
ourselves as such, whether we be in the halls of the Institute or amid
the solitudes of nature.”
“He stole that,” hummed the discontented lieutenant of Company B.
“Soldiers, we are a military organization, subject to the rules of
military discipline. The first duty of a soldier is to obey the orders
of his superiors. I expect from you, during the march that is before
us, the most implicit obedience to your officers. If any one, officer
or private, behaves himself in an unsoldierly manner, he shall be
promptly tried by court martial, and punished for his offence.”
“Court martial!” exclaimed the grumbler of Company B. “If Tommy
Toppleton don’t conduct himself according to his buncombe standard, I
go for trying him by court martial.”
Tommy’s allusion to military discipline looked as though he had
obtained a new idea. A court martial was a thing unknown in the
experience of our little army. Tommy had threatened the thing once or
twice when the boys were crooked, though delinquents were reported
to the principal of the Institute, and punished by him. But it was a
fact that the major had been studying up courts martial; and when he
mentioned the matter, we were satisfied that he would be on the lookout
for some one to court martial. It was evident that he wished to go
through with the ceremony of a military court, and we saw that it would
be well for us to be prudent, or he would soon find a victim.
Tommy proceeded to explain the order of march, the rules of the camp,
and bivouac, and repeated his injunctions that all the members of the
battalion should behave with perfect propriety, the latter of which
could only be meant in a Pickwickian sense, and was uttered to produce
a proper impression upon the instructors and other outsiders.
“Shoulder--arms!” shouted he, when he had finished his oration.
We shouldered, broke into sections, and moved off. The baggage wagons
fell in behind, and the long tramp was actually commenced. The band
played “The Girl I left behind me,” which, however, had no special
significance on the present occasion, inasmuch as we were all too young
to have sweethearts. Major Tommy rode in solemn majesty at the head of
the column, the boys and girls in the streets gazing at him in wonder
and admiration. The sorrel pony, as well as the rider, seemed to “feel
his oats,” prancing and curvetting in a very impressive manner.
In less than half an hour we had passed the last house in the town.
Thus far we had marched with the utmost precision, and the band had
played nearly all the time, relieved at intervals by the drum corps.
Of course we all expected to make a show when we passed any houses,
or there were any people to see us; but we did not like to be kept
in the straight jacket of precision when there was no occasion for a
sensation, and when there was nothing but the squirrels and the robins
to be moved by a martial display. We expected the order for the “route
step,” which permitted us to march in a free and easy manner. It did
not come, and the band and the drum corps blowed and pounded just as
though we had been in the midst of a populous city.
“Tommy is ugly to-day,” said the lieutenant of Company B. “He means to
make us work our passage.”
“I am afraid he is,” I replied. “But it is not very uncommon for him.”
“I should think he would remember that to-morrow will be election day.
What’s the use of tooting so out here!” added the malcontent, alluding
to the music of the band.
“No use; but it’s Tommy’s will.”
“No talking in the ranks there!” exclaimed Tommy, who had halted his
steed at the side of the road to survey his command “Captain Skotchley,
you will keep in your proper position.”
I obeyed the order; but, as Tommy rode forward, I ventured to suggest
that the route step would be agreeable to the privates.
“You will mind your own business, Captain Skotchley, and remember that
I command the battalion. I don’t need any advice,” was the ungracious
reply.
By regular promotions I had become the captain of Company B. My
advancement was not due to Tommy’s favor, for I was not one of his
toadies. I had taken no part in the battles on the Horse Shoe the year
before, when the conduct of the little major had been so overbearing
that I could not endure it. I was charged with being a deserter. I
wrote to my father, asking him to take me away from the Institute;
but he was an old friend of Major Toppleton, senior, and a peace was
patched up between us. I was restored to my rank; but Tommy hated me as
he did the evil one, because I would not toady to him.
Why should I? My father was not less wealthy than his. Our social
position was just as good. I always made it a point to be a gentleman.
I had my friends among the poor as well as the rich; and I don’t think
I ever put on airs. I always had a profound respect and admiration
for Wolf Penniman, and we were the very best of friends. He always
called me the “dignified student,” though I don’t think there was any
particular reason for doing so, unless it was that I was too dignified
to be trodden beneath the feet of Tommy Toppleton. I always liked a
good time, and went in for one, when there was a chance.
Without egotism I may say that I stood well with the fellows in the
Institute--that is with all those whose good opinion was worth having.
I base my judgment of this feeling upon the fact that they elected me
the president of the railroad company over Tommy Toppleton, the year
before, and had given me almost a majority the present year. More than
this, in the counsels of the opposition, I had been invited to stand as
a candidate for major, at the coming election. Briscoe ranked me, and
was a very good fellow, though a little disposed to be hot-headed at
times. I refused to stand in his way, believing him justly entitled to
the office if Tommy was defeated, as the opposition hoped and expected
he would be on the following day. Some of the fellows told the captain
of Company A that I had declined in his favor, and I did not lose
anything in his estimation by the act.
Tommy did not give us the route step, and we concluded he intended to
worry and fatigue us as much as he could; but we were too good soldiers
to disobey orders, at least at this stage of the march. We advanced
with as much precision as though the eyes of admiring thousands had
been fixed upon us. We were ascending the gentle undulation of a long
hill, about four miles from Middleton, when we saw a young man in a
wagon, with a very pretty girl at his side, driving a spirited horse.
The band was laboriously wailing out the solemn strains of “Hail
Columbia,” for it had about exhausted its _repertoire_ of pieces;
and the bass drummer pounded out his part as though he knew not the
meaning of weariness. The horse attached to the wagon, which appeared
to be a four-year-old colt, began to snort, and exhibit an evident
disinclination to “face the music.” Pretty girl was alarmed, as well
she might be, for the capricious animal reared and plunged in a fearful
manner. The young man holding the reins was master of the situation,
though he appeared to have his hands full.
Major Tommy was riding on the flank of the battalion, as the head of
the column approached the furious horse. He dashed forward with a
flourish, when the leader of the band, seeing that the music frightened
the colt, and not wishing to be responsible for a catastrophe, had
silenced the players.
“Why don’t you play? What did you stop for?” shouted the major,
angrily. “Strike up again!”
The leader tooted with his bugle, and the bass drummer hammered out
the initial notes of the piece. The terrified animal, which had begun
to take a reasonable view of the situation, reared and plunged again.
Pretty girl screamed, as pretty girls do when they are alarmed, and the
colt was frightened all the more.
“I say, cap’n, just stop the music for half a minute--won’t you, if you
please?” said the driver, appealing to Tommy, who had now resumed his
place at the head of the battalion.
“No, sir! I won’t stop the music,” replied Tommy, rudely; and he
appeared to enjoy the terror of the pretty girl, and the antics of the
horse.
“Only half a minute! Clarissa is scared half to death,” added the young
man.
“Play away!” was the only reply the magnificent major deigned to make.
The colt stopped, stood up straight, and positively refused to advance
another step. Then, as the band advanced, he began to back, until he
had placed the wagon square across the road, between the major and the
musicians.
“Stop the music,” said Captain Briscoe, in a low tone.
The band ceased playing. Indeed, they could not well do otherwise, for
the fractious colt, as the driver attempted to urge him forward, broke
in upon their ranks, and then backed them out of the road, and out of
their propriety at the same instant.
[Illustration: ON THE MARCH.]
CHAPTER III.
MAJOR TOMMY UNHORSED.
“What do you stop playing for?” demanded Major Tommy, furiously.
It was a stupid question, after the musicians had been driven out of
the road by the antics of the colt. The head of the column had also
been broken; for, though the Toppleton warriors were brave fellows,
they did not like the idea of being ground under the wheels of the
countryman’s wagon, and they were prepared to make a safe retreat,
without much regard to the order of their going. The major--as the colt
finally stopped and stood impatiently pawing the ground--rode back to
the spot where the head of the column ought to have been.
“You are a set of blockheads!” roared Tommy. “Are you afraid of a
horse? Form in column! Play away, again.”
“I say, cap’n, just hold on half a minute--won’t you, till I get by?”
called the driver of the unbroken colt.
“No, I won’t.”
“Don’t be mean about it,” added the countryman, rather angrily.
“Get out of the road!” cried Tommy.
“See here, you little cock-turkey: if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll
snake you off that horse quicker than you can shut your eyes when it
lightens!”
“Don’t! Don’t! I’m scart almost to death,” gasped pretty girl. “Let me
get out! We shall be killed.”
And suiting the action to the words, pretty girl, as nimbly as a bird,
jumped out of the wagon, and retreated from the scene of danger.
My company was still in good order, with the lieutenants in position
in front of the platoons. I walked forward in season to hear Briscoe
advise the leader of the band not to play. My judgment was, that Tommy
was crazy to insist upon scaring the horse, when the danger was so
great; and I was willing to back up the senior captain.
“Why don’t you play, when I tell you to do so?” roared Tommy, furious
at the disobedience of the band.
They did not say anything, but they did not blow. The colt, no longer
hearing the music, and finding the road comparatively clear before him,
allowed himself to be appeased by his driver. He stood tossing his head
and pawing the ground; but he appeared to be conscious that he had won
the battle, and to be entirely satisfied with himself. The young man in
charge of him, doubtless thinking that discretion was the better part
of valor, or that the battle was not worth fighting after the retreat
of Clarissa, got out of the wagon, and took the colt by the bridle.
Leading him out of the road, he patted his neck.
“Cap’n you’re the meanest pup I’ve met since I was born,” added the
young man, when he had reduced the colt to a tolerable quiet state.
“None of your impudence, you rascal,” replied Tommy.
“If I hadn’t my hands full, I’d give you something besides impudence,
you little snipper-snapper of a cock-turkey!”
“Form your company, Captain Briscoe!” growled Tommy.
The senior captain obeyed the command, and the battalion was again in
marching order, with the scattered musicians reorganized at its head.
“Music!” shouted the commander. “Forward--march!”
The leader of the band was not one of Tommy’s toadies, and, fortified
by the senior captain’s advice, he failed to give the key-note which
was the signal for the musicians to play. The column began to move; but
not a demi-semiquaver came from the band,--only the tap of the drummer.
“Halt!” cried the major, before the battalion had taken three steps.
“Why don’t you play?”
“I’m not going to scare that horse any more,” replied the leader.
“You are not!” foamed Tommy, red with rage, as he pushed his horse up
to the musician, and struck him over the shoulder with his sword.
“No, I’m not! I don’t want to kill anybody.”
It was evident that a victim for the court martial had been found; but
it was certain that, if Fryes, the leader of the band, was “broken,”
we could have no more music, for the players could do nothing without
him. He was the son of a German distinguished in musical circles, and
inherited his skill from his father. He was a splendid fellow, and
would have been an officer if he could have been spared from the band,
so that his present service really involved a great sacrifice on his
part.
“If you don’t play, I’ll march the battalion back to Middleport, and
have you punished as you deserve,” added Tommy.
We were not a little astonished that Fryes did not resent the indignity
of the blow he had received, especially as he was a high-spirited
fellow. I saw the leader glance at Briscoe, who nodded his head.
Perhaps the senior captain was afraid the irate major would march us
back to the Institute, and thus defeat a little plan we had formed to
remedy our grievances. Fryes understood the signal of Briscoe, and gave
the key-note. The musicians were all ready.
“Forward--march!” shouted Tommy.
The first beat of the bass drum, with the accompanying blast of the
brass instruments, waked up the colt again, and in spite of all the
efforts of the countryman, again he stood up upon his hind feet. He was
even more desperate than before, and in his furious struggles shook
off the man. The instant he had freed himself from the control of the
strong arm,--which I think was done by the breaking of the bridle,--he
whirled around in the twinkling of an eye, without regard to the wagon
attached to him. Cutting so short lifted up the body of the vehicle,
and drawing out the snipe-bill, detached it from the forward wheels.
The colt now had it all his own way. The driver sprang forward and
attempted to catch him; but the beast seemed to flash rather than move
in the ordinary way, and dashed off at a furious run in the direction
from which he had come. Pretty girl, on the bank at the side of the
road, screamed again, as the catastrophe was consummated. The musicians
ceased playing, in the excitement of the moment, and the battalion was
thrown into disorder.
“There, do you see what you’ve done!” howled the countryman, doubling
up his fist at Tommy, as the colt disappeared behind a hill in front of
us.
“I didn’t do it,” replied Tommy; and I judged, from his tone, that even
he was not a little startled by the consequences of his folly. “Why
didn’t you take care of your horse?”
“Get off that nag!” said the young man, rushing upon Tommy, and seizing
the pony by the bridle.
“Let me alone! Don’t touch my horse!”
Before we were aware of his purpose, the excited man had dragged Tommy
from his steed, and pitched him into the dirt in the middle of the
road. But it presently appeared that he was not intent upon avenging
the insults of Tommy, for he mounted the pony, and, grinding his heels
into the flanks of the little charger, forced him into a run. He dashed
up the hill, and disappeared beyond its crest.
Briscoe and I rushed forward to the assistance of Tommy, who however,
picked himself up with a facility which indicated that he was not
seriously injured. I took his sword from the ground, where it had
fallen in the sudden onslaught of the major’s agile foe, and handed it
back to him.
“Are you hurt, major?” asked Briscoe.
“No, I believe not,” replied Tommy, feeling of his injured leg, and
assuring himself that it had sustained no damage.
“Is your leg all right?”
“Yes; but I should like to get hold of that fellow,” answered Tommy,
who had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment to begin to be
angry at the savage treatment he had received.
“I don’t think you would make much if you did get hold of him,” I
ventured to remark.
“Why not?” demanded the discomfited major, who did not appear to see
the point of my observation.
“He is too heavy for you.”
“Do you think I will stand such usage as that?”
“I don’t exactly see how you can help yourself, now that it is all
over.”
“I’ll teach that fellow who I am.”
“It seems to me that you will have to catch him before you teach him
anything.”
“The rascal has stolen my horse!”
“I don’t think he meant to steal him,” suggested Captain Briscoe. “He
has only gone to find his own horse.”
“He stole him, anyhow; and it will cost him a penny for knocking me
off in that style,” continued Tommy, shaking his head, as the extent of
his defeat seemed to crowd upon him. “That fellow don’t know who I am.”
“Perhaps he don’t,” I replied; and I couldn’t help winking at Briscoe,
though I am opposed to winking in any other than the natural way, in
theory, if not in practice.
“What shall we do, Major Toppleton?” asked the senior captain, when
Tommy had informed us what he intended to do, if he caught the
countryman.
“Well, I don’t know. I’m not going on this tramp without any horse.”
“You will get your pony again, major,” suggested Captain Briscoe.
“I want that man taken up and punished as he ought to be for knocking
me off, and for taking my horse,” added Tommy, savagely. “Why didn’t
you pitch into him, some of you, when he came at me?”
Neither of us ventured to make any reply to this reproachful question,
for our sympathies were certainly with the young man--at least up to
the point when he pulled Tommy off his horse.
“I don’t think you had the pluck of a mosquito, or you would have
punched him with your swords.”
“Why didn’t you do it yourself? You were nearer to him than we were,” I
replied.
“He didn’t give me time!”
“He didn’t give us time, either.”
“I didn’t know what he was going to do till he had done it.”
“Neither did we.”
“No matter for that now; when we catch him we will give him fits. If
the whole battalion can’t handle that man, I think we had better take
lessons in fighting. I’m going to capture him, and give him a thrashing
for his impudence, if we see him again.”
Briscoe looked at me with a meaning smile. We were not disposed
to quarrel with our superior officer; but both of us believed the
countryman had served him just right. It was a simple thing to stop the
music for a few moments; but Tommy’s stupid obstinacy always made him
grossly unreasonable.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BATTLE AT THE FARM-HOUSE.
The female companion of the countryman had already left the spot, and
was hastening up the hill, probably very anxious to ascertain the
fate of the colt. Major Tommy had made up his mind to do something
desperate. He intended to find his assailant, and then charge upon him
with the whole battalion; at any rate this was the interpretation which
we gave to his words, looks, and gestures. If he ever fancied that he
was insulted, or if he ever got the worst of it in any encounter in
which he was himself the aggressor, he was not satisfied till he had
obtained full satisfaction.
He was spiteful and revengeful. Because, during the military campaign
of the preceding year, Wolf had gently declined to obey an order
which involved the danger of killing or drowning a portion of the
Wimpletonians, he had followed him up with his spite until our friend
was discharged from the employ of the Lake Shore Railroad. It was not
in his nature, therefore, to permit his present assailant to escape
without inflicting upon him the full penalty of his wrath.
Fryes, too, had incurred his displeasure by disobeying the major’s
unreasonable order. But Briscoe had counselled him to disregard this
command; and our senior captain was not one who would disavow his
act when the hour of reckoning came. He would stand by the leader of
the band; and I intended to do so myself. The prospect, therefore,
of a “jolly row” was very promising. I was only sorry that Briscoe
had finally given the signal for Fryes to play, for this had caused
all the real mischief. He told me he did so because the colt seemed
to be quiet, and his driver held him by the head, so that he did not
apprehend any more danger.
The battalion was in order in the road; and, after the major had
sufficiently vented his indignation, he gave the command to march. The
band played, and we ascended the hill. On the summit of it we obtained
a view of the road for a mile. In the valley there was a farm-house,
with a drive-way leading up to the barn in the rear. When we were
near enough, we saw Tommy’s pony fastened to the fence in front of
the house. The colt, with the truck of the wagon, was in the yard. It
was evident that this was the home of the countryman, and the fiery
animal had sought the friendly shelter of the stable to save him from
the terrors of the trumpet and bass drum. So far as we could judge, no
injury had been done to man or beast.
When the head of the battalion arrived at the farm-house, the major
gave the order to halt. His first movement was to mount his pony; and
no opposition to this act was made by the occupants of the house. The
man in charge of the colt detached him from the truck, and put him in
the barn, probably to prevent him from being further demoralized by
the martial array, and perhaps to enable him to meet the major on a
better footing. While Tommy was mounting his horse, the man came out of
the barn, and marched boldly up to the one hundred and twenty bayonets
which our force presented.
“It’s lucky for you that our colt wasn’t hurt; if he had been, I would
have taken it out of your hide,” the countryman began, when he was
within hailing distance of the major.
“What do you mean by knocking me off my horse?” responded Tommy.
“What do I mean? If you say much more, I’ll duck you in that mud-hole
over there. You could see that the music was scaring my colt; and I
asked you in a civil way, to stop it for half a minute, till I got by.
If you hadn’t been a hog, you would have done so,” growled the rural
gentleman.
“I’m not going to stop the music for every clown that comes along. You
insulted me.”
“Insulted you! I’m letting you off dog cheap! Now go along about your
business, before I’m tempted to put my claws upon you.”
“Not yet,” replied Tommy, shaking his head fiercely. “Do you know who I
am?”
“I don’t care who you are. If you were the Grand Mogul himself, I
should speak my mind. I suppose you are that young pup of a Toppleton,
that has it all his own way over to Middleport; but we don’t train in
that company, and when you come out here, you must behave yourself.
I reckon you haven’t any right to go tooting over our roads, and
frightening horses with your racket. I’ll let you off this time, as the
colt isn’t hurt, and nobody else isn’t hurt.”
“But I don’t mean to let you off,” retorted Tommy, irritated by this
plain speech, and especially by the contempt manifested towards the
house of Toppleton.
“O, don’t you!” exclaimed the young man, with a broad grin.
“No, I don’t. I’ll pay you off for insulting me.”
“Well, when you get ready, I want you to begin,” chuckled the man.
“But, if I have to take hold of you, I shall flop you over two or three
times in that mud-hole, just enough to take the starch out of them fine
clothes you wear.”
“Get down on your knees and beg my pardon, and I will let you off,”
said Tommy, who evidently, after the expressive speech of the
countryman, did not exactly relish the job he had undertaken.
“Well, that’s a good one! Get down on my knees? I guess not! I never
get down on my knees, not even when I weed the onions. It wears out a
fellow’s trousers. If you are not in a hurry, cap’n, I wish you would
wait just half a minute; I’ve got some medicine in the barn that will
just fit your case.”
This specimen of the high-spirited farmer rushed into the barn, and
presently returned with a cowhide in one hand and a pitchfork in the
other.
“If I’m going to stand up against the crowd, I want this,” he added,
sticking the tines into the sod. “If I’m going to deal with you alone,
cap’n, I only want this--and the mudhole,” he continued, flourishing
the green hide. “You can go ahead any way you like when you are ready,
cap’n.”
By this time the “women folks” from the house, including Clarissa, and
an elderly man, who appeared to be the father of the belligerent young
man, had assembled in the yard. The old gentleman had a hoe in his
hand, and had come forward to a point within supporting distance of his
son. He looked like a Bunker Hill veteran and regarded the threatening
conflict with imperturbable coolness. Probably he had already learned
the merits of the case, for he asked no questions, though he gave the
major some sage advice, to the effect that he had done mischief enough,
and had better go along about his business.
“Tom’s a fool!” said Briscoe, impatiently, as we stood watching the
issue of the controversy. “What does he mean to do?”
“I don’t know,” I replied; “but one stupid thing leads him into
another.”
But we were not left long in doubt in regard to what Tommy intended to
do.
“Captain Scotchley!” called the major, in his imperative tone.
I walked up to him and saluted with my sword.
“March your company to the rear of that rascal, and don’t let him get
away.”
“I don’t think he wants to get away,” I replied.
“Then punch him with the bayonets, and we will take him in front. Make
him a prisoner.”
“Don’t you do it, Ned,” said Briscoe, in a low tone.
“I must respectfully decline to obey the order,” I answered, firmly.
“You refuse?” gasped the major.
“I do.”
“What do you mean?” howled Tommy, so mad that he could hardly help
crying.
“Major Toppleton. I think you are all wrong in this business,” I added.
“We have no right to attack that man.”
“Do you obey the orders of your commanding officer, or not?” demanded
Tommy.
“I obey all reasonable orders,” I replied.
“We will settle this with you another time,” said the major, riding
over to my company, whither I followed him.
I had given him another victim for the court martial, and I wondered
what he would do next.
“Captain Scotchley is suspended from duty,” continued the major. “He
refuses to obey orders. Lieutenant Faxon will take command of the
second company.”
He repeated the order to the first lieutenant as he had given it to me.
“I must ask to be excused,” replied Faxon.
“What! Is there a mutiny in the battalion? Then Lieutenant Barnscott
will command the company.”
The second lieutenant had been brought up by the major, and was a
willing tool. The privates had heard all these proceedings, and
understood the merits of the question. When Barnscott undertook to
march the company to the spot assigned to it, the majority refused to
go.
“Mutiny!” shouted Tommy. “But I’ll bring you to your senses!”
Twenty or twenty-five of the company followed Barnscott; the rest
remained leaning on their guns in the road. Briscoe, when the order
was given him to attack in front, followed my example; but his first
lieutenant was one of the major’s adherents, and obeyed the order with
not more than thirty of his command. However, the attacking force was
composed of about fifty, and Tommy was determined to be revenged.
The little major’s military calculations were never very brilliant, and
the old man and his son--the latter of whom seemed to regard the whole
affair as a pleasant joke--obstinately refused to be flanked by Company
B, and with the hoe and pitchfork kept the brave soldiers at bay. Tommy
moved up himself with the first company, and ordered them to charge
upon the young man and capture him. Before this could be done, however,
the “women folks” appeared with a large tin wash-boiler, filled with
hot water.
“Here, Jed!” called Clarissa, as she presented the young fellow with an
immense syringe, used for showering plants with soap suds to destroy
insects, “You can fix ’em in two minutes!”
Jed took the instrument and filled it with water from the boiler, just
as Company A charged bayonets, and began to move forward. Directing it
at the advancing line, his ruddy face overspread with a jolly grin, he
let fly the contents of the barrel. The old lady and Clarissa, with a
couple of dippers, at the same time began to operate independently,
dashing the hot water upon the column. The effect was decisive. The
portions of the two companies engaged did not include the best fellows
in the battalion, though, if they had, it is doubtful whether they
could have stood up before a charge of hot water. The assailants broke
and retreated in disorder. The contents of Clarissa’s tin cup, aimed at
Tommy, drove him from the field, and he lost the battle.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE AT THE FARM-HOUSE.]
CHAPTER V.
TO OBEY, OR NOT TO OBEY.
I think our brave fellows were more frightened than hurt; for if the
water in the wash-boiler was hot, it was not in condition to scald
them after it had passed through the cold syringe. Some of them were
a little red in spots on the face and hands; but as warriors, in
this piping time of peace, they had not been above dodging, and in
consequence, none of them were seriously damaged. Without using the
obnoxious first line of the old couplet, they were in condition to
fight another day.
The battle was certainly a very humorous one, Jed, in spite of his
arduous labors was convulsed with laughter. Clarissa, the pretty girl,
was now very rosy, but whether from her exertions with the dipper or
with laughing, I was unable to determine. The old farmer and his wife
were both in excellent humor; and it was plain enough that we were to
be laughed out of the battle, if we were not actually driven off the
field. The mutinous troops who had refused to take part in the action
were quite as much amused as the people of the farm.
Major Tommy Toppleton retreated before his routed column, which
followed him down the road a short distance. The savage assailants did
not offer to pursue their discomfited foe, and I had no doubt that the
commander would call a council of war among his friends. I did not
expect him to renew the attack under the present circumstances, or, at
least, not till the water in the boiler had cooled off. Jed and his
father, however, carried the kettle into the house, either to enable
the old lady to continue her Monday morning operations, or to keep the
water hot for another emergency, or possibly for both.
“Well, Ned, what is going to be the end of all this?” said Briscoe,
walking up to me after the storm of battle had subsided.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “We must wait and see what Tommy does. Of
course we are ready to obey any reasonable orders.”
“I am not exactly sure of that, after what has happened. Suppose the
major wishes us to march back to Middleport. Shall we go?”
“I suppose we must,” I replied rather dubiously. “As both of us happen
to be suspended just now, I conclude that we have nothing more to do
with this business.”
We sheathed our swords by mutual consent, and seated ourselves on the
fence at the side of the road to wait for the “moving of the waters.”
“What are we to do?” asked Crampton, one of the privates in my company.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” I answered, laughing. “I am willing to obey
all reasonable orders, and I suppose you ought to do the same.”
“We are ready to stand by you,” added Dunbold, a corporal of the first
company.
“We have the majority,” said Sergeant Langdon, suggestively.
“We don’t want to make a row yet,” continued Crampton. “There will
be one about to-morrow noon, when we vote for officers. You know the
balloting is to come off then. It can only be postponed by a vote of
the battalion.”
“I am suspended from duty, and of course, I haven’t anything to say,” I
added.
“That’s just my case,” said Briscoe. “I would rather keep quiet till
after the election.”
It was evident to me that we were on the very verge of the
long-expected mutiny. The president of the Lake Shore Railroad Company,
and the major of the battalion had ruled us with a rod of iron. We had
borne it longer than we intended; and the present occasion, when we
were beyond the reach of outside influences, seemed to be favorable for
the final settlement of the matter. As students, we were the equals, in
every respect, of Tommy Toppleton, and we were determined to make him
treat us like gentlemen.
While Briscoe and myself were discussing the situation, Sergeant
Hacker, one of the major’s adherents, advanced towards us. He looked
as though he had come upon a desperate mission, for his lips were
compressed, his eyebrows knit, and his step very decided.
“Captain Briscoe.”
“Sergeant Hacker.”
“Major Toppleton orders you to march your company down the road,”
continued the messenger, pointing to the place where Tommy had halted.
“All right! I will do so,” replied Briscoe.
The captain of the first company gave his orders, and his command
moved off, leaving my company and the band opposite the house. Hacker
returned to the major, but immediately appeared again with an order
for me to join the main body with the mutinous portion of my company.
Tommy looked wrathful and disgusted, as he always did when he had been
thwarted in his purposes.
“I am glad that you have concluded to obey orders,” said he, with an
obvious sneer in his tone and manner, as I saluted him, after halting
my company.
“I shall always be ready to obey any reasonable order,” I replied,
respectfully.
“Reasonable!” exclaimed he. “What do you mean by reasonable?”
“Involving anything which it is proper for the battalion to do,” I
replied.
“Who is to determine whether it is proper or not?” demanded Tommy.
“I should say that you were, in the first place, before you gave the
order,” I answered, careful not to provoke his anger.
“I should say there was a mutiny in the line,” added the major. “I
don’t want to argue the matter now. When I give an order, I intend to
be obeyed, whether you consider it reasonable or not.”
I made no reply, and the little major looked as pompous as though the
question had been forever settled. I thought we could all afford to
wait until the next day at noon, when the election was to take place:
for it was a sure thing, if the balloting was fairly conducted, that
Tommy would be ousted from his position and Briscoe elected in his
place. The matter, so far as the chief command was concerned, was
settled, and the only question which had not yet been determined was
whether or not Tommy should be elected to some other office.
Jed, his father, and Clarissa had taken position in the middle of
the road, where they could observe the movements of the battalion.
They were evidently willing that we should continue our march, and I
hoped Tommy would be sensible enough to adopt this course though it
was expecting rather too much of him to permit his enemy to remain
unpunished for a single day. He wheeled the battalion into line, and
capered the sorrel pony along a couple of times in front, glancing
fiercely from his warriors to the enemy before the house, apparently
doubtful in regard to his next move. Finally he halted and it was
evident that he intended to make a speech.
“Fellows, I have been insulted!” said he, savagely. “Shall it be said
that the whole battalion was beaten back by two men and two women?”
“The whole battalion was not beaten back,” retorted Corporal Dunbold.
“Silence in the ranks!” exclaimed the major. “Will you stand by me, or
not?”
“We will!” shouted Tommy’s adherents; but the rest of the line said
nothing.
“I thought you would. I was not willing to believe that my fellows
would desert me when I wanted them most. I’m going to give that Jed a
mauling; if I don’t, there will be some bones broken somewhere.”
Tommy was rapidly lashing himself into a fury, and would soon be
in condition to undertake a desperate enterprise. I do not think he
would face the hot water again; but the foe still stood in the road,
seemingly unconscious of peril, and the sight of them was raising the
major’s blood to the boiling point. What could he do? Being only a boy
myself, though I claimed to be a gentleman at the same time, I was
curious to see issue of the adventure, while I was firmly resolved to
take no part in it, even if I was court-martialed, and dismissed from
the service for disobedience.
Ever since the battle on the Horse Shoe, Tommy had been in favor of
flank movements. Wolf Penniman, though no soldier, had taught him a
lesson in tactics which he had not learned before. In fact, Wolf seemed
to have the tact to manage almost any difficult case. I saw the major
survey the locality of the barn in the rear of the house, and the
fields adjoining. I had no doubt he was planning a diversion.
“Captain Scotchley, you will march your company through this field to
the rear of the barn, and there await further orders,” said Tommy,
addressing me, with a flourish of his sword to point out the lots
through which I was to pass.
The field indicated was green with new wheat, and to march through it
would be to inflict serious injury upon the farmer. I at once came to
the conclusion that the order was an unreasonable one.
“That is a wheat field, Major Toppleton,” I mildly suggested, though I
knew very well that my remark would have no weight with the headstrong
young magnate.
“What of it?” demanded he.
“Marching through that field will damage the wheat.”
“I don’t care if it does! It belongs to this old farmer, whose son
insulted me. He takes his son’s part, and he must also bear the
consequences.”
“But he can prosecute you in the court for trespass, and make you pay
the damage.”
“I don’t care for the damage. I’m going to be even with that fellow
before I leave this place.”
“I would rather not take part in doing this mischief,” I replied.
“I suppose you mean to say that my order is an unreasonable one.”
“I did not put it in just that form, but that is what I mean.”
“I suspended you once, Captain Skotchley.”
“I am aware that you did.”
“As you obeyed my next order, I was going to let it pass, and say
nothing more about it,” said Tommy, biting his lips.
“I will obey any and every order which comes within the line of my
duty.”
“A soldier should obey his superior without any question,” retorted the
major.
“Not always,” I replied.
“Yes, always!” exclaimed Tommy, fiercely.
“Suppose the colonel of the regiment, in a time of peace, should order
one of his captains to shoot ten men of his company,” I suggested,
calling up a supposition which had been used in the lecture-room of the
Institute.
“That is not a supposable case.”
“The colonel might be attacked with sudden insanity.”
“Do you mean to say I am insane?”
“I did not say anything of the kind. Our lecturer on military tactics
was willing to grant that there could be instances when the inferior
was not bound to obey the superior--nay, where it was his duty to
disobey him.”
“If there are such cases, this is not one of them,” growled Tommy.
“I think it is. The battalion is out upon a tour of camp duty, and
in everything relating to that I will obey orders. But I won’t have
anything to do with avenging fancied insults.”
“Then you think that pulling me off my horse, and pitching me into the
dirt, is only a fancied insult?” sneered Tommy.
“That was only part of the affair,” I replied. “You ought to prosecute
the man in court. You have no right to take the law into your own
hands.”
“Shut up!” snapped Tommy, as he rode away from me in disgust.
CHAPTER VI.
THE BATTLE IN THE WHEAT FIELD.
Tommy had been talking with Haven, the first lieutenant of Company A,
who was a reckless and unprincipled fellow, and it was probable that he
had indicated a plan by which Jed might be properly punished for his
temerity. The order I refused to obey directed me to march to the rear
of the barn, and there await further instructions. The next command
would have been to capture the fiery colt, pull down the cow-shed, or
assault the hens and chickens--something to make a row which would
divert the attention of the farmer’s family and call them to the scene
of action. Then the first company would doubtless have been ordered
to march up to the front of the house, empty out the hot water in the
wash-boiler, capture the garden syringe, and lie in wait for the awful
Jed.
Major Toppleton rode up to Briscoe, and repeated the order he had given
to me. Of course the captain of the first company refused to obey.
He was a sensible fellow, and knew that boys who were merely playing
soldier would not be justified in doing mischief which could only have
been tolerated in time of war upon urgent necessity. Tommy was as much
in earnest as though the country had been invaded by a warlike host,
and its salvation depended upon the energy of his movements.
“Captains Briscoe and Skotchley are suspended from further duty,
and will consider themselves under arrest,” said the little major,
pompously. “They shall be tried by court martial when we halt at noon
to-day.”
Tommy then gave his order to march to the rear of the barn to Faxon,
the first lieutenant of my company. He followed my example, and
Barnscott was placed in command. He was ready to obey any orders, no
matter what they were. He would have set the barn on fire, if Tommy
had told him to do so. He gave the necessary commands for moving the
company towards the field, but only the twenty-five who had obeyed
him before were willing to do so now. Tommy stormed, and even swore,
after the manner of his father in such emergencies; but the rest of the
company, thirty-five in number, were as resolute as their suspended
officers, and refused to move into the field.
The moment the fellows began to leap over the fence, the old man and
Jed rushed forward to prevent the mischief. They yelled with a vigor
which did credit to their lungs and with clubs in their hands, placed
themselves in the way of the advancing column. They were not content
merely to stand before the troops, but they commenced a furious attack
upon them with the sticks in their hands. Though bayonets are generally
awkward weapons to run upon, the old man and his son did not seem to
hold them in terror.
Tommy, furiously excited by this actual warfare, ordered the first
company to march to the front of the house. At this movement Clarissa
rushed into the house, but she presently appeared with the old lady,
bearing the boiler of hot water. The women were quite as belligerent as
the men, and a few dippers of hot soap-suds compelled the brave boys of
Company A to retreat into the road again. But Haven, the master-spirit
of mischief, led his hot-water-battered forces over the fence above the
house into the farmer’s garden, and moved towards the rear of the barn,
doing no little damage to beets, carrots, cabbages, and peas.
In the mean time, the old man and his son were fighting a very unequal
battle with Company B--two against twenty-five. In the struggle, the
young wheat was trodden down, and the ground torn up by the feet of the
combatants. Briscoe and I were appalled at the probable consequences of
the strife. A thrust of a bayonet might kill Jed or his father; while,
at the best, our fellows were making fearful havoc in the grain field.
“Skotchley, this is rascally!” exclaimed Briscoe.
“I know it,” I replied, with no little feeling, for I was disgusted
with the strife.
“I don’t know but we are just as guilty in looking on as we should be
if we took part in it. I am willing, for one, to go in and stop this
thing.”
“So am I.”
“We are going to stop this thing, fellows!” shouted Briscoe, with
energy. “Will you stand by us?”
“Yes, yes!” replied the line.
“Hold on a minute, Briscoe,” I interposed, as a bright thought flashed
upon my mind. “Where is Fryes?”
“Here he is. Fryes!” called Briscoe.
“Blow the retreat,” I added, as the leader of the band presented
himself, with his bugle in his hand.
Although this was not exactly a piece of infantry tactics, we had
practised it in our studies, and the bugle call was well known to all
the troops. Indeed, we had been taught the drill and evolutions of all
arms of the service. Fryes blew the refrain, and it was heard by both
of the companies, or rather the fragments of them which were in the
field and behind the barn. Tommy, being on his horse, had been unable
to follow either detachment to the service upon which he had ordered
them. The troops who were engaged with the farmer and his son, in the
wheat field, appeared to receive the bugle blast as a welcome sound,
for without waiting for any orders from their officers, they made haste
to get over the fence into the road. The conflict had begun to flag in
this quarter, and our fellows were certainly getting the worst of it.
I do not wish to have it understood that this fighting was very
perilous to either party, for both took particular care to keep out
of each other’s way. It was simply running up and running back again,
though one or two of our boys got a rap from the stick in the hands of
Jed. If the conflict had continued a few moments longer, I think they
would have been driven out of the field. But I was afraid some accident
would happen to somebody.
By the time the second company had scaled the fence, the other
appeared, coming at the double-quick towards the road, without any
regard to the safety and future welfare of young beets, cabbages, and
other garden vegetables. Major Tommy began to fly around on his little
steed, for I learned that he had just sent a message to Haven, in the
rear of the barn, to march into the wheat field, and take the old man
and his son in the rear, intending to surround and capture them. Of
course, when he saw his carefully laid plan, defeated, he was angry and
excited, as usual.
“Who blew that retreat?” demanded he fiercely, as he galloped his steed
up to the place where Fryes stood.
“I did,” replied the chief musician, blandly.
“What did you do that for?”
“I was trying my bugle.”
“Trying your bugle! I will give you a lesson before I have done with
you.”
“A lesson on the bugle?” asked Fryes.
“None of your impudence!” exclaimed Tommy, flourishing his sword as
though he intended again to inflict corporal chastisement upon the
musician.
But the little major did not mean anything of the kind. Rash as he was,
he had a certain degree of prudence which did not permit him to hit
the wrong person. If Tommy had struck him again he would have been on
the ground in the twinkling of an eye; for Fryes was a high-spirited
fellow, who would not endure a second blow, especially from Tommy, whom
he despised as a tyrant.
“I beg your pardon if I said anything impudent, major. I only answered
your question,” replied Fryes, with his usual gravity.
“Don’t you blow that bugle again without orders from me.”
The leader of the band did not even suggest that he had received an
order from me to sound the retreat. He was always willing to take the
responsibility; but Briscoe and I were ready to share it with him.
“Barnscott!” called the major.
The lieutenant of the second company, who had gathered his weary
warriors near the spot where I stood, marched up to the major, and
saluted him. He was still out of breath with the violence of his
exertions in the field, or rather with the haste of his retreat, for
his party had been closely pursued by the old man and his son.
“March your company back, and don’t mind the bugle again.”
“Major Toppleton, this thing has gone far enough,” said Briscoe,
stepping up to the little major.
“What do you mean by that, Briscoe?”
“I mean to say, for one, that I won’t stand by any longer and see the
farmer’s crop destroyed.”
“I say it, for another,” I added.
“So say we all of us!” shouted the fellows in the line who had
supported Briscoe and myself.
“Do you command this battalion?” demanded Tommy.
“I command some of it,” answered the senior captain.
“I command some more of it,” I added.
“What are you going to do about it?” continued Tommy, angrily.
“We are going to protect the farmer,” replied Briscoe.
“I should like to see you do it!” said Tommy, shaking his head. “You
have your orders, Barnscott.”
Tommy rode up to the other company, which had halted in the road on the
front of the house, evidently for the purpose of sending it back to the
barn again.
“Skotchley, you have thirty-five men, and I have only thirty,” said
Briscoe, beginning now to be excited by the job we had jointly
undertaken. “You look out for Company A, and I will look out for
Company B. Let’s not have a fight if we can help it.”
“All right. I will do the best I can,” I replied.
Briscoe was a veteran, for he had been the leading spirit in the battle
on the Horse Shoe. With a few hasty orders, and a sharp movement, he
placed his men between Barnscott’s command and the wheat field. At the
same time I marched my men up towards the garden fence.
“Halt!” shouted Tommy, when he saw what I intended to do. “Why don’t
you halt when I tell you?”
We concluded not to halt, and reached the position to which Briscoe had
assigned us. Fryes had followed me, for we were the best of friends.
I think, if he had not kept an eye on the major, the irate commander
would have pitched into me. We were now in the order of battle, both
above and below the house; but I hoped that Tommy would not proceed to
extremities, in the face of so many difficulties.
CHAPTER VII.
TOMMY YIELDS A POINT.
The situation was not favorable to the success of Tommy’s project.
Briscoe and I had moved our companies with so much celerity that we had
the “inside track.” The major himself and his adherents appeared to
be in a measure paralyzed by our sudden operations; and we had placed
our men between the assailants and the objects of their ire. We were
fully determined to prevent any further trespass upon the premises of
the farmer. I must repeat, too, that all the better portion of the
battalion were in our ranks; for it will readily be understood that
Tommy’s force consisted only of his toadies,--in short, of those who
had not pluck enough to array themselves in opposition to the little
major’s tyranny.
We did not expect to be called upon to fight those who still adhered
to Tommy’s cause. We knew they had not the courage to attack us
in earnest. For my own part, I intended simply to head them off if
they attempted to enter the farmer’s garden again. We were superior
in numbers, as we were in spirit; and we could have closed with our
opponents, man for man, taken them in our arms, and borne them away
from the field of strife.
Jed had come out to the house to see what was going on there, when the
marauders abandoned the field of wheat. The old man still remained
there. Jed was not in good humor, and, as he approached the place where
my command was posted, he manifested a disposition to break things, and
I was not sure that he would not pitch into us, not comprehending the
nature of the combination in his favor. The women still stood by their
wash-boiler, in battle array.
“Now you can make tracks!” shouted Jed, as he approached me, with
clinched fists, and a wrathful expression on his red face.
“I should like to speak to you a moment, if you please,” I began, in a
respectful way.
“I don’t want any talk with you! You’ve done mischief enough and
somebody’s got to pay for it. If you don’t travel pretty soon there’ll
be some bones broken round here.”
“I have done the best I could to save you from trouble, Jed. I have
placed my men here to prevent any of the fellows from coming into your
grounds.”
“Is that so?” asked Jed, opening his eyes.
“You saw that the greater part of the battalion refused to attack you.”
“Well, I did see that some of them hung back.”
“More than half of them. Briscoe, down there, will not let any one into
your wheat field, and I will keep them out of your garden.”
“I wish you had begun sooner, then.”
“We didn’t know what the major meant to do till he did it.”
“I’m going to cowhide that major.”
“I wouldn’t attempt to do anything of the kind,” I continued. “He is
the son of Major Toppleton, of Middleport. His father will pay for the
damage his son has done, if you let the matter rest where it is.”
“No, sir! I won’t do it! I will take it out of his hide. You haven’t
any right to go marching about the country scaring horses. I’m going
to wallop that young cub, and teach him manners.”
“We did the best we could to stop the band, and we did stop it for a
time, till we thought you had the colt where you could handle him,” I
explained.
“I don’t find any fault with you, if you have done this; but that
little popinjay on the pony don’t get off without a thrashing, if I’m
able to give him one; and I reckon I can lick the whole crowd of these
boys.”
“I advise you to keep quiet, make up your damages, and send the bill to
Major Toppleton.”
“No; I’m going to thrash that young cub,” added Jed.
“We can’t stand by and let you whip our chief officer. We will keep him
from doing you any further damage: but you must let him alone.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Jed, shaking his head.
By this time, the old farmer, seeing that no further mischief was
likely to be done to the wheat field, came up to the house. He and Jed
talked together; and the latter, perhaps counselled to do so by his
father, refrained from his threatened attack upon Tommy. Everything
was quiet along the line. Our intervention seemed to be an entire
success. Tommy was in a quandary, and was holding a consultation
with Haven, his right hand man, on the other side of the street. The
situation looked trying and difficult to him, without any doubt, and
his principal adviser seemed to be unable to afford him any relief.
They were discussing the matter very earnestly, and there appeared to
be some difference of opinion between them. I judged that Tommy wanted
to fight it out on that line, while Haven was disposed to defer the
final settlement to a more fitting season.
We waited patiently for the result of this interview, though Faxon, the
first lieutenant of Company B, agreed with me that there was little
danger of the renewal of the conflict. When we were getting a little
tired of the delay, a messenger came to me, and said that Lieutenant
Haven desired to confer with Briscoe and myself. I was willing to meet
him, and was curious to know what he had to say; but the captain of the
first company refused to leave his command unless Barnscott’s force was
ordered away from the vicinity of the wheat field.
In answer to this objection Tommy graciously ordered the detachment of
Barnscott to join that of Haven, which was posted near me. I was not
quite satisfied with this arrangement, for it placed a force of sixty
in a situation to charge upon me the instant negotiations failed. I
therefore requested Briscoe to place his command within supporting
distance of me, which he did. Jed and his father had seated themselves
on a log before the house, and appeared to be watching the proceedings
with curiosity and interest.
Briscoe and I met Haven in the middle of the road, between the two
divisions of the battalion where each could repair to his command if
there was any alarm. Tommy sat upon his horse at a little distance from
the spot, looking glum and dissatisfied. I was rather surprised that he
took the matter so tamely. I concluded that Haven, who was an adroit
and cunning fellow, had some plan of his own which he intended to carry
out. Probably the approaching election had some influence with both of
them.
“I am directed by Major Toppleton to confer with you in regard to your
intentions,” said Haven, looking from Briscoe to me.
“We have sufficiently indicated our intentions already, I think,”
replied Briscoe. “We did not come out on this trip for the purpose of
injuring the property of the farmer’s. After Major Toppleton’s blazing
speech this morning about behaving like gentlemen, we didn’t expect to
see him making war upon wheat fields and gardens.”
“If you think it is all right for a clown to pull the major from his
horse, and pitch him into the dirt, you are welcome to your opinion. I
don’t think so,” retorted Haven. “I’m willing to stand by my commander
when he is abused, and I don’t think much of any fellow who isn’t.”
“You are as welcome to your opinion as I am to mine. The major was
wrong from the beginning.”
“We won’t talk about that,” added Haven with a sneer. “I only want to
know what you are going to do.”
“We are going to do what we think is right.”
“What do you think is right?” inquired the ambassador. “Do you think it
is right to get up a mutiny in the battalion?”
“I do, when the commanding officer so far forgets himself as to
trespass upon private property,” replied Briscoe.
“Major Toppleton proposes to march back to Middleport,” added Haven,
evidently thinking this threat would bring us back to our senses.
“Very well,” answered Briscoe.
“Do you intend to obey an order to that effect?” demanded the messenger.
Briscoe looked at me as if he was in doubt. I was certainly undecided.
“I am not prepared to answer that question without consulting others,”
replied the senior captain, choosing the safe course.
“We will obey an order to march in the direction of Hitaca,” I
interposed. “When Major Toppleton comes back to his duty, we will obey
him in all things as usual; but we will not be used in trampling down
anybody’s garden.”
“I agree entirely with Captain Skotchley,” said Briscoe.
“You seem to have taken the affairs of the battalion wholly into your
own hands,” sneered Haven.
“I haven’t anything further to say,” replied Briscoe, with dignity.
“I will report what you say to Major Toppleton,” said the messenger,
sourly, as he turned and walked away to the spot where Tommy was
impatiently waiting the result of the parley.
The report of the ambassador was not likely to be satisfactory to
the major. We were soon able to see that it was not so. A long and
earnest discussion between Tommy and his right-hand man ensued. Haven
was evidently counselling that discretion which is the better part of
valor, or there could have been no difference of opinion between them.
It was hard for the little magnate to yield a point even for a time.
His own friends would not be willing to abandon the tour of camp duty.
“What do you think he will do?” asked Briscoe.
“I don’t know; but I am certain that you and I must be punished for
what we have done,” I replied.
“I don’t intend to be punished,” added Briscoe. “We have the majority
on our side, and we can have it all our own way if we choose.”
“I am in favor of obeying orders when they are proper.”
“So am I.”
“Here comes Haven again. I suppose something more is to be said,” I
continued, as the messenger again advanced towards us.
The lieutenant came up to us, and saluted in military form. I sincerely
hoped that he had a message of peace.
“Major Toppleton directs me to say that he is entirely dissatisfied
with your proceedings,” Haven began. “He says that he shall hold
the two captains responsible for their own disobedience, and for
encouraging mutiny on the part of the men. He is unwilling to
disappoint those who have faithfully obeyed his orders, or he would
march the battalion back to Middleport. He desires to have it
understood that his present action will not save the offenders from
future trial and punishment. At his own convenience he will order a
court martial.”
Briscoe smiled, and so did I, as Tommy’s favorite idea came up to the
surface again. We were to be the victims of a court martial, after all!
Haven saluted again, turned squarely on his heel, and walked back to
the major’s position.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FIRE IN THE FARM-HOUSE.
Tommy Toppleton had certainly done what I had never known him to do
before--he had yielded a point. Though he distinctly stated, through
his messenger that he held Briscoe and myself responsible for the
trouble, and intended to court-martial us at his first convenient
opportunity, he had still abandoned his position; for, as nearly as I
could judge by appearances, he intended to continue the march, and let
the obdurate young farmer rest in peace for the present.
“Attention--battalion!” shouted the major, after a short conference
with his right-hand man.
The fragments of the body obeyed the order, and gave attention, but
they did not form in single line, as usual. Tommy’s adherents formed by
themselves and the mutinous portion did the same. The major gave an
order to unite the discordant elements, and probably the order would
have been obeyed if a third disturbing element had not at this moment
appeared. My attention was attracted to the house by the screams of the
old lady. I saw her rushing with frantic energy towards the open door,
from which a volume of black smoke was issuing.
Jed and his father had been seated on a log for some time, watching
the proceedings of the battalion. I suppose they did not wish to have
the unequal conflict renewed, and doubtless Jed concluded that he had
better profit by the good advice I had given. The two women had taken
position near the men, and had watched our movements with interest and
curiosity. The old lady appeared to have been the first one to discover
the smoke. She was followed, in her rush to the scene of danger, by the
two men and the pretty girl. As may well be supposed, all of them were
alarmed, for the house was on fire.
Jed was the first to reach the door, and to enter the house,
outspeeding his mother in the advance. He went in, but the dense volume
of smoke was too much for him, and he was compelled to retreat. He
came out rubbing his eyes, which were blinded by the smoke. Then his
father rushed in at the open door; but he was driven back as hastily as
his son had been.
“Fire! Fire!” yelled Jed, when he had in some measure recovered from
the effects of his visit to the interior of the house.
“Fire!” cried the old man.
The two women screamed; but none of the party seemed to have the
presence of mind to do anything to stay the progress of the flames.
“This is a bad scrape!” exclaimed Briscoe. “We haven’t seen the end of
it. What shall we do?”
“Let us put out the fire,” I replied.
“How shall we do it?” asked the senior captain.
“Throw on water. Stack arms, and send to the wagons for buckets!”
“Form companies!” shouted Tommy.
I looked at him. There was an evil expression of pleasure upon his
face as he regarded the mass of smoke which issued from the door of
the farm-house. He had not kindled the fire; but it was plain that he
rejoiced to see it. He was ready now to march, and leave the devouring
element to avenge the insult cast upon him. He was excited now, and
issued his orders rapidly for the formation of the companies. While he
was doing so, Briscoe marched his men--those only who had acted under
him in the late conflict--to the side of the road, where he ordered
them to stack arms. I followed his example. While we were thus engaged,
Haven rushed up to us, and wanted to know if we did not intend to
keep our promises. We had agreed to obey orders for the purpose of
continuing the march.
“We are going to help put out the fire,” replied Briscoe. “After that
we will obey orders.”
“You have nothing to do with the fire,” replied Haven. “Major Toppleton
orders you into line.”
We gave no further attention to him, but directed our men to stack
arms. Briscoe and myself led the way to the house, and all our friends
followed. I closed the front door, and sent a squad of my company to
the wagons for water-pails and other vessels.
“Come, Jed, bring out your pails, and everything else that will hold
water! We can put this fire out in about three minutes,” said I.
“Bring up that ladder!” called Briscoe to his force.
All the family, including the pretty girl, rushed to the back room,
to the barn, and other parts of the premises and soon appeared with
buckets, tubs, kettles, pans, and other vessels. Briscoe’s fellows
raised the ladder to one of the second-story windows. There was a pump
in the yard, and a brook crossed the road a short distance below the
house.
“Now, Briscoe, if you will form a line to the brook and to the pump, I
will take care of the water as fast as you bring it up.”
“All right, but be in a hurry,” replied the senior captain, who was
more excited than I was.
By this time all the pails, tubs, and pans, from the wagons and from
the house, were on the spot. I selected half a dozen reliable fellows
to help me throw on the water. The lower part of the house was so full
of smoke that it was impossible to go in. I went up the ladder and
entered the chamber above through the window. The fire was just working
up through the floor, near the chimney.
“Pass up the water!” I called to those who had followed.
[Illustration: THE FIRE IN THE FARM-HOUSE.]
“Pass up the water!” repeated Faxon, at the window.
At this moment Jed joined me in the chamber. He had partially recovered
his self possession.
“What shall I do?” he asked.
“Get an axe, and cut a hole through the floor here where the fire is
coming through.”
He went to the window and asked his father to send him an axe. The
smoke in the room was becoming very dense; but the first bucket of
water now appeared, and I poured it upon the spot where the flame was
struggling through the floor. The pails came up now as rapidly as I
could dispose of them. The axe was sent up, and Jed chopped away an
aperture, so that I could throw the water down into the room below.
In a couple of minutes we had produced a decided impression upon the
fire, and we had soon put out all the flames we could see. Leaving
Faxon to pour on the water in the chamber, I descended by the ladder
to the ground, with the intention of getting into the room below. I
wished to see where the fire was, and to assure myself that it was not
spreading in a direction where we had not reached it. I opened the door
and went in. I could remain but an instant; but a single glance was
enough to enable me to comprehend the situation.
There was a great pile of chips, shavings, and pine wood by the side of
the stove, which had been brought in to heat the oven in the afternoon,
as the old lady told me afterwards, when the “men folks” had gone to
work. In the absence of the family, who had remained in the yard to
watch the movements of the battalion, the heap of combustible matter
had taken fire. The flames had been communicated to the wood-work, and
were rapidly forcing their way upward.
The quantity of water which had been poured down from the chamber
above, had extinguished the fire in the partition, but it was spreading
along the floor. Thus far the conflagration had been mainly confined
to the heap of wood and shavings; for I assure the reader that it has
taken much longer for me to relate the circumstances than it did for
our fellows to do what has been described.
“Hold on above there, Faxon!” I shouted to my companion up stairs, as
soon as I had rubbed the smoke out of my eyes.
“Is it all out?” demanded the lieutenant.
“No; but the water you throw on now does no good. Come down.”
I took a bucket of water, rushed into the kitchen, and dashed it upon
the burning pile. The effect was good, but I was obliged to retreat
instantly. I hastily explained the situation to the group around me,
and one after another a dozen fellows made a dive into the room, poured
a pail of water on the fire, and then retired before the smoke had
wholly blinded them. On my next visit to the scene of danger, I found
that the fire had been nearly extinguished. I opened the doors and
windows, so that the wind drove out the smoke. A few more buckets of
water completed our work, and the family came in to see the effects of
the fire.
The apartment was certainly in very bad condition, so far as
appearances were concerned; but the damage was not very great. The
wood-work around the chimney, and the floor near the stove, were burned
away. The old man said that twenty-five or thirty dollars would repair
the damages. The old lady declared that she never saw such a mess in
her life.
“Well, who’s to pay for all this?” said Jed, after the excitement had
subsided.
“I don’t know,” I replied, glancing at my new uniform, which had
suffered somewhat in the battle with the fire. “Do you think those who
put the fire out for you ought to pay for it?”
“Well, no; I don’t know’s I think so,” replied he. “But it all come of
your making such a row here--I mean the Toppleton boy. If he don’t pay
for it, I’ll take it out of his hide.”
“Captain Skotchley!” shouted Faxon, rushing into the house. “The major
has taken all our guns, and is marching down the road with his fellows.”
“What does that mean?” I inquired, astonished at this intelligence.
“I don’t know; I suppose Tommy is going to bring us to terms,” laughed
Faxon.
“All right. Let him go. We will follow when we get ready.”
“Are you sure the fire is all put out?” asked the old lady, anxiously.
“I think so,” I replied, “but we can make sure of it before we go.”
I went out doors, followed by Faxon. Our fellows were not a little
excited by Tommy’s last move, but Briscoe was quieting them. I ascended
the ladder again, and entered the window still attended by Faxon. There
were no signs of fire in the chamber; but I thought it was possible
that the flame had ascended within the wood-work, and I wished to
examine the attic above. I soon found the stairs, and went up. Before
I had reached the garret floor, I heard the step of a man. The door
of the room over the chamber where we had poured down the water was
suddenly closed, and I heard the springing of a bolt on the inside.
“There is somebody here,” said Faxon.
“So I see,” I replied, trying the door. “I heard the step of a man as
we were coming up the stairs. There comes Jed.”
“It’s all right now,” said the farmer’s son. “Come down stairs, and
I’ll see to this.”
“But the fire may have crept up here; and I hope you won’t be burned up
after we are gone.”
“I’ll see to that,” replied Jed, anxiously.
“Who’s in that room?”
“It’s a man that used to work for us; he’s crazy now,” added Jed,
placing himself between me and the door. “I will see to this room.”
My curiosity prompted me to see the crazy man; but I could not insist,
and I went down.
CHAPTER IX.
THE QUESTION OF RATIONS.
“What does that mean, Faxon?” I asked, after we had left the house. “Do
you suppose they keep a crazy man up in the attic?”
“Jed says so.”
“They didn’t go up after him when the house was on fire.”
“I don’t believe he is very crazy. He knew enough to go into his room
and bolt the door after him, when he heard us coming,” answered Faxon.
“Why should Jed be so particular not to have us see him?” I inquired.
“He seemed to be much troubled about it. Did you mind how careful he
was to put himself between me and the door?”
“Yes; he didn’t seem to feel just right about it, and was in a great
hurry to have us go down stairs. The man goes about the house; so he
can’t be very bad. I shouldn’t wonder if there was something wrong
about it,” added Faxon.
“What can be wrong about it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. If it had been all right, Jed would not have cared so
much about our seeing the crazy man.”
By this time Jed had come down, and joined us in the yard. He looked
awkward and embarrassed; and, as I saw him standing in front of the
house, it recalled a circumstance which I had noticed at the beginning
of the fire, but which at that time had no significance. I saw the
old lady talking earnestly to her son, and pointing up to the attic
window. Then Jed disappeared, and I did not see him again till I
entered the chamber. I concluded that the woman was alarmed about the
safety of the crazy man, and that Jed did something to save him in case
the house should be destroyed. Indeed, none of the family had done
anything to extinguish the flames at first, and I was now willing to
give them credit for their humanity in attending to the safety of the
unfortunate, instead of condemning them, as I had done, for their lack
of energy and presence of mind in the trying emergency.
“This is a bad day’s work for us,” said Jed, with a kind of lugubrious
expression on his sun-browned face.
“I’m sorry for it,” I replied. “We ought to be thankful, however, that
the matter is no worse, for your house came pretty near being burned
up.”
“I haven’t any fault to find with you fellows who tried to get us out
of the scrape; but if it don’t cost that Toppleton boy something, it
won’t be my fault.”
“How long have you had that crazy man up there?” I inquired.
“O, more than a year. He don’t give us any trouble; but he gets wild
when he sees strangers. That’s the reason I didn’t want him to see you.”
“It’s lucky he didn’t get burned to death,” said Faxon.
“I looked out for him in the first of it. I took him down into the
shed; but, as soon as the fire was put out, I sent him back again, for
fear he should see some of you, and have a fit on him.”
“If he was up in that room, he must have seen some of us in the yard.”
“Well, it don’t seem to make any difference with him, if people don’t
come close to him.”
But Jed did not appear to like the subject, and tried to avoid it. The
curiosity we manifested increased his embarrassment, and several times
he hinted to us that we had better resume our march. He declared that
he must see to his colt; that he must go for the body of the wagon,
which the crazy animal had left on the hill; and he must help the
folks clean out the kitchen. But he did none of these things while we
remained.
“I hope the fire will not break out again,” I continued, as Faxon and I
moved towards the place where Briscoe was talking with our boys.
“I don’t think there is any danger.”
“The fire may have worked its way up into the crazy man’s room, and I
advise you to keep a sharp lookout.”
“I shall. I went into the room. There was some smoke there, but I
couldn’t find any fire,” replied Jed, fidgeting as though he was afraid
we should insist upon visiting that room.
We did not insist, and Faxon and I joined our companions in the road;
and we had no difficulty in turning our attention from the crazy man in
the attic to the crazy boy in command of our battalion. Major Tommy had
loaded the guns of our portion of the corps on the wagons, and departed
in the direction of Hitaca. We were disarmed, and not in fighting
condition. We concluded that our commander, in depriving us of our
weapons, intended to bring us to terms.
As I approached, Briscoe came forward to meet me, and led me one side
to consider the circumstances in which we were placed. He appeared to
be much more annoyed than I was at the movement of Tommy. We had the
cream of the battalion on our side, and I did not doubt our ability to
recover our arms when we were so disposed.
“Well, Skotchley, what are we to do?” said he, rather anxiously.
“We may as well march till we come up with the rest of the battalion,”
I replied, laughing, in spite of myself, at the gravity of the senior
captain.
“You seem to think it is a joke,” he added.
“Rather of that order, I am inclined to believe.”
“I don’t think so. Tommy has all the arms.”
“No matter for that.”
“But what is worse, he has the wagons, which contain all our
provisions. We can’t get any dinner unless he pleases to give us some.
He can starve us into subjection.”
“I guess not,” I added, amused at the idea.
“We may as well look at the thing as it is. How far is it from here to
Priam, the next town on the road?”
“Seven or eight miles.”
“If you ever went over this road, you must know that it is a rocky
country before us, and there is hardly a house between here and Priam.”
“I never went over the road.”
“I think this is the last farm-house for several miles. We are on the
border of a very rough region,” continued Briscoe, earnestly.
“Well, what odds does that make? I don’t care how rough it is. The
scenery will be all the finer, and we shall enjoy the tramp the more.”
“You make light of it, Skotchley; but I can tell you this--that Tommy
has us on the hip.”
“I don’t see it.”
“In a couple of hours more it will be dinner time. What are we going to
do then?”
“Dine.”
“You can’t dine very well without something to eat.”
“When we get hungry enough, we shall be ready to fight a battle for the
sake of our stomachs. We can capture the baggage wagons then.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Briscoe. “We haven’t a musket, and Tommy’s crowd
are well armed. They have the inside track.”
“Then we can switch off.”
“Switch off?”
“Yes, and take the inside track.”
“Tommy isn’t much of a schemer himself, though he is not without tact;
but Haven, who is his principal adviser, is a good manager. In my
opinion, instead of drilling with the Wimpletonians we are going to
have a war among ourselves.”
“If we do, we shall bring Tommy to his senses before it is finished.”
“If the major can keep us off till to-morrow noon, he and his flunkies
may elect officers to suit themselves.”
“I don’t think we are going to have any serious trouble. Tommy will
hardly make war upon a majority of the battalion.”
“Humph! He would make war on all the world. I have my doubts about
going ahead any farther.”
“O, don’t back out!” I replied.
“I don’t mean to back out; but I don’t feel just right about marching
our fellows down here without anything to eat. If Tommy finds a
position where he can protect his camp, he may hold us at bay till our
fellows are starved into compliance with his terms.”
“I acknowledge that the ration question is a difficult one,” I added.
“That’s almost the only one. If we had the wagons, we could make our
own terms.”
“We can take the bull by the horns, then.”
“Yes, if we can get hold of the horns.”
“No trouble about that. Is there any money among our fellows?” I asked.
“I suppose there is.”
“Money makes the mare go.”
“What good will money do in the wilderness before us?”
“I’ll give you my idea, Briscoe, and you can lay it before the fellows
if you like.”
“Go ahead, for I don’t want to back out. Tommy has been our tyrant for
two or three years. He has behaved badly to-day, and I think we have
done right in trying to check him. We tried to save Jed’s horse, we
prevented Tommy’s flunkies from doing any more mischief to the farmer’s
property, and we put out the fire when our commander would have
permitted the house to be burned up. I think we have the right of the
matter. I don’t want to march back to Middleport, as we must if we have
no provisions.”
“We must take a stock of provisions with us,” I suggested. “That’s my
plan.”
“I never thought of that; but where are we to get them?” asked Briscoe,
his face lighting up with hope.
“Buy them. We can pick up money enough among the fellows to purchase a
week’s supply, I think. We have eighty, and a quarter apiece will give
us twenty dollars.”
“Good!”
“We can hire Jed to go in his wagon, with one or two of us, to the
store three miles back. We have the pots and kettles belonging to the
camp equipage with us, and we can do our own cooking.”
“That’s a capital idea, Skotchley, and I feel better already. But we
have no tents.”
“No matter; the fellows can sleep on the ground before a big fire; but
my idea is, that we shall have the tents before we want to sleep.”
Briscoe liked my plan very much, for it seemed to solve all the
difficulties of the situation. We went over to the place where the
two companies were, and the senior captain stated the case to them,
declaring that we must either return to Middleport, or obtain a supply
of provision for the march. The boys were unanimously in favor of going
ahead, and we “passed round the hat.” Counting the proceeds of the
collection, the result was over thirty dollars.
Jed was open to a trade; and for a dollar he agreed to convey Faxon,
who was appointed commissary for the occasion, to the store. He brought
out his colt, which now behaved in a very orderly manner, and attached
him to the forward wheels of his wagon. Half a dozen of the boys went
to the top of the hill where the body of his wagon was, to assist in
mounting it. The party soon returned, and assured us that our agent was
on his way to the store.
CHAPTER X.
WHO THE CRAZY MAN WAS.
Our fellows were highly excited at the prospect of a contest with
Tommy Toppleton and his minions. We believed that we had the right of
way--that the track belonged to us; and the question was, which of us
should “switch off.” Our present plan provided against the perils of
starvation, and everybody was good natured.
“This does not look much like a prize drill on Friday--does it,
Skotchley?” asked Briscoe, as we sat on the fence, waiting for the
return of our commissary.
“Not much.”
“We can’t get round the lake by Friday, if we fool away our time in
this manner.”
“If we are behind time, we can take one of the steamers down the lake.
But I am more afraid the battalion will be broken up before Friday, by
Tommy’s obstinacy. If he don’t come to terms--”
“What terms?” asked Briscoe, laughing.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “on precisely what terms we are to make
peace; but we are to have a new major, and for one, I will no longer
submit to Tommy’s tyranny.”
“So say we all of us.”
“You will be chosen major, if we have a fair election; and if we don’t
have a fair one, we will not submit to it.”
“Things look decidedly squally,” added Briscoe.
“That’s true; but if we can make our fellows stick, it will come out
all right.”
“O, they will stick. We have all the best fellows of the Institute on
our side.”
“They haven’t any tyrant on the other side of the lake now.”
“No. Isn’t it odd? They say Waddie is a real gentlemen. He don’t put on
airs, and don’t even get mad.”
“Wolf Penniman converted him. It’s a great pity he can’t convert his
father.”
“So it is; but I think we should be satisfied, on our side, if Tommy
Toppleton could be converted into a decent fellow, though it won’t be
our fault if he is not.”
“That’s so,” laughed Briscoe. “I suppose it would not be very hard for
some of us to get transferred to the Wimpleton Institute, after the
summer vacation, if things don’t go right on this side.”
“My father and Major Toppleton are old friends and I found it rather
hard for me to get away,” I added. “But I hope Tommy will switch off,
and get on the other track.”
“I hope so. What’s that?” exclaimed Briscoe, pointing up to the chimney
of the farm-house nearest to us. “Isn’t it smoke?”
“Yes, it is, as true as you live!” I replied, excited by the sudden
prospect of another fire.
The old farmer and his family were still at work in the kitchen,
cleaning out the wreck of the fire. After examining the casing of the
chimney in the house, I had been fearful that some sparks had been
drawn up into the wood-work above. If I had been permitted to look into
the attic chamber where the crazy man lived, I could have determined
whether there was any fire there or not. I doubt whether Jed went in at
all.
“We must go to work again, Briscoe,” I added, waiting for him, as my
senior officer to give me orders.
“You look out for the inside, and I will see that the water is passed
up to you.”
Taking Langdon and Dunbold with me, I ran into the kitchen, and told
the people that the house was on fire near the roof. I did not wait
to ask permission, but rushed up stairs, followed by my companions.
I looked into the chamber where we had worked before, but there was
no fire there. I ascended to the attic. The door of the crazy man’s
chamber was still fastened. It was possible that he was not yet aware
of the presence of the devouring element so near him. Indeed, the smoke
we had seen outside was so slight as hardly to attract our notice.
“Fire! Fire!” I shouted, pounding vigorously upon the door.
The crazy man took no notice of us, and I repeated the warning
demonstration. By this time the old farmer had made his way up stairs.
He rapped on the door several times, with no better success than had
attended my appeal.
“Open the door,” said the farmer. “The house is afire up here
somewhere.”
“No fire in here,” replied the occupant of the room.
“Perhaps it’s outside,” suggested the old man, as he looked up to a
scuttle in the roof, which I had not before noticed. “If one or two of
you would go on the roof, you could see just where it is.”
Corporal Dunbold, who was distinguished as a gymnast, offered to render
this service. Placing a flour barrel on an old table, he reached the
scuttle, opened it, and went out upon the roof. Sergeant Langdon
followed him.
“If the house is on fire, you ought to get this man out,” I suggested
to the farmer.
“I suppose so. I must break the door down. He’s very obstinate. You run
down and get me the axe, and I’ll break in the door.”
I ran down stairs to the room below, where Jed had left the axe with
which we had cut through the floor. When I was half way up the stairs
on my return, I heard the door of the crazy man’s chamber open. Somehow
I was not afraid of him, though I had been told that the sight of
strangers made him violent. I reached the top of the stairs just as he
came out of the room. The farmer was hurrying him towards the apartment
on the other side of the entry; but I met him face to face.
The crazy man was Christy Holgate, who had robbed Wolf Penniman’s
father of twenty-four hundred dollars!
I saw him and recognized him, though he had grown very thin and pale
since I had last seen him more than a year before, on the steamer.
Of course I was astonished at the sight of him, for it was generally
believed in Middleport that the robber had fled to the South. For
the moment, I forgot that I was looking for the fire; but the farmer
hurried Christy into the other chamber, and presently joined me at the
head of the stairs.
“Do you find any fire?” he asked anxiously.
“Not yet,” I replied, leading the way into the crazy man’s chamber.
“There isn’t any fire here,” said the farmer. “I think it’s a false
alarm.”
“We certainly saw some smoke rising from the roof near the chimney, on
the outside.”
I put my hand upon the casing of the chimney. It was quite hot, and I
was satisfied that it was not a false alarm. It was plain enough that
the farmer’s house would soon be enveloped in flames if the fire was
not reached and checked. By this time, Briscoe had raised a long ladder
to the attic window. Dunbold reported that the smoke was coming out
through the cracks around the chimney.
“Pass up the water, fellows!” I called at the open window.
The boys were already on the ladder; and as soon as I had a couple
of buckets of water in the room, I directed the farmer to cut away
the casing of the chimney; for I did not deem it prudent to admit the
air till we were ready to fight the flames. He promptly struck a few
vigorous blows with the axe, and down came the boards, charred on the
inside by the fire. A few pails of water finished the work, though
we did not leave the place till we had drenched the roof around the
chimney. We poured in water till there was no longer any possibility of
a secret spark doing any mischief.
The farmer, who seemed to take a more Christian view of our relations
than his son did, was very grateful to us for the service we had
rendered. He offered to give us all a dinner if we would wait long
enough for his “women folks” to cook it. As we were in no particular
hurry, we accepted the invitation. The old lady and Clarissa--who was
a neighbor for whom Jed had a particular regard--went to work, boiling
potatoes and frying bacon, at the stove in the midst of the ruins of
the kitchen.
“Your man up stairs don’t seem to be very crazy,” said I to the farmer,
while we were waiting.
“Only when he sees strangers.”
“Why don’t you send him to an asylum?”
“Well, he don’t give us any trouble. When no one but our own folks
are here he comes down to his meals. Besides, he’s my wife’s brother.
He had some trouble a while ago, and that rather turned his head. He
thinks somebody is after him all the time.”
I did not wonder at this, for somebody had been after him for weeks
or months after he committed his crime. Wolf’s father had been
his best friend; and, while the steamer, of which Christy was the
engineer, was lying at the wharf in Ucayga, he had taken Mr. Penniman’s
pocket-book from him. When he was discovered, he attempted to escape
on a locomotive; but Wolf jumped on with him, and by the aid of a
pistol he had taken from Waddie Wimpleton, compelled him to give up the
pocket-book. He gave it up; but he had taken the twenty-four hundred
dollars from it. He took to the woods, and the sheriffs could not find
him. Probably he had been concealed all this time at his sister’s
house. I wondered where the money was, the loss of which had nearly
ruined Wolf’s father.
I did not deem it wise to inform the farmer that I had recognized
Christy in the crazy man. It was possible that a portion of the money
might yet be recovered, and persons more skilled than I was in such
matters ought to manage the case. Wolf’s steamer touched at Priam,
which lay in our route, and I decided, if I could not see “the young
captain” there, to leave a note for him.
It was nearly twelve o’clock when Jed and Faxon returned with the wagon
well loaded with provisions, such as crackers, shipbread, bacon, salt
fish, potatoes, and other articles which we could conveniently use. Our
dinner was now nearly ready, and all the resources of the farm-house
were required to feed us. There were knives and forks enough for only a
small portion of our company; but as we were used to camping out, and
realized that “fingers were made before forks,” we had no difficulty in
filling our stomachs.
Jed had become very good-natured, for Faxon had explained to him
the particulars of the difficulty between the two divisions of the
battalion. He hoped the Toppleton boy would be whipped out, and he
would be willing to go down and help us do it. We did not need any
assistance of this kind; but, when he volunteered to convey our
provisions and stores down to Priam, we accepted his offer; but he
harnessed the colt’s mother for this service.
At one o’clock we took up the line of march. As we felt that we were
going to battle, Briscoe sent scouts ahead to warn us of the presence
of the enemy.
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE WILD REGION.
It looked to me just as though another war of the students had actually
commenced, not between the rival academies this time, but between
different factions of the same institution. But this statement of the
case did not exactly suit me, for I felt that I had no quarrel with
my fellow-students; and it was more reasonable to call it a rebellion
against the tyranny of Tommy Toppleton. The question was whether Tommy,
who was only the equal of his fellow-students, should treat them like
inferiors; should bully them, snub them, and, at his lordly mandate,
compel them to invade a farmer’s wheat field, trample down his garden,
and assault his people.
I thought not, and so thought a majority of us. Our remedy was to elect
a new major--one who would be reasonable; one who, while he required
strict obedience to his legitimate military commands, would treat us
like officers and gentlemen; one who would not make war on the gardens,
chicken coops, and barns of the farmers through whose territory we were
to pass. Most of us were satisfied that in Captain Briscoe we should
find such a person, and a majority of us intended to place him in this
high position.
Major Tommy had deprived us of our arms, and continued the march with
the wagons containing the tents, provisions, and other stores. But we
had plentifully supplied ourselves with eatables, so that we could
not be starved into subjection. I feared that Tommy, who, whatever
he might say on the subject, was disturbed about the result of the
approaching election, would dispose of the matter with the minority,
who still adhered to his fortunes. The battalion headquarters were
with him; the roster and records were in his possession, or in that of
the sergeant-major, who was one of his toadies, so that an election
conducted by him would be technically legal, though really unfair and
unjust.
In regard to the major’s mode of operations we were still in the
dark. We had about eight miles of wild country before us, abounding
in forests, headlong steeps, deep ravines gored in the stupendous
rocks, in rushing torrents, and lofty cascades. Later in the season
this region was visited by thousands of tourists, and at Priam there
was a large hotel for their accommodation. At the present time we were
not likely to be disturbed; for though a good road extended through
this picturesque territory, it was but little used, for nearly all the
travel between Middleport and Priam was done by the steamboats on the
lake.
We marched from the farm-house, where so many lively incidents had
occurred, and entered the wild region. There was no one to molest or
make us afraid. Having no arms to carry, we had an easy time of it.
Of the twenty members of the band and drum corps, we had fifteen, and
occasionally Fryes gave us a tune to enliven the march. Our scouts
led the way a mile in advance of us, to notify us of any hostile
demonstration on the part of Tommy’s adherents, who were at least three
hours ahead of us. Occasionally we halted at the mountain torrents
which flowed down the rocks, or dashed along by the side of the road,
to refresh ourselves with a draught of the pure water; but we saw
neither man nor beast. Not even a stray tourist had anticipated the
season, though many sportsmen had come up to fish on the lake.
“This isn’t very bad, is it?” said Briscoe, halting at the road-side
till I came up with him.
“No; it’s a beautiful country,” I replied. “I wouldn’t mind spending a
week or two among these rocks.”
“I should like it first-rate, and I wonder we have never came up here
to camp out,” added the senior captain.
“The country is not very favorable for camps and military evolutions.”
“That’s so; there’s hardly room enough to pitch our tents on any one
spot.”
“I wonder where Tommy is,” continued Briscoe. “I expected to come up
with him before this time.”
“Some of our fellows say that Haven knows all about this wild region
and I suppose he is conducting Tommy’s forces. What do you suppose they
mean to do?”
“I have no idea of the particular way in which they intend to manage
the business; but Tommy means to have himself elected major without any
help from us. He must know by this time that we shall not vote for him.”
“Perhaps he means to hide in the hills till after noon to-morrow, and
then come out to tell us he has been elected major,” I suggested. “Of
course you and I will be elected high privates, for Tommy’s fellows
will have all the best places--all the commissions at least, if not
all the warrants. Then we are to be court-martialed and punished as he
thinks we deserve.”
“But he can’t carry on an election without a quorum,” said Briscoe.
“The rules require that one half shall be present to do any business.”
“I fancy he will find some way to get over this difficulty.”
“I don’t see how he can get over it. He has only sixty-five, including
the three wagon masters.”
“He has always been a law unto himself, and I don’t see why he
shouldn’t be in this instance.”
“Are all our fellows true-blue?” asked Briscoe, in a low tone and with
some anxiety apparent on his face.
“I suppose they are,” I answered. “Of course there are some who don’t
care much how the thing goes.”
“I was thinking that Tommy, if we should get together again, might find
means to win some of our fellows over on his side. If he could draw
over about a dozen of them, that would give him a quorum. Then, if
he could keep us at a distance, he might elect every officer to suit
himself.”
“We must explain the matter to our fellows, and fortify them.”
“That’s so; we will do it the next time we halt.”
Briscoe resumed his place at the head of the column, and we continued
the march till an inviting brook induced him to halt for a drink. We
had plenty of drinking vessels with us, which we had used in putting
out the fire. Like all boys, our party were thirsty every time they
saw a good chance to drink. But, before they had satisfied themselves,
two of the four scouts who had led the advance, one of whom was Faxon,
were seen hastening towards us. It was evident that some important
discovery had been made.
Of course Tommy’s movements had been the subject of constant discussion
among our party, and all sorts of opinions were expressed in regard
to his course. Some thought he would not halt till he reached Priam,
where he would send for his father to sit in judgment upon the rebels.
Others believed he would hide himself in the woods and ascertain what
our party intended to do. But the prevailing opinion was, that he
intended to starve us into yielding to all his requirements. Perhaps
they thought so because this was the very emergency for which we had so
carefully provided.
Lieutenant Faxon and Corporal Dunbold were the two scouts who returned
to the main body. Both of them looked excited, if not anxious, as they
approached, and we concluded that the solution of Tommy’s intentions
was at hand. Our fellows at once forgot that they were thirsty, and
hurried away from the brook to meet the scouts, and obtain the latest
tidings of the major’s operations.
“What is it, Faxon?” demanded Briscoe, striving to keep cool, and thus
maintain the dignity of the commanding officer of the rebels--for such
we acknowledged that we were, and quoted the example of the patriots of
the Revolution to sustain our position.
“Tommy and his forces have halted on High Bluff,” replied Faxon, out of
breath with the haste he had made.
“What’s High Bluff?” asked a dozen of our party.
“What are they doing?” inquired a dozen more.
“Are they going to fight?” demanded others.
“Well, I can’t answer a dozen questions at once,” replied Faxon,
laughing, as he seated himself on a rock to rest his weary limbs.
“Order!” shouted Briscoe. “Fall back! Rest yourself a minute,
Faxon, and I will form the line and have the business done without
interruption.”
The senior captain and myself ordered our two companies to form a line,
telling them that any disorder might lose us the battle. They were
reasonable enough to see the point.
“Now keep in line, fellows. I will tell you all about it as soon as I
ascertain the situation,” said Briscoe.
“All right!” shouted the students.
“No soldier will leave the line without orders. As soon as I find out
where Tommy is, I will tell you what we will do.”
Certainly our troops were very well disciplined; for, impatient as
they were, not one of them left his place. Leaving Lennox in charge of
the line, Briscoe and I hastened to the place where Faxon was resting
himself.
“I think Tommy has us in a tight place,” said the scout, as we seated
ourselves in front of him.
“Why so? What has he done?” asked Briscoe, rather nervously.
“He has camped on High Bluff, and pulled up the bridge, so that we
cannot reach him.”
“I don’t know anything about High Bluff,” added Briscoe, impatiently.
“Some folks call it Bellevue. It is a kind of promontory on the shore,
which commands a beautiful view of the lake and its eastern borders.”
“What bridge has he pulled up?” inquired Briscoe, still unable to
comprehend the situation.
“The bridge over the ravine at High Bluff. It was built by the
hotel-keeper at Priam, so that his guests could drive upon the
promontory, and get the view there without leaving their carriages.”
“But what’s the need of a bridge if the bluff is on this side of the
lake?” I asked.
“On each side of the promontory there is a wide gully; or, in fact,
there are two arms of the lake. Between the bluff and the road there
is another gully, through which flows the brook, which is there almost
a river. Indeed, the two arms of the lake are the two mouths of this
stream, and the bluff is an island.”
We understood his explanation, and were satisfied that Major Tommy had
chosen a strong position in which to subdue the rebels.
CHAPTER XII.
BEFORE HIGH BLUFF.
“What does Tommy intend to do?” asked Briscoe. “What is he going to
make by fortifying himself on High Bluff?”
“I don’t know,” answered Faxon. “Of course he don’t know that we have
anything to eat, and I suppose he thinks he can starve us till we
submit or clear out.”
“I think we will not let him know that we have anything in the way of
provisions,” added Briscoe.
“Probably he means to keep us out of our guns also,” I suggested.
“Isn’t there any way to get on the Bluff?” inquired Briscoe.
“I don’t know of any way. On the two arms of the lake the water is
deep, and the sides of the promontory are nearly perpendicular.”
“How deep is the ravine between the road and the bluff?”
“Fifteen or twenty feet, as nearly as I can remember; but the stream is
a rushing torrent at the bottom of it,” replied Faxon.
“Never mind; we will look at the place very soon. We can tell best how
to proceed when we know what Tommy intends to do. Where are the other
two scouts, Faxon?”
“I left them up by the bluff, to keep a lookout.”
“That’s right.”
“I told them not to let any of the fellows on the bluff see them.”
“Good!” exclaimed Briscoe. “As I understand the matter, Tommy can no
more get out of his fortress than we can get into it.”
“Not unless we permit him to relay the bridge he has taken up.”
“We will take care of that. Now, is there any place for us to camp near
the bluff, Faxon?”
“There is room enough above the road, though there isn’t much chance to
pitch many tents.”
“We haven’t many to pitch,” laughed Briscoe. “Now we must have a talk
with our fellows, and see how they feel.”
We walked up to the front of the line, where our boys were impatiently
waiting to learn the nature of Tommy’s position. The Senior captain
explained it to them, so that a portion of them probably understood it.
“I can’t tell what we shall do till we are on the ground,” said
Briscoe. “One thing is certain: if Tommy’s fellows will not let us on
the bluff, we will not let them off; for it’s a poor rule that won’t
work both ways.”
“That’s so!” laughed the crowd.
“We have plenty to eat. We can live comfortably for three days on our
stock of provisions. Tommy will have the election to-morrow, I suppose;
and very likely he will try to get some of you to go over and help him.”
“Not much!” shouted some of the more enthusiastic of the rebels.
“If any of you wish to go, I shall not prevent you from doing so.”
“We won’t have anything to do with them!” exclaimed several.
“They can’t elect officers without a quorum, which is half the
battalion. If they can buy off, say, ten of you, they can do it--not
without.”
“We’ll duck any fellow that deserts,” cried private Crampton.
“That’s the talk!”
“Fellows, I for one, can’t submit any longer to Major Toppleton’s
tyranny,” continued Briscoe, warmly. “If any of you wish to do so, it
is none of my business.”
“We don’t!”
“If we stick together, we can make an end of it before to-morrow night.”
“Stick together!” yelled the crowd, with one voice.
“We are rebels now,” laughed Briscoe.
“That’s so!”
“But we must have good discipline, or we can’t do anything,” the
senior captain proceeded. “If you are not satisfied with your present
officers, choose others at once.”
“No! No!”
“You are satisfied, then?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Very well. If you want somebody else to command you, say the word, and
I will cheerfully obey any one you may select.”
“Briscoe forever!”
“Thank you. I wish you to obey orders without asking any questions. If
you do, we shall come out all right.”
“Briscoe and liberty!” screamed a facetious fellow.
“Briscoe--the Washington of the Toppleton Institute!” roared another.
“Briscoe--the next major of the battalion!”
“Thank you fellows; but the less buncombe we have, the better we shall
get along,” interposed the recipient of all these honors.
Briscoe gave his orders to form in column, and the march was resumed.
Jed, with the old mare,--the mother of the fiery colt,--brought up
the rear with the provisions and stores. We were an excited band of
warriors, for we expected a stirring time for the next day, if not
for the coming night. For my own part, I was continually studying the
problem which Faxon’s description of High Bluff presented, in order to
find the means of spanning the abyss that yawned between the two rival
and opposing portions of the battalion. I was quite sure that, if Wolf
Penniman had been with us, his engineering abilities would have enabled
him to walk right over it. But he was not with us, and we should be
compelled to overcome the difficulty ourselves.
“Halt!” said Briscoe, at the head of the column, after we had marched
about a mile.
Stepping forward, I saw the two scouts, whom Faxon had posted in the
road to observe the movements of Tommy’s force during his absence. We
could not yet see High Bluff, as it was concealed by the foliage of the
trees.
“What are they doing, Langdon?” asked Briscoe of one of them whom he
had called from his station.
“Nothing but fixing up the camp,” replied the scout. “Some of them are
cooking their supper, and others are loafing about the bluff. I should
judge that they had everything arranged to suit themselves. There are
a couple of sentinels near the road, who seem to be on the lookout for
us. You can go up there and take a look without being seen.”
Briscoe and I walked forward till we obtained a full view of High
Bluff. The situation was substantially as Faxon had described it. The
tents were pitched on the highest part of the promontory. The arms were
stacked in front of them. Near the gully, the material of which the
bridge had been composed was piled up. On one side a party were engaged
in cooking. The chasm between the road and the camp seemed impassable
to me, for I was no engineer. I could not help commending Tommy for the
good judgment he had displayed in choosing this natural fortress for
his camp, though I could not see how he intended to carry his point.
“Have they seen you yet, Langdon?” asked Briscoe of the scout.
“No; I’m sure they don’t know that we are within five miles of them.”
“We may as well keep still, then. Don’t you think so, Skotchley?”
“For the present, at least. Here is a good place to camp,” I replied,
pointing to a grove by the side of the road.
“That will be as good as we can find,” he replied.
The spot was a perfect paradise of lovely scenery. The ground
comprising about half an acre, was smooth. It was fenced in with
picturesque rocks, except on the side nearest to the arm of the lake
which separated it from High Bluff. All around and above us, the trees
grew out of the crevices in the rocks. Into this shady retreat Briscoe
marched our forces. Jed’s wagon was unloaded, and its contents piled up
in a convenient place.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Jed, after he had turned his
mare, in readiness to go home.
“Probably we shall not do anything to-night,” replied Briscoe.
“If I were you, I would go on that bluff and clean them out before
to-morrow morning,” laughed Jed.
“How would you get over there?” I inquired.
“Come with me and I’ll tell you.”
Jed led the way to the arm of the lake nearest to us. At the part
adjoining the road it was not more than thirty feet wide. Pointing to a
tall pine he gave a significant nod.
“Don’t you see it now?” he inquired, with a broad grin.
“No, I don’t,” replied Briscoe.
“You are not so smart as you were this forenoon,” laughed Jed. “Don’t
you see that you can cut that tree down, and let it drop over the
gully, so as to make a bridge for you?”
“Cut it down! How? With a jackknife?”
“No, with an axe.”
“We haven’t any axe, in the first place; and in the second, if we had,
we couldn’t fell that tree in seven years.”
“I can fetch that tree down in half an hour, as easy as I can turn my
hand.”
“We couldn’t if we had a dozen axes,” added Briscoe.
“Well, see here; you have done us a good turn to-day, boys, and I’ll
bring down an axe and drop it for you.”
“That’s the idea!” exclaimed Briscoe. “We shall be ever so much obliged
to you, if you will.”
“I’ll do it, and welcome.”
“But we must not let them know on the bluff what we are about,” I
suggested.
“Certainly not,” added Briscoe. “I see it all plain enough now. We
will make a demonstration over by the road, as though we were going to
throw a bridge across the chasm.”
“That’s the idea! The brush on the edge here is so thick that Tommy’s
fellows can’t see what we are about until the pine falls. Then we will
rush over on the tree, and capture the fortress.”
Jed promised to be on the ground the next morning with his sharp axe,
and then started for home. Briscoe and I surveyed the ground again.
We could do nothing that night, and if we kept out of sight, probably
Tommy would think we had returned to Middleport in disgust. We were
willing he should think so, and we instructed our fellows to keep as
quiet as possible. But it was necessary to have a fire, in order to
make coffee, for which we had brought with us all the materials. The
smoke and the light were liable to betray us; but it was agreed all
around that it would be better to be betrayed than do without the
coffee.
Faxon, while at the store, had been thoughtful enough to provide a
supply of tin cups. We had a can of milk in the cold water of the
brook. Several of our fellows were experienced in cooking, and if we
had supped with Lord Mayor of London, we could not have been better
satisfied with the fare, though we had only bread and butter and
cheese. And never were eighty-five young gentlemen happier, or better
pleased with themselves, than we were. It was the night before the
battle; but we were content to wait, though, as it happened, the battle
commenced that night, and very soon after we had finished our supper.
Perhaps it was just as well, for the coffee was rather trying to our
nerves, and we did not wish to sleep.
CHAPTER XIII.
A SURVEY OF THE SITUATION.
We enjoyed our supper very much, for hunger is the best sauce. If the
same meal had been set before us in the refectory of the Institute, we
should have deemed ourselves a much injured body of students, because
there were neither cakes nor pastry, preserves nor relishes. But the
coffee made us decidedly shaky in the nerves, as I have before hinted.
We had it only in the morning at the academy, and then not half so
strong as our cooks made it on the present occasion.
As the darkness began to gather, some of the ingenious ones set
themselves at work to provide beds for the night, and various
expedients were resorted to, with no mean results. One of our blankets
was big enough to cover two students, and with the other the couple
made a kind of shelter tent. The dry foliage of the pine trees, which
carpeted the ground in the grove, formed a soft and comfortable bed,
and there was no danger that any one would suffer, unless he was too
lazy to provide himself with suitable accommodations. We were used to
camping out, though we were generally supplied with straw to sleep
upon; but the pine foliage was a good substitute.
By the time we had finished our suppers we were satisfied that Tommy’s
forces must be aware of our presence in the vicinity. Briscoe had
stationed a couple of our fellows near the ravine, where they could see
all that transpired on High Bluff, with orders to report any unusual
movement on the part of the enemy--for as such we now regarded the
major’s forces, at least in a technical sense, though I am sure there
was no real hatred between the parties. We were contending very much as
we would have played a game of base ball, or football.
After supper Briscoe and I walked over to the sentinels’ post. A group
on the other side were attentively surveying the ground in the vicinity
of our camp. They did not speak so that we could hear them, but we were
satisfied that they had discovered us. They seemed to be much annoyed
and disturbed at the fact that we had halted so near them without
making any demonstration to apprise them of our presence. Probably they
suspected that we were up to some trick, and intended secretly, in the
sombre shades of midnight, to assault their fortress, and carry it by
storm.
“As they seem to be expecting something, I think we had better stir
them up a little,” said the senior captain, in a low voice.
“How stir them up?”
“Why, make a feint at some point where we don’t intend to do
anything--just for the fun of the thing,” laughed my companion.
“If we could only get over there, we could capture their camp in about
two minutes and three quarters.”
“I don’t know about that. Sixty-five fellows, with guns and bayonets,
would be more than a match for eighty-five without anything,” replied
Briscoe.
“The bayonets don’t amount to much, nor the guns either, without powder
and ball. A long pole, in our kind of warfare, is just as good as a
fixed bayonet. I saw a pile of hoop-poles on the road, half a mile
back. We could arm ourselves with them, and be just as formidable as
though we had bayonets.”
“But Tommy got a little ahead of us when he took away our muskets.”
“That’s so; and I feel just a little cheap about it, though it was no
great achievement on his part.”
“Still I should like to get even with him on this point.”
“So should I.”
“We ought to have gumption enough to get over a chasm thirty feet
wide,” added Briscoe rubbing his head to stimulate his ideas.
“We could get over easily enough if we only had the material to work
with. I don’t think the gully is so wide over by the road.”
“Perhaps not; but what could we do if it were not more than twenty, or
even ten, feet wide?” asked the senior captain, anxiously; for he was
ripe for any undertaking that would give us even a temporary advantage,
or enable us to obtain our guns.
“Let us find a narrow place in the gully first; then we will see what
can be done.”
We left the spot, and examined the gully nearly to the lake on the
upper side of High Bluff. The narrowest place was at the side of the
road where Tommy’s party had removed the bridge; but even here it was
over twenty feet wide. However, it was not more than fifteen feet
deep, the waters of the stream falling into the lake over a series of
cascades. It was a noisy torrent in the gully, though there were plenty
of rocks above the water to afford us a standing place if we could
descend into the abyss. This was the most hopeful point for operations,
and a suggestion of a plan by which the difficulty might be overcome
dawned upon my mind; but, as we had nothing to work with, I did not
mention the idea to my companion.
We continued our walk to the lake above the bluffs. Just above the
inlet we found an inclined plane in the rocks leading down to the lake.
Though nature had prepared the way for this descent, the hotel-keeper
at Priam had done most of the work; for off the point of which High
Bluff formed the extremity were the best fishing grounds on the lake.
At the foot of the inclined plane, moored off in the lake, was a kind
of raft, such as that upon which my friend Wolf had picked up Colonel
Wimpleton, for the convenience of the fisherman. It was reached by a
plank, about twenty-five feet long, covered with ledges to prevent the
person who went down upon it from slipping.
“Here is just what we want,” I suggested, as Briscoe and I walked down
the plank to the raft.
“What?”
“This plank.”
“To cross the ravine?”
“Yes.”
“Good!”
“We can cross that ravine just as easily as though it were not more
than two feet wide,” I added, with enthusiasm; for I was quite anxious
to make a reputation as an engineer, for that was the foundation of my
great regard for my friend Wolf.
“I don’t see it!” laughed Briscoe. “You can get this plank up to the
gully; but it will be another thing to put it across the chasm. Let me
tell you, this is a pretty heavy piece of lumber.”
“I know that.”
“If you mean to stand it up one end, and then let it fall across the
gully, I want to tell you in the beginning, that not enough of our
fellows can take hold of it to raise it to a perpendicular,” said
Briscoe, anticipating a difficulty.
“I don’t intend to do it in that way,” I answered, rather smartly, for
I was not pleased to have my new fledged engineering skill disputed.
“If you will leave the matter to me, I will give you my bond, in the
penal sum of two cents, to put this plank across the bridge as soon as
it is dark enough to cover the operation.”
“I appoint you engineer-in-chief of the army of the rebels,” replied
Briscoe, with his usual good-nature. “But how are you going to do the
job?”
“I have no doubt you will trump up plenty of objections to the method
if I state it; therefore I would rather not do so.”
“Just as you please, Skotchley.”
“Don’t be offended. Of course I will tell you if you desire it.”
“No; I don’t care.”
“I will take the responsibility of the job.”
“All right.”
“But I want about a dozen of the stoutest of our fellows.”
“You shall have the whole crowd.”
“I don’t want them. They would be in my way.”
“But you will permit me to ask whether you think Tommy’s fellows will
let you cross your bridge after you have laid it down,” continued
Briscoe. “You must remember that the regular army, with guns and
bayonets, is on one side, while you are on the other.”
“If I understand your purpose, all you wish to do to-night is to obtain
our guns.”
“That’s all. When we go over to the election we will use the tree which
Jed will fell for us. But while we are about it, and you have your
bridge across the chasm, why not capture the bluff?”
“That would spoil all the fun. We want to step in about the time Tommy
is holding the election, and cast our votes for a good and true man for
major.”
“Precisely so; but if Jed should not come, or his plan should not
work--”
“Hold on, Briscoe!”
“What’s the matter now?” demanded Briscoe, startled by my enthusiasm as
a new idea took possession of me.
“We must regulate this matter a little.”
“How?”
“On the whole, I think it will be better to have the election come off
in legal earnest.”
“Why don’t you say what you mean, Skotchley!” added the senior captain,
impatient with me, as my ideas so far outreached my speech.
“I will. We must give Tommy men enough to let him have a quorum.
We will pick out ten good fellows, true-blue, and send them over
to-night--let them walk the plank. Of course they are not to vote for
Tommy for major.”
“They can if they like,” added Briscoe, modestly.
“They will not. To-morrow noon, when the balloting has commenced, the
rest of us will go over on the tree, and see that the election goes as
it should.”
“Suppose the tree should not work to suit us?” suggested the prudent
senior captain.
“Then we can throw this plank over again. But there will be no trouble
about the tree--not a bit.”
“All right; I am satisfied.”
“I want you to make a demonstration, Briscoe, while we are laying down
the plank.”
“I’m ready; what shall it be?”
“Anything you like.”
“As you are engineer, you must say what you will have done.”
“You can take this raft and work it over to the bluff, for I shall want
one of the ropes with which it is moored, and make a feint of scaling
the rocks. This will bring all of Tommy’s fellows to the spot, and I
shall be permitted to work without interruption.”
“Well, I will do so. It is not necessary for me to remind you that this
raft and this plank do not belong to us.”
“We will leave everything just as we find it, and make it all right
with the hotel-keeper when we get to Priam.”
“I don’t like to meddle with private property.”
“Nor I; but it is one of the necessities of war.”
“Humph! Well, we will pay the damage, and recommend the hotel to all
our friends. Mine host will be satisfied, I know.”
Having thus disposed of this difficult question, we walked back to the
camp.
CHAPTER XIV.
SERGEANT HACKER’S VISIT.
The foliage was so dense in the vicinity of High Bluff that we could,
for the most part, perform our operations without being seen. By the
time we reached the camp, on our return, it was dark; but it was a
bright, starlight evening, so that we could prosecute our enterprise
without difficulty. A blast of Fryes’s bugle gathered our fellows
together in the road, whither they eagerly rushed, anxious to ascertain
what was to be done.
It required a full hour to explain our plans and purposes to all the
fellows, who were more inquisitive than Briscoe. All of them were ready
to engage in the enterprise, and I was more afraid their enthusiasm
would overdo the matter than the want of zeal would defeat it. The
ten who were to help out Tommy in obtaining a quorum were carefully
selected. None of them had ever been noisy partisans against the major,
and would not excite suspicion when they appeared at High Bluff, but
would readily be regarded as willing converts to Toppletonianism.
The party who were to assist me were also detailed, and, in company
with them, I went back to the pile of hoop-poles we had seen, and
obtained a supply of these sticks--not so much for weapons as for
working tools. Briscoe, who was to make the feint with the rest of the
force, waited my return in the vicinity of the bridge, his fellows
amusing themselves in the mean time to suit their own fancy. As my
party approached the bridge, Corporal Dunbold met me, with a message
from my senior.
“Captain Briscoe says you are to lie low for a little while,” said he.
“What’s the matter now?”
“I don’t exactly know; but some of the fellows say there is a spy among
us from the other side.”
“How did he get across the gully?”
“I don’t know. Captain Briscoe says you will keep your fellows out of
sight, and join him at the bridge. I will show where he is.”
I halted my party, and, telling them to remain where they were until my
return, I followed the corporal, much wondering what this new phase of
the situation signified. I found Briscoe seated on a rock beyond the
bridge.
“What’s up?” I inquired.
“Sergeant Hacker has come over to pay us a visit.”
“How did he get over?”
“That’s a mystery to me. Probably Haven, who is more familiar with this
region than any of the rest of us, knew of a way to cross the gully
before he pulled down the bridge,” replied Briscoe.
“What is he after?”
“Converts, I suppose.”
“Well, we have some for him. Where is he now?”
“He is holding a confab with two or three of our fellows at the side of
the road. I thought of capturing him as a spy, but I think now that he
will help us out with the little plan we matured,” laughed Briscoe. “He
was skulking about here some time before I knew he was among us.”
“Perhaps he has discovered what we are about,” I suggested, with some
alarm.
“No; he isn’t any wiser than the law allows. As soon as I made him
out, I stopped everything, and cautioned the fellows not to open their
mouths about anything we are doing.”
“What does he say?”
“He hasn’t said anything to me. I understand he asked a few of the
fellows if they did not want some supper. A minute or two before you
joined me I contrived to have Bowles, who, you know, is one of the ten
who are to help Tommy make up a quorum to-morrow, fall in his way. They
walked down the road together, and I suppose Bowles will make some kind
of a trade with him.”
“Are you sure Bowles is all right?”
“Of course I am.”
“Suppose Hacker should offer him a commission, as an agent of the
major.”
“Let him offer it! I know Bowles well enough.”
I was not much afraid of him myself; but I was extremely anxious to
know what Hacker had to say. The conference was in progress only a few
rods from the spot where I was. I left the road, and creeping softly
on the pine furze which strewed the ground where our camp was located,
I obtained a position near the spy and his presumed victim. The roar
of the brook, as it tumbled over the rocks, favored my movement, and
enabled me to secure my position without discovery.
Sergeant Hacker, in the truest sense of the word, was a partisan of
Tommy Toppleton. He was looking out for himself, and being a tolerably
good soldier, he doubtless expected to be chosen a lieutenant if not
a captain, in the approaching election, so that while working for the
major he was really working for himself; and this is generally the
character of violent partisans. On the other hand, Bowles was not a
partisan, though he was a shrewd and trustworthy fellow. The conference
appeared to have just begun, for I suppose there was an introduction
through which the main topic had to be reached.
“But are you not hungry?” asked the messenger from the other side.
“No, not very,” replied Bowles, with his usual coolness. “We had a
good dinner at the farm-house after we had put out the fire.”
“But you will be hungry in the morning, if you are not to-night,”
suggested Hacker, who seemed determined to make the question of rations
the chief one.
“Very likely we shall be.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, we leave all that to Briscoe who is our commander now.”
“Do you expect to find anything to eat in this place in the woods?”
“We may go over to High Bluff, and help ourselves out of the common
stock. I take it we own a share of it.”
“You can’t get over.”
“Perhaps we can. How did you get over, Hacker?”
“I have a way.”
“We may find a way.”
“I think not. The bridge is taken up, and you might as well try to jump
across the lake as over that gully.”
“What did you come over for, Hacker? What are you driving at? You
needn’t beat about the bush any longer,” interposed Bowles.
“O, I only came over to see how you were getting along.”
“You didn’t come for that. You want something. Why don’t you say what
it is?”
“I didn’t know but some of the fellows might want to go over to the
bluff, where they could get something to eat, and have a chance in the
tents. But, if they do not, I will go back again.”
“I would like to go over, for one,” replied Bowles, promptly.
“All right; come along.”
“I’m ready.”
“But are there not some other fellows who would like to go?”
“Very likely there are. How many do you want?”
“O, ten or a dozen,” added the messenger, with seeming indifference.
“By the way, Bowles, you know the election of officers was postponed
till to-morrow noon.”
“So it was, now I think of it.”
“Bowles, I always liked you, and so did Tommy Toppleton. If you want to
be a sergeant, you can have the place.”
“Thank you. I shouldn’t mind being a sergeant. In fact, I should rather
like it.”
“Our fellows would like to appoint you.”
“Well, I will give them a chance to do so.”
“But you know some of the fellows are trying to run Tommy out,” added
Hacker, in a low tone.
“I have heard something of that sort,” continued Bowles; and certainly
no one could accuse him of ever seeming to care anything about the
matter.
“There are some good fellows over here, and we don’t like to have them
lying on the ground without any tents, and with nothing to eat. If you
have a mind to pick out ten or a dozen of them, I will get them over to
High Bluff.”
“I will do so.”
“I don’t know but we can make you a second lieutenant, if you will.”
“Well, that is worth trying for.”
“If those fellows mean to stick to Briscoe, Tommy is willing they
should. He intends to leave them out in the cold. When they are
willing to come back to their duty, and obey all orders, he will let
them up; but the officers who mutinied are to be punished.”
“How punished?”
“Reduced to the ranks, at least,” said the sergeant, with energy. “All
who are willing to come back now will be received. Tommy can have it
all his own way.”
“I am ready to go over, for one.”
“Well, who are the others?”
“There’s the trouble. I have no chance to talk with them to-night.”
This seemed to be the difficulty, and it was discussed for some
time. Hacker proposed several plans, all of which were rejected by
Bowles, who at last promised to meet the sergeant near the gully in
half an hour, after he had sounded some of our party. Certainly our
representative managed his case very well, and I was entirely satisfied
with him. He left the spot, and walked back towards Briscoe. I rushed
forward in the opposite direction, and reached the road so as to be
between Hacker and his objective point, for I was desirous of speaking
with him.
“Who goes there?” I called, as the messenger approached.
“Sergeant Hacker,” replied the spy. “Captain Skotchley, I believe. I
have been looking for an officer.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Flag of truce,” he replied, exhibiting his white handkerchief. “I have
a message from Major Toppleton.”
“Deliver it.”
“He desires to say that any of the mutineers will be admitted to the
camp, and may return to their duty, excepting only the commissioned
officers, upon their promise to obey all orders.”
“That’s very kind of him. Pray, what is to become of the officers?”
“The captains will be court-martialed.”
“Tell him we will all be over there to-morrow, and ask him to have his
court-martial ready,” I replied, rather disgusted with the proffered
terms.
“You will not go over without the major’s permission,” retorted Hacker.
“Perhaps not.”
“You forget that we have all the arms; and I think we can protect our
camp from intrusion.”
“If that’s all you have to say, you can return.”
“Major Toppleton does not wish to be responsible for your uncomfortable
position here, without food or tents.”
“He needn’t trouble himself.”
“You can deliver his message to your men. If you choose to submit, and
promise to obey orders, he is ready to receive you back.”
“We are not quite ready,” I answered.
“Very well; the consequences are with you then,” replied Hacker, moving
towards the bluff.
I permitted him to depart in peace, so as not to disturb Bowles’s plan,
whatever it might be, though I was disposed to arrest him as a spy upon
our ground. Joining Briscoe at the bridge, I found him conferring with
Bowles in regard to the filling up of Tommy’s quorum.
CHAPTER XV.
A STRATEGIC MOVEMENT.
“Shall the balance of Tommy’s quorum go over to-night, or to-morrow?
That’s the question,” said Briscoe, as I joined him at the bridge.
“I don’t want to go to-night,” added Bowles.
“Why not?”
“I want to see the fun.”
“You can see just as well from the other side of the chasm,” I
suggested. “Besides, you may be able to serve us better there than
here.”
“What can I do?” asked Bowles. “If I can be of any use over there to
our party, I am willing to go.”
“You can,” said Briscoe. “We only intend to obtain our arms
to-night--that’s all. We desire to have the election go on just as
though the whole crowd were there. We intend to be present at the
right time. You know where we are going to operate, and you must serve
us on the bluff, as you see opportunity to do so, only don’t be too
zealous.”
“I’ll go, and do the best I can,” replied Bowles.
He called up the nine who were to go with him, and planned the matter
to suit himself. Conducting them towards the chasm, he was soon joined
by Hacker; and all of them disappeared in the woods. I was very curious
to know how the party was to be transferred to High Bluff; but I was
soon satisfied that it was not by crossing the gully. Briscoe and I
had agreed to keep the rest of our fellows back, for Bowles had gone
off with great pretensions to secrecy, as though he were veritably
deserting with his followers. I crept over to the rocks near the
fishing raft, and soon discovered that the party were there. They were
in the act of embarking in a large boat, which I concluded, belonged to
the raft, and was the property of the hotel-keeper. They pushed off,
and disappeared in the darkness. It was evident, therefore, that there
was some way of reaching the summit of the bluff from the lake side.
The coast was clear now, and our fellows were silently led to the raft
by Briscoe. Those who were to assist me pulled up the plank, and,
having secured one of the ropes with which the raft was moored, we
carried it to the road near the point where the bridge had been removed.
“Now we want to know whether there are any sentinels on this side of
the bluff,” said I to Sergeant Langdon.
“I don’t see any.”
“Go to the chasm, and make a slight noise. If there is any one there,
it will start him up.”
Langdon soon reported that he could discover no one. I had not seen any
guard in this direction since dark. Tommy was doubtless satisfied that
a chasm twenty-four feet wide, with perpendicular sides, could not be
passed by any of our party. It had been arranged between Briscoe and
myself that his party should make noise enough to engage the attention
of all on the bluff, while mine were bridging the gully. As I was
attaching the rope to one end of the plank, I heard the shouts of
our co-laborers beyond the promontory. They had pushed the raft into
position beneath the bluff and now waked the echoes of the night with
their yells.
The alarm was promptly given in the camp. We saw the garrison rush
to the place where the arms were stacked, and we lay low until they
had left for the point of danger. There was evidently a great deal of
excitement among Tommy’s adherents. Perhaps they expected a violent
assault upon their works.
“Now, lively, fellows!” I called to my party, as they picked up the
plank and bore it to the chasm.
The end to which I had fastened the rope was dropped into the abyss, so
that it rested upon a rock which I had before selected. With a couple
of the hoop-holes we pushed the upper end over to the other side of
the gully, where it was to rest as part of the bridge. By the rope
attached to the lower end we pulled it up, and placed it on the rock.
The experiment was a complete success and I was very well pleased with
my first attempt at engineering. It was a very simple experiment, after
all; and though satisfied, I was not vain of the result.
I was the first to cross the plank; but my fellows all followed me.
Taking six or seven muskets apiece, we soon placed them on the right
side of the gully, and our work was accomplished. Briscoe’s forces were
still shouting as though their salvation depended upon the amount of
noise they could make. If there were any night voyagers on the lake in
that vicinity, they must have suspected that the demons of this wild
region were engaged in an hilarious frolic; but I think there was no
one within hearing of our voices.
“I say, captain, we might as well finish the job, now we are here,”
said Langdon, after we had stacked the arms by the side of the road.
“How finish it?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to have the bridge material on this side of the
gully?” suggested the sergeant.
“I don’t know that it would.”
“We could hold Tommy and his party as prisoners then.”
“Possibly it would be a good move; but when we go over to-morrow, we
must do it with a rush, after the balloting has begun.”
We decided to transfer the bridge materials to our side of the chasm.
Perhaps it was just as well, so far as Tommy was concerned; for I did
not believe, after I had looked at the heavy timbers which comprised
the string-pieces, that he had the engineering skill to reconstruct the
bridge. We completed our work in a very short time, and without any
interruption from the valiant garrison which defended the place. Having
finished the job, we placed the plank on six sticks, and with one boy
at each end of them, conveyed it back to the lake as we had brought it
up. Briscoe’s party were still demonstrating under the high cliff of
the island. Langdon, who could whistle like a locomotive through his
fingers, made the signal we had agreed upon that our work was finished.
By this time most of us were thoroughly fatigued, and I felt that a bed
of pine furze in the grove would be as good as a downy couch for me.
We had worked off the effects of the potations of strong coffee, and
some of us were so sleepy that we could hardly keep our eyes open. One
of the cooks lighted a match, so that I could see the face of my watch,
and I found that it was almost midnight. But we had to wait nearly an
hour before Briscoe’s fellows could work the raft back, for it was a
clumsy thing to handle in deep water. When they came in sight, they
were towing it with the large boat in which Hacker had conveyed his
recruits to the fortress. Without it I doubt whether they could ever
have brought the raft back to its moorings. We were too tired to put
the raft in position as we had found it, and, making it fast to the
shore, returned to our camp.
We were a sorry set when we turned in at about one o’clock that night;
and if we had taken a vote on the question, I think we should have
decided unanimously that campaigning after dark, and especially after
midnight, was anything but fun. The weather was so warm that we did not
need fires; and wrapping our blankets around us, we lay down without
troubling ourselves to post a single sentinel to watch over the camp
while we slumbered. There was no danger of an assault from Tommy’s
forces, for we had them bottled up in their strong fortress. Briscoe’s
party had brought away the boat in which Sergeant Hacker had made his
visit to our camp, and there was now no possible way for any of the
enemy to reach us.
The garrison on High Bluff were as much fatigued as we were, and were
as little disposed to make an assault as we were to repel one. I cannot
speak for others, except to say that no one disturbed us; and I slept
like a rock upon my hard bed. It was after eight in the morning when I
waked; but not a single soul seemed to be stirring. I was in no hurry;
so I turned over and went to sleep again as all my companions were
still slumbering.
“Hallo, Skotchley!”
I opened my eyes. It was Briscoe.
“We are sleeping all day,” said he.
“What’s the odds? We have nothing to do but eat breakfast until noon.
We may as well rest ourselves while we have the chance.”
“But it is after nine o’clock,” laughed he.
“I think I have slept enough, then,” I replied, springing to my feet,
well satisfied that no rheumatism had found a lurking-place in any of
my joints.
Some of the fellows were already up, and among them Fryes, who was
directed to blow a blast on his bugle to wake the slumberers. In a few
minutes we had them all on their feet. I went to the rushing brook, and
took an eye opener in the shape of a splendid wash in the clear, cold
waters, which made me feel like a new man, fit for the great enterprise
of the day. Frying bacon without a frying-pan was declared by the cooks
to be a difficult achievement; but an iron kettle was a tolerable
substitute. We boiled half a bushel of potatoes, and by ten o’clock we
were ready for our morning meal. As an expedient for plates, we used
smooth, flat stones, taken from a slate ledge a few rods from the camp.
The breakfast was eminently satisfactory.
“Where is Jed?” asked Briscoe, as we rose from the ground when the
repast was finished. “He has not come yet.”
“I think he will come,” I replied.
“Suppose he should not come?” suggested the senior captain.
“Then we must get along without him.”
“I don’t see how we can.”
“My party took the precaution last night to bring the bridge materials
over to this side of the gully, we can put the bridge up when we want
it, though it will take some time to do the job.”
Briscoe laughed heartily as I explained to him that Major Tommy and
his forces were actually prisoners on High Bluff, and would have to
stay there until we permitted them to leave. As we intended to turn
the tables upon our gallant commander-in-chief, I hoped that our
precautions would not prove to be useless. It was possible that Jed
might not be able to come, however good his intentions might be; and
I walked down to the place where we had stored the bridge stuff,
accompanied by my working party, in order to make preparations for
crossing at this point if Jed should fail us. I simply fixed upon a
plan for doing the work; and, after examination, I was satisfied that
the method by which we had laid down the plank the night before was the
best one. I then went with Briscoe’s party to the fishing raft, where,
in a few moments, we put everything just as we had found it.
While we were thus engaged, Jed arrived, and we all hastened to the
camp to complete the grand _coup de main_ of the day.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE PINE TREE BRIDGE.
Jed had arrived with his sharp axe. He had also brought with him a
bill-hook, to clear away the underbrush on the verge of the chasm, so
that it need not impede our movements when the decisive moment arrived.
Jed and one of the large fellows soon cut the bushes down, but we did
not remove them. They were piled up so as to form a screen to hide the
operations on our side from the view of those on the bluff. They were
so arranged that the fall of the pine tree would tumble them into the
abyss, and leave everything clear, so that we could rush over before
the enemy could gather on the other side to oppose our passage.
The occupants of High Bluff did not seem to be in the best of spirits.
They had doubtless discovered the loss of our share of the muskets,
and of the bridge materials. The boat by which Hacker had left the
bluff was no longer available, and they could not help understanding
that they were prisoners. In fact the tables were already turned. But
we were confident that the election would not be neglected. If Major
Tommy was convinced that his command were prisoners, he was equally
well assured that our party could not disturb him without first laying
down the bridge. Probably he thought it easy enough to prevent us from
putting the timbers across the gully, as, indeed, it was.
Jed was already at work on the pine tree. It was exceedingly important
to prevent the garrison on the bluff from knowing what was going on at
this point; but the sound of the woodman’s axe in that locality was
not a strange one. It need excite no suspicion. But we saw several of
Tommy’s adherents making a critical examination to ascertain what our
party were doing. The bushes effectually concealed the work from their
gaze.
“Come, Skotchley, we must not take it too easily,” said Briscoe.
“If those fellows should snuff what we are doing, they might spoil
everything. You must make a demonstration where the bridge was.”
“I intended to do that at the right time,” I replied, looking at my
watch. “It is about time now--half past eleven.”
“You are the engineer, captain. What do you intend to do?”
“I am going to commence laying that bridge just before twelve o’clock.
I want about half the fellows. The other half will stand by the tree,
and go over as soon as it falls. When they have crossed, we will all
rush up and join you on the other side.”
“Jed has cut the tree more than half through, and a few clips on the
other side will drop it.”
“All right.”
I took half the force, and marched down to the road. Half a dozen
sentinels guarded the bluff on the other side at this point. It was
evident that Tommy and Haven did not expect an attempt would be made
to cross the chasm at any other place. I did not wonder at their
conclusion, for it seemed quite impracticable for a party of boys to
span the arm of the lake, where it varied from thirty to a hundred feet
in width. Our entire force had taken their muskets, and so far we now
stood upon an equality. Each could oppose bayonet to bayonet.
I halted my detail on the verge of the gully where the bridge had been
removed. As soon as we appeared, Haven marched his portion of Company
A down to the threatened quarter, and halted on the other side. I was
not quite satisfied with this movement, for I wished Tommy to send his
whole force to oppose my operation. I walked up to the edge of the
chasm, and looked into it.
“What are you going to do now?” shouted Haven.
“You shall see pretty soon,” I replied, good-naturedly.
“Do you think of coming over here?”
“Well, I had thought of it.”
“All right. The major has informed you in regard to the terms upon
which you can return to your duty--a general amnesty to all except
commissioned officers.”
“He is very generous.”
“I think that he is fair. We are going to have the election over here
at twelve o’clock precisely,” continued Haven, in taunting tones.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But are you not coming over to vote?”
“Perhaps we shall.”
“I guess not--unless you should come under arrest,” replied Haven,
glancing into the ravine which yawned between us.
“Probably we shall be over to help you vote.”
“I don’t see it.”
“You forget that we have the bridge stuff on this side.”
“I should like to see you lay it down!”
“Should you? I don’t believe you are quite sincere, Haven. But we shall
have a bridge in season to vote.”
“You must be in a hurry, then.”
“Then I think I won’t stop to talk any longer.”
“I think you had better not waste any more time, if you are coming over
to vote. The polls will be closed at twenty minutes past twelve.”
“I suppose I can vote if I go over.”
“O, certainly!”
I directed a dozen of my working party to bring one of the
string-pieces of the bridge to the chasm. We had secured the ropes with
which the bridge had been removed, and I deliberately tied one end of
it to the timber. The party on the other side watched my movements with
intense interest. It was plain that Haven was not quite satisfied,
and by no means as confident as he pretended to be. He knew that we
had crossed the chasm in the night, and perhaps gave us credit for
more skill than we actually possessed. I was pleased to see him send a
messenger to the rear of his position; and, in a few moments, the other
company, under command of Barnscott, marched down to reënforce him. At
the same time Major Tommy appeared upon the ground. The little magnate
consulted a few moments with Haven, and then retired. He seemed to be
absorbed in another matter, which I concluded was the balloting for
officers.
I could hardly conceal my satisfaction when I saw that the idlers in
the vicinity of the pine tree had all been called away. Indeed, there
was nothing to attract their attention at this time, for Jed had ceased
chopping after he had prepared the tree on one side. I afterwards
ascertained that none of Tommy’s party suspected the movement in the
direction where it was really in progress. It was easier for them to
believe that some farmer had come into the woods to get out a stick of
timber for a special use than that our fellows intended to cross the
gully in any such manner.
I ordered my party to drop one end of the string-piece into the chasm.
I was promptly obeyed. This movement created great excitement on the
other side. Haven rallied his force in readiness to prevent the stick
from being landed on his territory.
“Out of the way, on the other side!” I shouted. “If this string-piece
should hit you on the head, it might hurt you.”
“Let it come!” replied Haven. “We will take care of it.”
With the aid of the poles, we threw the upper end of the stick over to
the other side of the chasm. The instant it touched the edge, Haven
and his men tumbled it down into the abyss, precisely as I supposed he
would do.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the adherents of Tommy Toppleton,
satisfied that they had gained a decided victory.
“Throw us another of them!” called Haven, derisively.
“Don’t cry yet!” I replied. “We will have a bridge over in season to
vote.”
“Over with it. I think we can throw the timbers down as fast as you can
set them up.”
“Man the rope here, fellows,” I shouted to my party. “Work as though
you were in real earnest! Heave ahead!”
Slowly, and with great difficulty, the end of the timber was pulled
out of the chasm, and I prepared to make a new attempt. All of Tommy’s
army was in front of me. The major was very busy. I saw him place a
tin kettle on a rock, and station three sentinels before it. This, I
soon ascertained, was the ballot-box, and the three sentinels were the
committee to assort, count, and declare the vote. Bowles was one of
them, and this fact did something to assure me that fair play would be
had. It was our custom to vote for each officer on a separate ballot;
and, of course, the first was for major. Tommy came down to the front,
and announced that the polls were open.
“Bring in your ballot for major for the ensuing year!” shouted Haven,
looking over to our side, as though the remark was addressed to us. “We
can vote and fight at the same time.”
“All right! We are going right over,” I replied, as they tumbled the
end of the timber into the gully a second time.
“The polls will be closed if you wait to lay this bridge,” retorted
Haven, in excellent humor.
“You attend to your voting, and we will take care of the bridge.”
I again heard the vigorous blows of Jed’s axe, and I expected every
moment to see the pine tree fall across the gulf. Our party were very
much excited, and we worked at the timber with most deceptive zeal. We
threw it over upon the other side, as we had done before.
“Stand by here!” shouted Haven. “Tumble it down, quick!”
And down it went into the gully. The party on the other side gave
three more rousing cheers, to celebrate the third repulse of the stick.
“Why don’t you throw up your bridge!” screamed Haven, almost beside
himself with excitement.
“Keep cool over there,” I replied, as calmly as I could. “There is no
such word as fail.”
“I think there is--three such words! And there will be another when you
throw that timber over again.”
“Try again! That’s our motto,” I answered, glancing at the top of the
tall pine, which was tottering and ready to fall.
It shook a moment, and then came down with a heavy crash. Briscoe,
with his drawn sword in his hand, was the first to cross the abyss.
He was closely followed by the rest of his party. Before Tommy and
his adherents could fairly understand what the matter was, our senior
captain had formed his men in line, and presented a wall of bayonets to
cover the advance of my party.
“There’s our bridge!” I cried to Haven, as I ordered my men to take
their guns and hasten to the pine tree.
We followed Briscoe’s lead, and in a few moments our entire force was
on High Bluff.
“Now give them three cheers, Briscoe, in answer to theirs,” I
suggested; and they were given with a zeal becoming the victory we had
won.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRST BALLOT.
Tommy and his forces on High Bluff seemed to be paralyzed by the sudden
and unexpected movement initiated by Briscoe, and followed up by my
party. They did not pay much attention to voting just then, though
quite a number of them had deposited their ballots before the falling
of the pine tree. We waited a reasonable time to be assaulted; but
Major Toppleton seemed to be too much astonished to organize an attack
upon the bold assailants. He stood in front of his men, consulting
earnestly with Haven.
“Why don’t you move on, and pitch into them?” said Jed, who had come
over on the pine, with the axe in his hand.
“We are not going to pitch into them,” replied Briscoe.
“We don’t want any of them to escape,” I added.
“Leave that to me,” said Jed. “I will stand guard here, while you go up
and do your voting. I can handle the whole crowd.”
Our first business was to deposit our votes. We had already provided
ourselves with ballots.
“Music!” said Briscoe; and Fryes started Hail, Columbia.
Breaking into column, we marched towards the tin kettle, which
constituted the ballot-box. This movement ended the conference between
the two leaders of the other side. The major ordered his men into line.
By this time Bowles’s party had gathered around the voting place, as
they had been instructed to do by him, in order to defend the purity
of the election. It was plain that Tommy did not intend to do any
fighting. It would have been very foolish for him to do anything of the
kind. He marched his adherents up to the vicinity of the rock where the
ballot-box was deposited, and halted. Briscoe did the same. While the
latter was preparing to send his men up to vote in small parties, Haven
appeared before us.
“Major Toppleton desires to know what your intentions are,” said the
messenger, in a haughty tone, which, however, indicated more of disgust
at our proceedings than of pride at his own.
“We came over to vote,” replied Briscoe.
“I told you we were coming over, Haven,” I added.
“You told me, too, that you were going to lay that bridge; but you
didn’t,” sneered the ambassador.
“What bridge?” I inquired, smiling.
“The bridge down by the road,” snapped he.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Didn’t you say so?”
“Not at all; I had no more idea of laying down that bridge than I had
of drying up the lake.”
“What did you say so for, then?”
“I think I did not say so. I simply told you we should have a bridge
in season to come over and vote, I believe the promise has been kept;
at any rate, we are here, and in good time. I think you said the polls
would be closed at twenty minutes past twelve.”
“Major Toppleton does not propose to have the election continued, under
the present circumstances,” replied Haven.
“Why not, I should like to inquire?” interposed Briscoe.
“He is not going to have the election carried by force of arms.”
“There is to be no force of arms. All parties can vote quietly, and the
thing shall be fairly done.”
“But you have come over here, and taken possession.”
“We have taken possession of nothing. There is the ballot-box just as
Major Toppleton placed it, guarded by the committee whom he selected
himself,” persisted Briscoe.
“The major intends to postpone the election till it can be conducted
fairly,” added Haven.
“Allow me to suggest that it is not in the power of the major to
postpone the election. It was deferred, by vote of the battalion, to
this day and hour; and unless the battalion vote otherwise, it must
take place at the present time.”
“I will report what you say to him,” said Haven, who could not
conveniently answer the argument of the senior captain.
“If Major Toppleton desires to take a vote on the question of
postponement, we are quite willing to do so,” added Briscoe.
The messenger returned to the major; but, while the conference between
them was in progress, I took care that the voting should go on,
in order that the time might not expire before our portion of the
battalion had deposited their ballots. Tommy’s committee stood around
the tin kettle, and compelled each voter to hold up his ticket, so as
to make sure that only one vote was put in the box by a single person.
They retained their muskets, and were zealous in the discharge of their
duty. The nine fellows who had come over with Bowles stood behind the
committee as their leader had directed them to do, the moment the pine
tree fell, in order to prevent the election from being suspended, or
the ballot-box carried away by any of Tommy’s adherents.
As our votes had been previously prepared, it required but a few
moments for us to drop them into the tin kettle. Everything was done in
an entirely orderly manner, under the supervision of the committee. I
could not see the slightest chance for cheating, and I did not believe
there was any fraud on either side. As our men voted, they resumed
their places on the slope of the hill, between the committee and the
pine tree bridge.
“Tommy’s fellows are fooling away the time,” said Briscoe, anxiously.
“That is their lookout.”
“Our fellows have all voted.”
“Some of Tommy’s have also. If a quorum of the battalion have voted,
the election will be according to the by-laws, and we are all right.”
“Go up to Tommy, and tell him, that as he does not choose to put the
question on postponement, we shall consider this as an election, and
abide by the result, whatever it may be.”
I walked hastily to the spot where Tommy and Haven were discussing the
difficulties of the situation. As I approached the major, I drew my
sword, and respectfully saluted him.
“I have a message from Captain Briscoe, senior captain, in command of
that portion of the battalion which was excluded from High Bluff,” I
began.
“I don’t recognize Captain Briscoe as in command of any portion of the
battalion,” returned Tommy, with an effort to be dignified. “I have
suspended him.”
“Then I will speak for myself.”
“I have suspended you, also.”
“We are both ready to answer to any charges. I believe we are
entitled to vote, and we have done so. Our party have all deposited
their ballots. As you have not chosen to take the question upon a
postponement, we shall regard this as the election, and abide the
result, whatever it may be. This is my message. I have delivered it,
and will now retire.”
“Do you think an election held under these circumstances ought to be
considered valid?” demanded Tommy.
“I think the vote has been fairly taken, by a committee appointed by
yourself. Our party are satisfied. We intend to have the vote counted,
and the result declared.”
“You mean it!” exclaimed the major, with an attempt at a sneer, which
was only a partial success.
“Several of your party have not voted, though the time fixed by you
for keeping the polls open has expired.”
“Suppose we do not choose to vote.”
“That’s your affair. A quorum has already voted, and that is enough.
The moment the result is declared, we shall place ourselves under the
orders of the new major, whoever he may be.”
I saluted the major again, turned, and retired. We could do nothing
more; so Briscoe and I walked up to the vicinity of the voting place. I
suggested to the committee that it was time to close the polls.
“All that have not voted will do so at once!” shouted the chairman of
the committee, loud enough to be heard all over the bluff. “Polls will
close in a minute.”
“Are you going to close the polls before all have voted?” demanded
Tommy, rushing up to the tin kettle with his ballot in his hand.
“It was your order that the polls should be closed at twenty minutes
past twelve,” replied the chairman.
“This election is postponed till further orders,” said the major.
“No! No! No!” yelled our party, who had marched up to the spot.
“It cannot be postponed except by vote of the battalion,” I
remonstrated.
“Then I will take a vote. Those in favor--”
“Stop a moment, if you please, Major Toppleton,” interposed Briscoe.
“There is no motion before the battalion. No question can be put except
upon motion.”
“Mr. Commander, I move that the election be postponed for one week,”
said Haven, coming to the assistance of his chief.
“Those in favor--”
“I object!” shouted Briscoe.
“I don’t care if you do object,” replied Tommy, angrily.
“The motion has not been seconded.”
“Second the motion,” shouted one of the major’s adherents.
“It is moved and seconded that this election be postponed for one
week,” continued Tommy. “Those in favor will say, ay.”
“Ay!” cried all of the major’s party.
“Those opposed will say, no.”
“No!” yelled the rebels, with a vim which proved that they understood
the case perfectly.
“It is a vote!” added Tommy, triumphantly.
“I doubt the vote,” said I, sure of the result, if we had fair play.
“The vote is doubted.”
“I call for a division,” said Faxon.
It has always been our custom, when a vote was doubted, to divide the
house, each side marching between two tellers to be counted. The major
evidently wished to escape this ceremony but it was impossible and the
division took place. The conclusion could not be escaped; and, either
by mistake or otherwise, some of Tommy’s party voted with the rebels,
so that the result was fifty-nine for postponing the election to
ninety-one against it. Tommy repeated the statement of the vote, though
it almost choked him. Without a word, he went up to the kettle, and
dropped his vote into it. His example was followed by all the others
who had not voted.
The committee were directed to count the votes. They did so, and
handed the result to the major, on a piece of paper. He read it as
follows:--
“Whole number of votes, 153
Necessary to a choice, 77
Thomas Toppleton, 68
Robert Briscoe, 85
Robert Briscoe is elected major.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE SECOND BALLOT.
Our fellows could not help giving three cheers when the major read the
result of the vote. Tommy’s face was red with rage and mortification.
I do not know whether he expected, or even feared, the election of
another in his place; but I do know that his tyrannical, and his
supercilious behavior towards his equals had received its just reward.
After the cheering had ceased, all parties looked to the Major to
ascertain how he bore his defeat.
By this time Haven rushed to his assistance, with words of consolation
if not of hope. He had made a discovery which, in the excitement of
the scene, had escaped the notice of most of us. He spoke with Tommy,
took the paper from which the major had read the result of the vote,
and, after examining it for a moment, spoke a few earnest words to his
superior whose face suddenly brightened.
“Officers and soldiers,” the major began, after he had glanced at the
paper again, “it was plain enough to me from the beginning that no fair
election could be had in the midst of this excitement.”
“It would have been fair enough if you had been elected,” growled a
fellow in our ranks.
“It is not fair whoever is elected: and I for one will not submit to
it.”
“The vote has been declared and Briscoe is major!” shouted Bowles, who
regarded himself as in some sense the guardian of the purity of the
election.
“There was cheating in the election and I object to the result,” said
Haven. “There are but one hundred and fifty in the battalion and one
hundred and fifty-three votes were cast.”
“Very likely there was other cheating,” suggested Tommy, who perhaps
really believed that he had been defeated by fraud.
“Let’s have it over again,” said Lennox, the first lieutenant of
Company B.
“Mr. Commander!” called Faxon.
“Lieutenant Faxon,” replied the major.
“I move that we proceed to a new election for major.”
“Second the motion!” promptly added Lennox.
“It is moved and seconded that we proceed to a new election,” said
Tommy. “Are you ready for the question?”
Haven proceeded to make a speech, in which he attempted to show why it
would be better to defer the election. Faxon, who was a ready debater,
controverted the argument. Several spoke on each side, but finally the
question was put, doubted, a count taken, and the postponement rejected
by “a strict party vote,” which indicated a majority of twenty for the
opposition. Again Tommy consulted Haven and several of his principal
supporters. It must have been evident to him that he could not be
elected.
“Officers and soldiers,” said he, when we had waited until our patience
was nearly exhausted, “I had hoped that you would consent to defer this
election for a few days. It was my intention, if I had been elected, to
resign in a short time.”
“What a fib!” growled one of our men.
“We have accepted an invitation to drill with the Wimpletonians for a
prize. We are in no condition to do so now, with the battalion in a
state of mutiny. If you will postpone the election till next Monday, I
will say that I shall not be a candidate.”
“No! No!” shouted our fellows.
“Mr. Commander, I rise to a point of order,” said Lennox.
“State your point,” replied Tommy.
“Whether, the battalion having voted to proceed with the election of
major, any other business is in order.”
“I made a proposition to the battalion to defer the election,” answered
Tommy, a little ruffled.
“We have just voted not to postpone,” added one of our party.
“And we have just voted to have the election now,” said another.
“Mr. Commander, I move that the roster be used as a check list to
insure fair play,” continued Faxon.
“Second the motion.”
The motion was put to vote and carried.
“Mr. Commander, I move that Lieutenants Haven and Faxon, and Sergeants
Hacker and Langdon, be a committee to check the names, and to receive,
sort, and count the votes,” said Lennox.
“Second the motion,” added Bowles.
“It is customary for the commander to appoint committees,” interposed
Barnscott.
“The rules say, ‘unless otherwise ordered,’” replied Lennox. “I believe
my motion is in order.”
“It seems to me this is a very fair thing, two on each side to check
the names and superintend the voting,” said Corporal Dunbold.
“The motion is not in order,” replied the major. “The chair has always
appointed committees of this kind.”
“I appeal from the decision of the chair,” promptly returned Lennox.
“An appeal from the ruling of the chair is taken,” continued Tommy,
vexed to find himself trammelled by the parliamentary usage, to which
he had always been a fanatical adherent. “Are you ready for the
question?”
“Question!”
“The question is, Shall the ruling of the chair stand as the sense of
the battalion? Those in favor of sustaining the ruling of the chair
will say, ay.”
“Ay!”
“Those opposed, no.”
“No!”
“The ayes have it, and the ruling of the chair is sustained.”
“I doubt that vote,” said Faxon.
The battalion was divided, and the question was decided against the
chair by the opposition majority of twenty. Tommy bit his lips; but as,
according to the “sense of the battalion,” the motion of Lennox was in
order, he was obliged to put it to vote. Of course it was carried by
the usual majority. The committee were directed to take their stations
by the tin kettle on the rock. The roster was brought out, and Faxon
and Haven appointed to check the names, while the other members of the
committee were to watch the voting. Fair play having been thus insured,
the voting commenced. As there no longer appeared to be any danger
of a collision between the two parties, our forces broke ranks. Then
commenced the most tremendous “lobbying” and “log-rolling” that had
ever been known in any of our deliberative bodies.
Tommy did not give up the battle. He and his toadies coaxed, teased,
threatened, and persuaded. Places on the Lake Shore Railroad and places
in the battalion were offered to our fellows; but all of them were
shrewd enough to see that the major’s party was not the winning one.
On the other hand, the votes already taken indicated that Briscoe was
certain to be elected by a handsome majority. Boys, like men and rats,
are ready to desert a sinking ship. The “lobbying” was not all on one
side. In half an hour every name on the list was checked. The committee
proceeded to count the votes.
The most intense excitement reigned on the bluff. Groups of officers
and privates engaged in earnest discussion; and, passing near Tommy
Toppleton, I was not a little surprised to hear him say that he
expected to be successful. I concluded that he had lost his senses, or
was merely keeping up appearances for a few moments longer. Perhaps
he expected Haven, who was chairman of the committee, to change the
current in his favor, or at least to discover some irregularity in the
proceedings which would justify a postponement.
“The committee are ready to report,” said one of the privates; and
the word passed through the camp, bringing all discussions to a sudden
conclusion.
“Mr. Commander,” said Haven, approaching the major with a paper in his
hand.
“Lieutenant Haven,” replied Tommy.
“The committee appointed to sort and count the votes have attended to
that duty, and respectfully report: Whole number of votes, one hundred
and fifty. Necessary to a choice, seventy-six. Thomas Toppleton has
fifty-eight; Robert Briscoe ninety-two, and is elected.”
The Briscoeites repeated the cheers they had given before, but with
even more energy than on the former occasion. The result showed a gain
of seven votes, and the cheering indicated a still larger reënforcement
of the opposition from the other side. Again every eye was turned to
Tommy, to ascertain whether he intended to submit to the will of the
majority. Most of us expected something in the shape of a protest from
Haven; but he performed his duty without comment of any kind. When the
chairman of the committee reported, I was quite near the major, for I
had no idea that we had reached the conclusion of the whole matter.
“What does this mean, Haven?” demanded Tommy, in a low tone, when the
report had been read.
“I could only declare the vote as it was,” pleaded Haven.
“But there is something wrong,” protested Tommy.
“I could not find anything;” and Haven shook his head, to indicate that
he had done his best for his friend, but had failed to find a flaw in
the proceedings.
“What shall I do?” asked Tommy, sorely vexed at the situation.
“I don’t know,” answered Haven, blankly.
“I don’t believe it is a fair thing. I don’t understand it.”
“Neither do I; but I don’t see any way to get round it.”
Tommy had been such a devoted adherent to parliamentary strictness,
that he felt obliged to read the report of the committee, as it was
given to him. Although it almost choked him to do so, he declared that
Briscoe was elected major.
“I wish to add,” he continued, with much embarrassment, “that I think
there is something wrong somewhere. I submit to the change only under
protest.”
“What is the matter?” demanded some one in the crowd.
“I have tried to do everything for the good of the battalion, and I
don’t know of any reason why I should be treated in this manner. An
officer under suspension for disobedience of orders is elected in my
place. This does not look right to me, and I don’t think your action
will stand long.”
“Briscoe! Briscoe!” shouted the boys, not pleased with Tommy’s threat
to have the election set aside.
In answer to the call, the new major mounted a rock, and, after he had
been warmly applauded, made a short speech, thanking the battalion for
the honor it had done him, and promising to discharge the duties of the
office to which he had been elected to the best of his ability. We were
then dismissed for dinner.
CHAPTER XIX.
HEALING THE BREACH.
Jed, who had patiently kept guard at the pine tree bridge during all
these exciting events, thought it was about time for him to be relieved
when he saw us preparing for dinner. I went down to see him, paid him
two dollars for his day’s work, and invited him to dine with us. As the
other officers were yet to be elected, I had no fear that any portion
of the battalion--unless it was Tommy Toppleton--would think of such a
thing as abandoning the field. The provision brought from the Institute
were already cooked, so that dinner was soon ready, and was quickly
disposed of.
Tommy Toppleton was moody and sullen. If any one spoke to him, he
answered only in monosyllables. He appeared to be considering the
situation, and making up his mind what to do. No one believed that
he ever had any intention of resigning if elected, or of declining
the nomination if the election was postponed. I do not think that,
even with the assistance of his father and the professors, he could
have secured votes enough to elect him. The majority of us were so
thoroughly disgusted with his tyranny, that we would have broken up the
battalion rather than voted for him. We had accomplished what we had
been laboring for over a year.
After dinner, in order to afford time for the students to prepare for
the election of the rest of the officers,--for there were still some
difficult points to be settled,--the voting was postponed for an hour.
In the mean time, I took my working party, and laid down the bridge
across the chasm near the road. Everything was thus restored to its
former condition; and, so far as any mischief was concerned, no one
would have known that High Bluff had been the camp of a turbulent
battalion.
“Skotchley, I’m not sure but the worst part of the business is yet to
come,” said Major Briscoe, as he seated himself by my side on a rock,
where I was resting after the fatigue of rebuilding the bridge.
“Why, what’s the matter?” I inquired, though I knew that it would be no
easy thing to reconstruct the battalion.
“Our fellows want to elect to the offices only those who have been on
our side. If they do so, the battalion will still be in two pieces,
when we want to unite them.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“It won’t do. The other side say, if they are left out in the cold,
they shall form a new company, and go off on their own hook.”
“I suppose they had just as much right to go in for Tommy as we had to
go in for you,” I suggested.
“I want to give them all fair play,” said Briscoe, warmly.
“Good! So do I.”
“What can we do with Tommy?”
“I don’t know. He is as savage as a meat-axe. There he sits on a rock,
all by himself. I suppose he is brooding vengeance.”
“We can be fair with him, and I’m in favor of being so. I suppose you
are entitled to the second office, Skotchley.”
“Never mind me. I don’t care a fig for any office.”
“I know you don’t; but the fellows care for you. I was thinking that,
if Tommy was willing we might make him senior captain.”
“Offer the place to him, by all means.”
“You are generous, Skotchley. Of course you can do as you please about
stepping aside for him.”
“Upon my word, Briscoe, I would rather not be in the line of promotion.”
“Don’t talk about that. I don’t think Tommy will take the place, but I
would like to offer it to him.”
“Do so, by all means.”
“Will you and Faxon see him?”
“I will, for one.”
Faxon was called and he consented to accompany me on my mission to the
late major. It was plain enough that he had not yet made up his mind
what to do.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel right about what has happened to-day,” I
began, as we halted before the little magnate.
“I feel right enough,” replied he, looking up, and trying to smile.
“But I don’t think the fellows will make anything by what they have
done.”
“Something has been said about electing you senior captain.”
“Senior captain!” sneered Tommy. “Do you think I would take a lower
place than the one I have filled?”
“If you will take it, or any other place, we will do what we can to
elect you.”
“I don’t want any place. I don’t think I shall belong to the battalion
any longer. The fellows have been mean to me, after all I have done
for them. You and Briscoe stirred this thing up, Skotchley,” he added,
bitterly.
“I did what I thought was right.”
“Did you think it was right to tip me out?”
“I did,” I replied, firmly.
“That’s the way my friends treat me--or those who ought to be my
friends.”
“The friendship can’t be all on one side. To be candid, you have not
treated the fellows well.”
“What have I done?”
“You have been tyrannical and overbearing. You have tried to make your
will law, without caring what others wanted.”
“Humph! You learned that of Wolf Penniman.”
“I don’t want to say anything unpleasant now,” I added. “If I can do
anything for you, I am willing to do it.”
“You can’t do anything for me.”
“I only wanted to say that I had no ill feelings towards you; and I
don’t think the rest of the fellows have.”
“I should think they had. All that has been done to-day will be set
aside as soon as you return to Middleport. Do you think my father will
let me be insulted in this manner?”
“The fellows had a right to vote as they pleased,” suggested Faxon.
“Of course they had; and they may take the consequences.”
“Then there is no place in the battalion that you would like.”
“No!”
Tommy’s case was settled, and I reported the result to Briscoe.
“I suppose Tommy’s father will be mad when he learns what has happened;
but we must take our chances,” replied the major. “Tommy was in the
wrong, and we have switched him off. Whenever he will make a good
fellow of himself, I shall be happy to resign my office in his favor.”
Briscoe and myself then discussed the candidates for the other offices.
Both of us desired to divide them fairly among the two parties, so as
to heal all differences, and make the battalion a unit in sentiment.
“There’s a difficulty in the way,” said Briscoe. “We have two first
lieutenants--Faxon and Haven. If we make Faxon captain of Company B,
it will jump him over Haven, who is his senior. If we make Haven the
captain, it will be treating one of our own fellows shabbily.”
“Let me solve the difficulty for you. Make them both captains, and let
me be the quartermaster,” I interposed.
“O, no!”
“I insist,” I added. “The place will suit me best.”
“But the fellows won’t consent.”
“I will see to that.”
After a long talk, I persuaded the major to let me have my own way.
I preferred the position of quartermaster, for I had no military
aspirations. It was agreed that we would run Haven for senior captain
and Faxon for junior. This was even magnanimous on the part of our
side. We agreed upon Lennox and Bowles for first, and Hacker and
Crampton for second lieutenants. Barnscott was set aside, for he had
in turn sold out both sides, and neither party had any confidence in
him. He was anxious to be a captain, and had trimmed his course to
accomplish his end; and, like others who are true to nothing, he failed
in everything.
We wrote tickets with these nominations upon them. They were readily
accepted, and I was pleased to see that the Tommyites were entirely
satisfied. The polls were opened again, and the ticket was indorsed
by a large majority. Barnscott protested, engineered, log-rolled,
and lobbied; but he failed to defeat the arrangement. As soon as
the voting was finished, the battalion was formed in line. The
shoulder-straps were exchanged to suit the new rank of the several
officers. Tommy still sat on the rock, watching the proceedings. As
I passed near him, he beckoned to me, and requested me to deliver
his shoulder-straps to Briscoe, which I did. So far as I could see,
every one was satisfied except Barnscott, who had been appointed
sergeant-major. He accepted the position, but with very ill grace.
The major then made a little speech to the battalion in regard to
the prize drill. His remarks were received with applause; and, when
he directed the companies to separate, for the purpose of practising
the manual, I was pleased to see that an excellent spirit prevailed
throughout the corps. As I had no duties to perform in connection with
the drill, I went over to our camp on the other side of the gully,
to look after the stores there. While I was gathering them together
in readiness to be loaded upon the wagons, I saw Tommy walk up the
road. He did not seem to be going anywhere, for he had not taken his
pony. He was apparently still brooding over his imaginary wrongs,
and I wondered that he did not ride back to Middleport to report the
wickedness of the battalion to his father.
While I was gathering up the stores, Jed came over on the log of
the pine tree. He had witnessed the deposition of his enemy, and he
appeared to be satisfied with the result. He remarked good-naturedly,
that we had “fixed that Toppleton boy,” and he hoped it would be a good
lesson for him. If there was nothing more he could do for us, he would
go home, though he had done a good day’s work, and made more than he
could by staying at the farm.
Unhitching the old mare, he started for home. I heard his wagon
rattling along the road for a few minutes, and then forgot all about
him. I finished my work, and was about to return to the bluff by the
way of the pine tree when I was startled by a loud cry at some distance
from me, down the road.
I paused and listened again. The cry was repeated, and I recognized the
voice as that of Tommy Toppleton. The explanation was clear enough to
me in an instant. The little magnate had encountered Jed on the road,
and the latter was punishing him for his conduct on the preceding day.
Certainly Tommy was faring hard, and misfortunes did not come singly to
him.
CHAPTER XX.
TOMMY TOPPLETON IN TROUBLE.
I could hardly regard Tommy Toppleton as a friend of mine. Indeed,
since the occurrences of the preceding year on the Horse Shoe, he had
set himself up as my enemy. If he particularly hated any one student in
the Institute, I was that one. The fact that his father and mine had
been strong friends for many years did not help the matter at all. On
the contrary, it made it rather worse; for the father extended to me
some consideration on account of my parents, which the son resented.
More than once the little major had aimed the shafts of his malice at
me; but, though I resented his open insults, I never hated him, and
never attempted anything like revenge for the injuries he inflicted
upon me. When I heard him cry for help I was as willing to assist him
as though he had been my best friend. Wolf and I had often talked
about Tommy, and I think I had learned from him something of that
spirit of true Christianity which inspires one to love his enemies.
The story of Wolf’s conduct when Waddie Wimpleton was captured and
threatened with a coat of tar and feathers by his enemies, had been
faithfully circulated on both sides of the lake. Some of the fellows
thought Wolf was a “spoony” on that eventful occasion; but, for my
part, I regarded his behavior with intense admiration. To forgive and
help an enemy--one’s bitterest enemy--seemed to me to be a sublime
thing, and I hoped I should have the grace and the courage to do
likewise under the same circumstances. Acting from this inspiration,
therefore, I was eager to do what I could for Tommy when I heard his
outcry.
The sound came from some distance down the road, and it was evident to
me that I could not reach the spot in season to do any good. But this
thought did not prevent me from making the attempt, and I ran with all
the speed I could command till I reached the summit of a hill, which
afforded me a view of the road for a quarter of a mile. At the foot of
the declivity I saw the wagon. Behind it were Tommy and Jed. The stout
farmer held the little magnate by the collar. There had evidently been
a struggle, from which both appeared to be resting for a moment.
“Let him alone!” I shouted, at the top of my lungs, as I hastened
forward towards the scene of action.
Jed held his prisoner fast, but did not appear to be disposed to
proceed to extreme measures at once. I concluded that Tommy, seeing
that help was at hand, ceased his struggles to escape. At any rate, I
arrived upon the ground before the conflict was resumed.
“Come, Jed, let him alone,” said I, as soon as I could speak after the
violent exertion I had made.
“I guess not!” replied Jed. “Not if I know myself; and I think I do.”
“Pitch into him, Ned,” pleaded Tommy.
“I have no quarrel with you, cap’n,” added Jed. “But I’m going to take
this Toppleton boy home with me, and teach him better manners.”
“No, you’re not!” snapped Tommy.
“You say not; but I say I am.”
“Come, Jed, don’t be foolish. You won’t make anything by such a course
as that. Let him go, and I will see that everything comes out right,” I
pleaded.
“See here, cap’n; you don’t understand this case. When I came up to
this Toppleton boy, I asked him a civil question, and he sauced me.”
“’Twasn’t a civil question,” snarled Tommy.
“I asked you if you were ready to pay for the damage you had done to
our place. Wasn’t that a civil question?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was. Then I told him not to give me any of his impudence, and
he picked up a rock, and was going to heave it at me, when I jumped out
of the wagon and lit on him,” continued Jed, turning to me.
“I think you had better let him go, Jed,” I added.
“If I do, he’ll heave rocks at me.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Perhaps I will,” interposed the impracticable little magnate.
“There, do you hear that?”
“That’s only talk,” I explained.
“Let me alone!” shouted Tommy, beginning a desperate struggle for his
liberty.
“Let him go!” I interposed, taking Jed by the arm; for I was afraid the
stout fellow would inflict some serious injury upon his puny victim.
“I’ll let him go,” replied Jed, shaking the little major as a terrier
shakes a rat.
“Let him alone!” I repeated, earnestly, as I endeavored to stay the arm
of the stalwart farmer.
Jed evidently began to regard me as an ally of his victim, and in his
zeal he struck me a severe blow upon the head, which sent me reeling
into the bushes by the side of the road. My senses were somewhat
confused; but my ire was roused by the ungenerous blow. I looked about
me for a club; but, before I could find one, I saw Jed, whose right
hand was fastened upon the back of Tommy’s collar, seize him by the
trousers with the left hand. Lifting his victim clean from the ground,
he tossed him over the end-board into the wagon, as easily as though he
had been a spring lamb.
I could not find any club, and perhaps it was more fortunate for me
than for Jed that I could not; for he seemed to regard me as an enemy,
and was disposed to treat me as such. I picked myself up, and tried to
collect my scattered senses. I had already come to the conclusion that
the fist of the stout farmer was as hard as iron, for I felt as though
I had been struck with a sledge-hammer. I had done all I could do;
and that was nothing at all, unless I had helped to irritate Tommy’s
powerful assailant.
Jed held his victim down with one hand, while he jumped into the wagon
himself. The little major was not inclined to yield the battle even
yet, and made another ineffectual effort to release himself from the
iron grasp of his captor. Tommy screamed till the wild forests were
vocal with his cries; but no one but myself was within hearing of his
voice. The determined farmer tossed him over upon the seat, and then
took his place at the side of his conquered foe. Throwing one arm
around his body, he took the reins with the other, and drove off at the
best speed of the old mare.
Tommy had doubtless provoked this man beyond the limits of endurance;
but I was not prepared to believe that he intended to inflict any
serious injury upon him. The young gentleman had been accustomed to
being “monarch of all he surveyed,” and opposition from a common farmer
galled him sorely. Jed had pulled him from his horse the day before,
under strong provocation, and after this act Tommy could not indulge
in anything like conciliation. I tried to imagine what the captor
intended to do with his prize. I was willing to believe that he meant
to give him a sound thrashing, and thus, to use his own language,
“teach him better manners.” Perhaps a little discipline of this sort
would do Tommy no harm; but I could not make up my mind exactly what
sort of people dwelt in the farm-house. Christy Holgate appeared to be
a prisoner there; and I was not sure that the little magnate might not
be subjected to something worse than a whipping.
It was useless for me to attempt to chase the wagon on foot. It had
now disappeared behind a hill, and I was not disposed to follow it. I
decided that it would be better for me to state the case to Briscoe;
and, if Tommy did not soon return, an expedition might be sent for
him. I hastened back to the camp; but, to my surprise, I found that
the battalion had marched for Priam. The stores in the grove had been
taken. I suppose I was not missed. I had directed the wagoners to take
the articles I had piled up for them, before I left the bluff. Glancing
at my watch, I saw that the new major had not started till the hour he
had appointed for that purpose. Tommy’s pony was still on the bluff;
but he was saddled ready for use. Probably Tommy was supposed to be in
the vicinity when the column moved off, and he was to be permitted to
follow, or not, according to his imperial pleasure.
I concluded to mount the pony, and follow the battalion, though, as it
had half an hour the start of me, I could hardly expect to overtake it
before reaching Priam, which was only three miles distant. I was still
“a little mixed” about the head, and the puny steed was disposed to go
much faster than I was willing to let him. I overtook the column just
as it was entering Priam. The band was playing one of its choicest
airs, and the people were rushing out to see the show. Urging forward
the pony, I astonished Major Briscoe by presenting myself, thus
mounted, at his side.
“Where’s Tommy?” demanded he, looking exceedingly anxious.
“He’s in trouble; and I want some help to go after him,” I replied.
Briscoe halted his command, and I briefly related to him the incident
of which I had been a witness.
“If I had had this pony, I should have followed and done what I could
for him,” I added, in conclusion.
“But Jed isn’t a bad man, I judge,” replied Briscoe.
“Perhaps not; but he and Tommy are terribly incensed against each
other.”
“What can we do?”
“I don’t know that we can do anything, for probably the mischief will
be done before we can get to the farm-house; but some of us ought to
go after him.”
“That’s so.”
“There comes the Ucayga!” I added, pointing to Wolf Penniman’s steamer,
as she was approaching the landing of the town.
It was half past six, and Captain Penniman was on time, as usual. I had
an errand with the young captain, relating to the important discovery
I had made at the farm-house. Major Briscoe decided to encamp for the
night near Priam. I hastened down to the pier, and arrived just as
the boat made fast. Leaping over the rail, I climbed to the promenade
deck, where I was warmly greeted by Wolf. In as few words as possible,
I told him all about Christy Holgate and Tommy. As I supposed he would
he decided to remain over until the return of the steamer from Hitaca
the next morning. Colonel Wimpleton happened to be on board, and, as
Van Wolter, the mate, was entirely competent to navigate the boat, the
owner offered no objection to the arrangement.
We soon found the camp of the battalion; and, after some consultation
with Briscoe, I was detailed to look out for Tommy. Wolf declared that
he wanted no one but me. Hiring a horse and wagon at the hotel, we
departed upon our mission.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHRISTY HOLGATE.
“I can hardly believe the man you saw was Christy Holgate,” said Wolf,
as we drove off.
“I could not have been mistaken,” I replied. “I knew Christy very well.
I used to see him almost every day.”
“But where could he have been all this time?”
“If the people at the farm-house are his friends,--as of course they
are,--it was easy enough to conceal him.”
“Now I think of it, I have heard Lewis Holgate say he had an aunt
somewhere near Middleport. Probably this farmer’s wife is Christy’s
sister.”
“And they pretend that he is insane.”
“Well, I don’t know but he is. I often think a man must be crazy to
commit any crime.”
“What are you going to do with him, Wolf?” I asked. “You are all
alone; for I can’t do much to help you.”
“I am going to see if the man is Christy, first,” laughed my companion.
“You may be sure of that.”
“I’m going to have a talk with him, then.”
“You can’t arrest him yourself.”
“I don’t want to arrest him. If he has spent two years on this farm,
confined to his chamber in the attic, I will venture to say he is not
a fit person to send to the state prison. You say he looked thin and
pale?”
“Very.”
“If he has been confined to the house all this time, probably he has
not spent my father’s money.”
“Don’t you suppose his wife knows where he is?”
“Probably she does, and Lewis also.”
“They may have spent the money for him.”
“Lewis has earned good wages ever since his father left, and the two
daughters work in stores. The family never appeared to have much money.
Everybody supposes they live on what they earn. But we can’t tell much
about it.”
After a drive of little more than an hour, we came in sight of the
farm-house. I began to be quite nervous in view of encountering Jed
and the rest of the family; but Wolf was as cool as though he were at
the wheel of the Ucayga. He did not say in what manner he intended to
accomplish his purpose, either in securing Christy or redeeming Tommy
Toppleton from bondage. It was nearly dark when we drove up the yard,
where our line had been formed to put out the fire. I glanced at the
window in the attic which opened from the crazy man’s room. The green
paper curtain before it was suddenly dropped, and I was confident
Christy was still there, though the room could not be in a very good
order, after the action of the fire and water. The long ladder by which
we had passed up the water still rested against the house, as we had
left it.
As soon as we stopped, Jed appeared, coming from the barn with a pail
of milk in each hand. He instantly recognized me, and I thought he did
not look very amiable.
“Don’t say a word about the crazy man,” said Wolf, when I indicated to
him that the man with the milk-pails was the captor of Tommy Toppleton.
“Christy is in his room; for I saw the curtain drop as we drove up,” I
added in a low tone.
“All right.”
“How are you again, Jed?” said I, getting out of the wagon.
“First rate!” replied he rather gruffly.
“What have you done with Tommy Toppleton?”
“I haven’t done anything with him,” replied Jed, setting down his
milk-pails.
“The last I saw of him, he was in your wagon, coming this way.”
“Well, he didn’t come far with me,” answered Jed; but he seemed to be
more embarrassed than the occasion required, if he was telling the
truth. “As soon as he cooled off, I let him go.”
“Where was that?” I inquired, astonished at this information.
“About a mile and a half this side of where you saw us. You see, he
begged my pardon, and promised to settle for what mischief he had done.”
“Did Tommy beg your pardon?”
“Certainly, he did.”
This was the most incredible thing he had yet said.
“Tommy is not in the habit of begging any one’s pardon,” suggested Wolf.
“Well he got scared, you see.”
We did not see it.
“Which way did he go?” I asked.
“He went back towards the camp,” answered Jed.
I was not satisfied with this story. If Tommy had been liberated at
the point indicated, we should certainly have discovered him somewhere
on the road. He would not have taken to the woods, but would have
continued on his way to Priam, after he found that the battalion
had left High Bluff. Besides, it was not reasonable that Tommy had
apologized to his enemy. He had never been known to do such a thing,
and, in the frame of mind in which I had last seen him, he was not
likely to do so.
“We have just come down from Priam, and did not see anything of him,” I
added.
“I don’t know anything about that. I meant to give the little rascal a
sound thrashing, and teach him better manners. I know just how that boy
behaves down to Middleport; how he lords it over man and boy. I used
to think if ever I got hold of him, I’d lick him. Now, he insisted on
scaring my colt, to say nothing of risking my life and Clarissa’s; then
he trod down our spring wheat, and sent his fellows through the garden;
and if ever a man was mad, I was. After you put the fire out, I tried
to think better of him for your sakes. If he hadn’t sauced me again, I
shouldn’t have meddled with him. When he threw rocks at me, I meant to
give him some; but he backed down, and I didn’t do anything to him to
speak of.”
“You wouldn’t have gained anything by thrashing him,” I replied. “His
father would have prosecuted you.”
“I don’t care for that; two can play at that game, as well as one,”
retorted Jed, beginning to be excited.
“Well, if he isn’t here, we may as well drive on,” interposed Wolf,
starting the horse.
Jed picked up his milk-pails, and went into the back room with them.
“But he is here,” said I, getting into the wagon. “I don’t believe a
word of that story.”
“No matter,” added Wolf, coolly, as he drove out of the yard.
I was rather disgusted with my companion, to find that he intended to
give up the chase so easily; but I did him injustice in my thoughts. He
had not even hinted a word about Christy, and I might have known that
he would not depart without seeing the robber. He turned the horse up
the road in the direction of Priam.
“I see what that fellow is made of,” said Wolf, when we were out of the
hearing of the inmates of the house. “He is both ugly and cunning.”
“He is ugly enough; but there are some good things about him. He has
been very obliging to us, at least.”
“Because you were arrayed against Tommy Toppleton,” laughed Wolf.
“He cut down a pine tree for us, which enabled our fellows to reach
High Bluff.”
“So that you could pitch the major out of office,” replied my friend,
as he turned the horse into a by-road leading into the depths of the
woods, about half a mile above the farm-house.
“What are you going to do now, Wolf?” I inquired.
“I am going to attend to the business which brought us here. I don’t
believe Christy stays up in that chamber all the time.”
It was now almost dark, and Wolf fastened the horse to a tree. We were
on the verge of what was called the wild region. Below, the country was
all improved, so that the farm of Jed’s father lay next to the woods.
We sat down on a rock, and waited till it was quite dark, when we
walked down the road towards the house.
“What are you going to do, Wolf?” I asked, nervously, in a whisper.
“I don’t exactly know. Perhaps we shall have to go up that ladder, and
dive into Christy’s room through the window.”
“You can’t do that,” I protested.
“Perhaps not; but we will see how the land lies. I think we had better
get over the fence, and make our way to the rear of the house. There
are lights in the second story window. The people are going to bed, and
everything will be quiet in a few moments.”
We climbed over the fence, and sat down upon a rock, to wait until the
lights were put out in the house, and the occupants had time to fall
asleep.
“Hush! don’t say a word,” said Wolf, grasping my arm.
I neither saw nor heard anything to explain the conduct of my
companion; but, having full confidence in him, I heeded his request.
A moment later I heard the sound of footsteps in the road. I held my
breath with interest and anxiety, awed by the manner of my companion,
rather than by the fact that some one was passing in the road before
me. Looking through the fence, I saw a man. There was just light enough
to enable me to recognize the gray coat which I had seen upon Christy,
as he passed me in the attic the day before. He walked slowly up the
road towards the woods.
“Follow me,” whispered Wolf, as he began to creep along the grass
between the fence and the wheat; for we were in the field where the
battle had been fought the day before.
We walked in Indian style, feeling our way with our feet, like cats
about to pounce upon their prey. We continued in this direction till we
reached the woods, through which we could not pass without making too
much noise. We could not see Christy; but he had passed into the wild
region. We listened, but we could no longer hear the sound of his step.
With the utmost care we climbed over the fence, which was composed of
logs, so that it did not yield much beneath our weight.
“Did you see him?” whispered Wolf.
“I did; and I am sure it was Christy,” I replied.
“I wonder where he is gone,” added Wolf.
The road was up a gentle ascent for some distance, and straight, but we
could not see the man we sought. It was evident that he had turned into
the woods. It was possible that he had taken the road where we had left
our horse, or that the animal would make some noise, so as to excite
his attention as he passed. We crept silently along the road till Wolf
put his hand upon my shoulder and we halted.
“Hark!” whispered he.
I listened. I heard a low, murmuring voice, uttering words in the most
solemn strain. They became louder and more coherent in a moment, so
that we could tell what was said. It was the voice of Christy Holgate.
He was praying.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE PENITENT.
I cannot describe the feeling of awe and solemnity with which I
listened to the earnest prayer of Christy Holgate. His voice was broken
with deep emotion, as he pleaded for forgiveness for his sins. I need
not say that Wolf was not less affected than myself, and both listened
in respectful silence to the petition of the penitent. It has been said
that if a man does not grow better, he grows worse; there is no such
thing as standing still in the moral scale.
The place which Christy had chosen for his evening orisons was a little
open space in the bushes. The road, as I have said before, was seldom
travelled, except by pleasure parties and tourists, and at the present
season of the year he was not likely to be interrupted. Wolf beckoned
to me with his hand, and I followed him as he crept gently through the
opening into the little natural arbor.
“O Lord, thou knowest how much I have suffered for my folly and
wickedness! O, help me, and pardon me, and make me a good and true man!
Forgive me O Father in heaven, and give me that peace which I have so
long sought in vain!” were the concluding sentences of Christy’s prayer.
He rose from his knees, taking his hat from the ground as he did so.
Turning to leave, he beheld, in the gloom, our two shadowy forms. He
was startled, and uttered an exclamation of alarm. We stood perfectly
still, and said nothing; for it seemed to me that nothing could be said
on such an occasion.
“Who’s there?” said Christy, in trembling tones.
“Christy Holgate,” replied Wolf, with impressive accents, “I hope you
will find the peace you seek.”
“Who speaks?” demanded the penitent.
“If you have made your peace with God and man, you will be forgiven,”
added Wolf, solemnly.
“Who are you?”
“It does not matter who we are, at present. I came after you; and it
seems to have been the will of Providence that I should find you in the
attitude of prayer.”
“What do you want of me?” asked Christy. “Are you an officer?”
“I am not an officer. Do you feel as though your crime had been
forgiven?”
“What crime?”
“The crime for which you were praying to be forgiven.”
“Do you know about it?”
“I do--all about it. You robbed your friend of twenty-four hundred
dollars two years ago.”
“I did--I did!” groaned the penitent.
“I asked you if you felt as though you had been forgiven. You did not
answer me.”
“Sometimes I feel as though the good Father had pardoned me, and again
I feel as though he had not. To-night I feel more guilty than ever. I
have tried to perform my duty, but I have not had the courage to do it.
Will you tell me who you are? If you are an officer of justice, I will
go with you. I can suffer no more in a prison cell than I suffer here.”
“Why don’t you go back to Middleport, confess your error, and take the
consequences?”
“Because I dare not. I cannot brand my family with infamy by
voluntarily going to a prison.”
“Do your family know you are here?” asked Wolf, deeply interested in
the story of the unhappy man.
“My wife and daughters do; but they dared not trust Lewis with the
secret. I am very wretched, and have been from the moment I stole the
money.”
“What did you do with the money you stole?” inquired Wolf.
“I don’t like to answer that question now. You are a stranger to me.”
“I am Wolf Penniman,” added my companion.
“Wolf Penniman!” exclaimed Christy, starting back, and trying to
recognize in the tall young man at my side the boy who had confronted
him on the locomotive at the time of the robbery. “You are not Wolf!”
he added, incredulously.
“I am.”
“You are taller than you were.”
“I have grown a little.”
“You have come to curse me for the wrong I did your father.”
“No; I curse no one. I can forgive you after hearing your prayer. I
think my father can forgive you also, when he knows how penitent you
are. Come out into the road.”
Wolf led the way to the road, and we seated ourselves on a rock, where
there was light enough to see each other’s faces. The penitent, who had
been a stout, hearty man two years before, was now thin and pale. He
did not look like the same person I used to see in the engine-room of
the old steamer.
“You came after me--did you, Wolf? How did you know I was here?”
“Ned Skotchley saw you yesterday at the fire.”
“Did he? Well, I saw one or two boys in the attic, but I did not know
them, and I didn’t think they would recognize me. But I suppose it is
all for the best.”
“You did not tell me what you had done with my father’s money,
Christy,” continued Wolf.
“I will tell you. I have not dared to tell any one before, for fear my
brother-in-law would find it out.”
“Who is your brother-in-law?”
“Moses Trottwood. He lives in this house. I told him I had buried the
money in the woods; but I told him a lie. He wanted it, and I told him
I could not find the place. He is a hard man,” added the culprit, with
a heavy sigh. “He has made my wife and daughters pay three dollars a
week for my board, though I have always done a man’s work for him ever
since I came here.”
“Why didn’t you leave him, then?”
“I dared not. I went to my room when any one came here, and they said
I was crazy. I am almost crazy. I shall be entirely so, if I stay here
much longer. I am sent to my attic room when any one is here, and I
haven’t spoken to a soul before to-night except my sister, her husband
and son, since I first came.”
“Doesn’t your wife see you?” inquired Wolf, in tones of sympathy.
“No; she has been here once or twice; but they told her I was crazy,
and it wasn’t safe for her to see me. I rebelled once against this
tyranny; but Trottwood threatened to send for an officer. I have had to
work for nothing for two years, cut off from my friends, and all the
comfort I have had has been in my prayers. The money is safe, just as I
took it; for I always meant to give it back to your father.”
“Where is it?”
“I hid it in a box under the barn. I will give it to you this very
night. I feel that God will pardon me after I have given it back to
the owner. Wolf, as true as I’m a living man, I didn’t mean to keep
that money when I took it. Your father and I both had been drinking a
little too much. I meant to give it back to him when I first took it;
but when it was fairly in my pocket, I couldn’t help thinking how much
good it would do me. The whiskey made your father crazy and he pitched
into me so that it made me mad, and I declared he should not have the
money then. After I left the engine, I took to the swamp, and wandered
about for two or three days. I then made my way to my sister’s. She hid
me in the attic for a week, without the knowledge of her husband and
son. When they discovered me, they kept my secret; but they made me pay
heavily for it. I am the servant, in fact the slave, of the family.”
“You shall leave to-night, if you wish,” said Wolf.
“O, I do wish to leave.”
“I will engage you as second engineer on the Ucayga, if you like,”
replied the generous Wolf. “We need another; and I am authorized to
employ one. I don’t think any one will meddle with you, if my father is
satisfied.”
“Now, Christy, you knew Tommy Toppleton--did you not?” I interposed.
“Certainly I did, very well. He was here yesterday, with his soldiers,
and behaved very badly too.”
“I am sorry to say he did. Have you seen him to-day?”
Christy hesitated. After the earnest prayer we had heard him utter in
the solitude of his lonely retreat, where he supposed none but He who
is the fountain of mercy listened to it, I did not expect him to tell a
lie.
“Have you seen Tommy to-day,” he replied, very gently.
“I have seen him to-day,” he replied, after waiting a moment. “He was
brought up to the house by Jed, an hour ago, or more. Jed is a terribly
vindictive young man.”
“What did he do to him?” I asked, anxiously.
“I don’t think he hurt him after he came to the house. His father, who
is more timid than he, tried to have him let the boy go.”
“What have they done with him?”
“They locked him up in the attic room opposite mine. Tommy yelled,
and kicked and pounded the door till he appeared to be worn out with
his exertions. I’m afraid it will be bad business for Jed; for Major
Toppleton is a powerful man. My nephew is a bad fellow; and isn’t
afraid of anything in this world.”
“Did Tommy submit at last?” asked Wolf.
“I suppose he did. He didn’t make any more noise.”
“What does Jed mean to do with him?” I inquired.
“I don’t know. I should not wonder if they meant to keep him a
prisoner, as they have me, until they can make some money out of the
affair. They are mean enough to do anything,” answered Christy.
“Did they give him any supper?”
“I don’t know.”
“How shall we get him?” I asked; for I was determined to release him,
if we had to pull the house down, though I rather preferred not to
encounter Jed to accomplish the purpose.
“I don’t know how we can get him out without waking the folks. If I
had the key of the room, I could manage it; but I suppose, Jed has it
in his pocket. But I am going to get that money before I do anything
else,” said Christy, as he led the way around the wheat field to the
rear of the barn which he entered.
He was absent some time, during which we heard him pulling up the
planks. When he returned, he handed the roll of bills to Wolf, who
carefully deposited it in his pocket. The rest of our mission at the
farm-house was more difficult to accomplish.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ATTIC CHAMBER.
Perhaps Christy Holgate overstated his moral convictions at the time
he stole the money. According to his own story, he had not intended
to retain it at first, though the possession was a temptation to keep
it. As nearly as I could judge, his brother-in-law had intended to
secure the plunder for himself and at the same time force the wretched
criminal to bear the guilt of the crime. Trottwood had compelled him to
remain at his house, in the hope of getting the money. When this hope
failed him,--if it had yet failed him,--he still held on to the victim,
because his services were valuable.
I had to refresh my memory with a few facts which had come to my
knowledge, before I could fully believe that Christy’s relatives were
perfidious enough to treat him as he represented that they had. A
father in New Hampshire gave his son all his property, on condition
that the latter should take care of him during the remainder of his
life. The ungrateful son sold the farm, went to another state, and
permitted the old man to die in the poorhouse. Two similar instances
were within my own knowledge, and I had no difficulty, after thinking
of these things, in believing that the engineer’s story was all true.
Christy was a criminal before the law, liable to be sent to the
penitentiary for a long period. Even his sister might have brought
herself to believe that she was doing him a favor by saving him from
such a fate, on the terms she and her husband exacted. The poor man’s
spirits were broken; he had no power of resistance, and he suffered
rather than flee from his unnatural friends. Trottwood lived but to
make money. His son had no higher view of life.
The capture of Tommy Toppleton was a bold and daring outrage, when the
social position and influence of his father are considered. It would
have been safer to kidnap some friendless boy, but it would have been
a profitless task. I was inclined to believe that the imprisonment of
the little magnate in the attic of the farm-house was an afterthought,
and not a scheme deliberately meditated. Probably a portion of Jed’s
statement was true. I had no doubt that Tommy was saucy and insulting,
and even that he had thrown stones at the young farmer. It was like him
to do so. Thus provoked, Jed might have carried his idea of vengeance
farther than he first intended, assisted by a suggestion of making
money out of the operation.
Though it would have done the little gentleman no harm to remain a
prisoner, under the harsh treatment of these people, for a week or two,
it was neither just nor right to permit the outrage. If I had consented
to it, Wolf Penniman would not; for he knew how much pain and anxiety
his absence would give to Grace Toppleton, as well as to her parents,
with whom the young captain was now on tolerably friendly terms.
After Christy had given up the money, we seated ourselves in the rear
of the barn, to wait until we felt sure that the people in the house
were sound asleep, and to consider the means by which we were to
effect the rescue of the prisoner. If the door of the chamber could
be opened, we could easily get him down stairs before his jailers
ascertained what we were about. Christy thought he might pick the lock,
but he was afraid Jed was sleeping with one ear open on account of his
prisoner.
“What kind of a door is it?” asked Wolf.
“It is a common battened door, of three quarter inch boards.”
“Then it is not very strong?”
“No; I could put my shoulder through it without any trouble.”
“We will do it in that way,” said Wolf, quietly; and he proceeded to
give the details of his plan, to which neither Christy nor myself
offered any objections.
“I will go up to bed,” said the penitent. “In about half an hour I will
break down the door, take the boy through my room, and send him down
on the ladder. When you are ready, one of you had better come up the
ladder, and tap lightly on the window.”
“All right.”
Christy left us, and we made our way back to the place where we had
left the horse and wagon. It was necessary to have the conveyance where
we could start without any delay, as soon as Tommy was at liberty. I
led the horse into the road, and, heading him towards Priam, fastened
him to a tree. We then walked up to the front of the farm-house,
stepping so carefully as not to make any noise. Everything was quiet,
and I had no doubt that the farmer and his son were both sound asleep.
When the half hour had expired, as nearly as we could judge, I went up
the ladder, and tapped lightly on the attic window.
A moment later I heard a crash and a scream. As I afterwards learned,
the sudden assault startled Tommy, who had just fallen asleep. But
he had not taken off his clothes, and Christy conducted him through
his own chamber to the window, taking the precaution to lock the door
behind him, so as to delay pursuit when Jed came up stairs.
“Hurry up, Tommy,” said I, in a low voice, as I helped the intended
victim out upon the ladder.
“O, is it you, Ned?” he replied, quivering with agitation, as he
recognized my voice.
“Be careful on the ladder,” I added, as he commenced the descent.
He went down with all the speed his trembling limbs would permit. I
was in advance of him, and kept one eye upon him, to make sure that he
did not fall. He was followed by Christy, who was also very nervous
under the excitement of the moment. Before I reached the bottom of the
ladder, I heard a great commotion in the house. There were hurried
footsteps within; but before the inmates had discovered what the matter
was, we were all upon the ground, and hurrying towards the woods, where
the horse was awaiting us.
“That was well done,” said Wolf.
“It was done quickly, at any rate,” replied Christy. “I suppose Jed
understands, by this time, that his prisoner is gone. I locked my door,
as I always do, and he will think I am still in my room.”
“He will see that the door of Tommy’s room is broken down,” I added.
“Yes, and if he stops to think, he will see that it could not have been
done from the inside, for the door opens into the room.”
“No matter,” said Wolf, lightly. “He may think what he pleases, now we
are all safe.”
Arriving at the wagon, we all got in, for fortunately there were two
seats in the vehicle. Wolf took the reins, and in a moment more we were
on our way to Priam. Tommy was on the back seat with me, while Christy
sat in front with the captain. Thus far the little magnate had not
spoken a word since he recognized me, and was conscious that he was in
the hands of friends. He had been terribly frightened; for though he
was not deficient in pluck, the incidents of his night’s experience had
been enough to startle even one with the strongest nerves.
As I had seen for myself, Jed handled him very roughly; and probably he
had not moderated his treatment after we parted. The mere fact that he
was in the toils of his bitter and vindictive enemy was enough to shake
his wonted faith in himself.
“How do you feel, Tommy?” I asked, after we had ridden a short distance.
“I don’t feel very well,” he replied, in a tone so subdued and broken,
that it did not sound at all natural. “I am sore and lame.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” I inquired.
“I believe that fellow meant to kill me.”
“No; I think not.”
“He didn’t come a great way from it, at any rate,” added he; and it
seemed to me that he was trying to choke down a disposition to “have a
good cry.”
“Did he hurt you?” I asked, fearful that he had received more injury
than I had before suspected.
“How much pounding do you suppose I can stand?” he replied.
“Did he pound you?”
“Half a dozen times, besides knocking me about like a dog. He hammered
me with his whip several times before he got me to the house. Every
time I tried to get away, he gave me some. After he locked me up in the
room, I made an effort to break the door down, and he came in, and gave
it to me with a strap, till I agreed to keep still. I believe he meant
to kill me.”
“Not so bad as that, let us hope.”
“What did he mean to do, then?” demanded Tommy, who was evidently
disposed to put the worst phase upon the case. “What did he shut me up
in that room for, after he had licked me till I was sore?”
“I don’t know what he intended to do; but I suppose it was only to
punish you for what you did yesterday.”
“Do you think I did anything yesterday to deserve such savage
treatment?”
“Perhaps not; but certainly it is not your fault that Jed or the
girl was not killed or badly injured in that scrape,” I answered,
willing that he should derive all the moral benefit possible from his
sufferings, but I spoke only what I believed to be the naked truth. “If
Jed and the girl had been in the wagon when the colt whisked round so
suddenly, I don’t see what could have saved one or both of them from a
broken limb or a broken neck.”
“You are hard on me, Ned,” replied Tommy.
“Well, I only state the facts as they are. Briscoe and I told Fryes to
stop playing.”
The little magnate relapsed into silence. His spirit had been broken
for the first time in his life. Never before had he been conquered, or
treated as his relentless persecutor had treated him. I allowed him to
think the matter over for himself.
“Ned, I believe you are right,” said he, at last.
“I began to think I was in the wrong, and perhaps this fellow has given
me no more than I deserve.”
“His conduct was wrong; it was outrageous, whatever may be said of
yours,” I replied.
“Ned, I have been very miserable to-day. I was so before I met Jed in
the road. I was thinking, as I walked along, what I had done to make
the fellows hate me so badly.”
“I don’t think they hate you. They won’t stand your tyranny--that’s
all.”
“They don’t like me, any how.”
“That’s so,” I answered, candidly.
He was silent again. I was glad to learn that he had begun to review
his past conduct before the ruffian took him in hand. It seemed to me
that Tommy had SWITCHED OFF.
“Who is this man on the front seat?” whispered Tommy.
“Christy Holgate.”
I told the story of Christy in a whisper, so that the subject of it,
who was busily engaged in conversation with Wolf, should not hear me.
We had two penitents that night.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DISASTER ON THE WHARF.
It was after midnight when we arrived at the hotel in Priam. We were
all fatigued enough to retire immediately, and Tommy Toppleton and I
took a room together at his suggestion. He did not like to be alone,
and I judged that he found it difficult to banish the image of his
terrible tormentor from his mind. Without distorting the truth in
regard to his past conduct, I did all I could to comfort him. When he
undressed himself, I was shocked to see the bruises and wales upon
his body. He had suffered much more than I supposed; but he conducted
himself with much fortitude, and I really sympathized with him.
I washed the wales in cold water, and did everything for him which the
circumstances permitted. He did not say much after we went to the room,
except to express his gratitude to Wolf and myself for the service
we had rendered him. I did not wake the next morning till the young
captain rapped on my door. I admitted him and Christy Holgate.
“How do you feel, Tommy?” asked Wolf, tenderly, as my bedfellow opened
his eyes.
“I don’t feel very well,” replied he.
“Perhaps you had better go down on the boat with me.”
“Thank you, Wolf. I will. I intended to join the battalion and serve
in whatever place the new major gives me, just to show that I am right
towards the fellows,” added Tommy, languidly; “but I don’t feel able to
do so.”
Tommy had, indeed, switched off!
“Do you feel sick?” inquired Wolf.
“I do; and I want to go home. Before I go, I wish you all to promise me
one thing.”
“What is that?”
“Do not say a word to any one about what has happened to me at that
house--not a word,” answered Tommy, earnestly.
“Why so?” inquired Wolf.
“I’ll tell you another time. I will be down stairs in a few minutes.”
Our visitors retired, and I saw that my companion was suffering much
pain. He was hardly able to get out of bed, and I assisted him in
dressing himself.
“I don’t see how we can keep this affair still, Tommy,” said I. “And
the fellows will want to know where you have been.”
“Don’t tell them. I have fought the battle, and got the worst of it.
I don’t want to be laughed at, and I don’t want to be pitied. I feel
sick, and I’m all used up.”
“You will have to tell your own folks about it.”
“No, I will not,” he protested stoutly, even in his weakness.
“They will see the marks upon your body.”
“I shall not say where I got them.”
“Don’t you intend to prosecute Jed for what he has done?”
“No!” he replied decidedly. “If I can get out of this scrape, I will
never get into another.”
I was entirely satisfied that he should have his own way. I helped him
down stairs, for I found that he needed my assistance. He paid the bill
of the whole party at the office, and ordered a wagon to convey him to
the steamer. I was really alarmed about him, for though he put the best
face upon his condition, I was certain that he was very ill. He was hot
and feverish, and I was glad that in a couple of hours more he would be
at home.
I went on board of the Ucayga with him, as she made fast to the wharf.
Wolf gave him his state-room, and he lay down in the berth. I shook
his hand as I left him, and he pressed mine with the warmth of a true
friend. Leaving him I went down to the engine-room, at the door of
which Christy was waiting, deeply agitated in view of his approaching
meeting with the man he had wronged. Wolf and I went in first, to
prepare the way.
“Father, here is the money you lost two years ago--twenty-four hundred
dollars,” said the young captain, presenting the roll of bills to the
astonished engineer.
“You don’t mean so, Wolf!” exclaimed Mr. Penniman.
“Count the money, father, and see if I don’t.”
“Where in the world did you get it?”
“Ned, here, put me on the track of it yesterday, and that is the reason
I left the boat. But, father, we haven’t much time to talk now. I found
Christy Holgate on his knees begging Heaven for forgiveness of his
crime. If God can forgive him, surely you can, father, for Christy gave
me back the money. He is a new man now.”
“Well, but--”
“Here he is, father,” interrupted Wolf, leading the penitent into the
engine-room.
“There’s my hand, Christy,” said Mr. Penniman, suiting the action to
the word. “What my boy says I believe.”
“Ralph, I don’t deserve any favors from you; but I have suffered more
with this money than you have without it,” replied the penitent, with
deep emotion. “If God forgives me, and you forgive me, Ralph, I shall
be at peace, whatever happens to me in this world.”
“It’s all right, so far as I am concerned,” added the engineer.
“He is to be the assistant engineer of our boat, father. I have given
him the place. Colonel Wimpleton told me to engage one some time ago.”
“All right! But do you drink anything now, Christy?” asked Mr. Penniman.
“Not a drop. I haven’t tasted any kind of liquor since we drank
together in the engine-room of the Ruoara.”
“Nor I!” exclaimed Mr. Penniman.
“And with the grace of God, I never will again.”
“Nor I!”
The bell rang to start the engine, and I rushed for the plank. It was
hauled in, but I jumped ashore without difficulty.
“Look out for Tommy,” I shouted to Wolf as the boat began to gather
headway.
“I will take good care of him,” replied Wolf.
“Where’s that crazy man?” shouted some one near me.
I turned, and saw Jed Trottwood driving his four-year-old colt down the
pier.
“Where is he?” demanded he, fiercely, as he reined in his fiery animal.
“On board that steamer,” I replied.
“Stop her! Stop her!” yelled Jed, at the top of his lungs. “Here, hold
my colt!”
The colt certainly needed holding; for, as the steamer began to tumble
the volumes of water out behind her, he became alarmed, and stood up,
as he had done when we first saw him. The driver, who was not so cool
as when Miss Clarissa was at his side, tried to get out of the vehicle,
but the restless animal would not permit him to do so, and he was
compelled to hold on the reins to keep him from running away. Jed was
angry and excited. More of his attention was devoted to the steamer
than to the colt, while the latter needed all his thought and all his
skill. He was more intent upon securing the crazy man than the crazy
horse.
“Can’t you tell the steamboat to stop, cap’n?” said Jed to me, as his
horse still reared and plunged.
“I can tell it to stop, but I don’t believe it will do so.”
“That crazy man will tear somebody to pieces.”
“Your colt will tear you to pieces, if you don’t look out for him,” I
replied.
I was no seer, but my words were more prophetic than I anticipated.
Suddenly, in spite of bit and rein, the colt whirled round and
attempted to run up the long pier, which had been extended to deep
water. The pier was not wide enough for the wagon to turn from the
point where it had stood, and the instant the fractious colt saw the
yawning abyss of waters, towards which he was headed, he sheered
violently. The forward wheel cut against the body, overturned it, and
with a thrill of horror I saw Jed whirled into the lake.
Several men sprang forward to seize the bridle of the furious beast;
but the wagon went over into the lake. This time the snipe-bill, which
had evidently been keyed into the axletree after the last disaster,
did not draw out, as before. The whole vehicle hung together like
“the wonderful one-horse shay.” For an instant the colt struggled to
escape from the weight of the wagon which was pulling him down, but it
was only for an instant; then horse and vehicle dropped into the lake
together.
[Illustration: THE DISASTER ON THE WHARF.]
The momentum of the whirl which had tossed Jed into the water carried
him a little beyond the place where his team fell, or he might have
been entangled in the wreck, and, perhaps, have been kicked to death
by the struggles of the infuriate horse. I held my breath with terror
and anxiety for the fate of man and horse. Others shouted and screamed;
but for a moment no one did anything to save the animal or his driver.
Perceiving a skiff hauled up on the beach, near the upper end of the
wharf, I rushed for it with all the speed my half-paralyzed limbs would
permit. I pushed it off, and sculled towards Jed, who was floundering
in the water, out of his depth, and apparently unable to swim.
I soon reached him, and he had nearly upset the boat in his efforts
to get into it, when I begged him to desist, or he would certainly
be drowned; but there was no more sense in him than there was in the
colt. Cool as he had before been on the land, he was beside himself in
the water. As it was impossible for him to get into the frail skiff,
he was soon weary of his exertions. I was of mine in keeping him from
upsetting the boat. I finally persuaded him to hold on at the stern,
till I paddled ashore.
Jed was safe, but the horse was not. He was so entangled in the harness
that he could not swim, and his violent efforts soon disabled him. By
this time three boats were near enough to do something but the colt had
somehow turned himself over. His head seemed to be caught under water,
and he was still at last. A rope was thrown beneath him; but when he
was pulled up by the men on the wharf, it was all over with him. The
colt was drowned.
Jed was overwhelmed by the disaster. He swore like a pirate; and then
people did not seem to pity him. Some of them told him it was his own
fault, because he had foolishly driven an unbroken colt upon the pier.
“The colt was worth two hundred dollars of any man’s money,” muttered
he, after he had become a little cooler. “Who’s going to pay for him?”
he demanded, turning to me.
“I’m not,” I replied.
“But I guess that Toppleton boy’s folks will have to do it.”
“I think not,” I replied, in a low tone. “If Tommy’s folks don’t send
you to the state prison, you can’t afford to bring in any bills against
them.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, a little disturbed.
I told him what he had done to Tommy, and that his victim was on board
of the Ucayga. He seemed to be alarmed, and wanted to talk with me. I
explained the case to him as I understood it, and assured him he would
be lucky if he escaped with only the loss of the colt.
“But what do they want of the crazy man?” he continued.
“Christy Holgate?”
“You know all about him, then?”
“I do; he is one of the engineers on board of that boat.”
This information was enough to complete the sum total of Jed’s misery.
He felt like a planter who had lost his best slave,--for such the
penitent had been to his relatives. Then I added that Christy had given
up the money; and Jed seemed to feel as though he and his father had
been abused. I suggested that it would be fair for them to pay back
the money they had received for the penitent’s board, as he had earned
double the amount for his persecutors.
I left him to find the battalion. He was obliged to hire a horse to
take him home. If Tommy Toppleton had been deservedly punished, the
Trottwoods had not gained anything, either by their treatment of
Christy or by taking the law into their own hands.
CHAPTER XXV.
LET US HAVE PEACE.
The battalion was encamped in a field on the outskirts of the village.
During my absence the evening before, Major Briscoe had drilled the
companies, and put them through all their evolutions to the intense
admiration of the Priamites. I learned that our fellows had been
treated with great kindness and hospitality by the people, and a
portion of the officers had spent the evening with some of “the first
families.”
When I reached the camp, the battalion was preparing for the march. As
soon as I appeared, the officers gathered around me, and wanted to know
what had become of Tommy. I found myself placed in a difficult position
after the instructions the sufferer had given me. I simply told them
we had found Tommy; that he was sick, and had just taken the steamer
for home. They asked me a great many questions which I did not answer.
I succeeded in turning their attention from Tommy to Christy Holgate,
whose narrative I related in part, so as to enable my companions to
understand the character of the Trottwoods.
They listened with excited attention when I told them of the fate of
Jed’s colt; and if they were sorry for the animal, I do not think they
sympathized very deeply with the owner in the loss he had incurred.
Having told all I had to say, I was anxious to learn the condition of
the battalion, and whether there was likely to be a mutiny against the
new order of things.
“Barnscott and two or three others are a little grouty, but every
officer and man does his duty faithfully,” replied Briscoe, in answer
to my questions. “I don’t think we shall have any trouble.”
“I hope not.”
“I never saw the fellows drill so well as they did last night,” added
the major. “The crowd that looked on frequently applauded them. The
dress parade was absolutely perfect.”
“Then you expect to win the banner on Friday.”
“Of course I do,” laughed Briscoe.
“They say the Wimpleton Battalion has been increasing in numbers
lately. There are over two hundred students on the other side of the
lake, and they turn out three companies.”
“Their numbers won’t help them in a drill. On the contrary, they have
so many new recruits that our chances are improved.”
“But the drill comes off to-morrow, Major Briscoe. Of course you don’t
expect to march round to Centreport now.”
“No; certainly not; but I intend to go to Hitaca to-day. We shall take
it easy, and arrive by five o’clock this afternoon. We can show off a
little there to-night, and take the steamer in the morning down the
lake. We will land at Gulfport, and march the rest of the way. This was
what we agreed upon last night.”
“I don’t think we can do any better,” I replied. “Tommy told me he
wished you to use his pony. You are a field officer, and are entitled
to be mounted.”
“I am very much obliged to him, though I can’t help thinking the
message is a very strange one to come from him to me.”
“I don’t think so. Tommy has switched off.”
“Switched off?”
“Precisely so. That’s a railroad phrase, and means that he has turned
over a new leaf. Tommy did not say much, but he accepts the situation,
and means to make the best of it.”
“I hope it is true.”
“I think it is, but time alone can prove it. I am afraid he is going to
be sick.”
“I should think he would be, if he has switched off. It will be a great
change of diet for him.”
“Tommy was never a bad fellow. If you could only get the conceit out of
him, he would be a good fellow. Being the biggest toad in the puddle
did not agree with his constitution.”
“Well, I don’t know but that is enough to spoil almost any fellow.
Did Jed thrash him, or anything of that sort,” inquired the major,
curiously.
“I promised Tommy that I would not say any thing about it. Don’t ask
me, Briscoe.”
“I won’t.”
“He feels very sore.”
“In his bones?”
“In spirit; and in his bones, too. I think he must have taken a severe
cold, for I cannot account for his condition in any other way.”
The battalion had formed in column, and the march to Hitaca was
commenced. It was a magnificent day, and our fellows had rested enough
to make them fresh and vigorous. The band played its choicest airs,
and I never saw soldiers march better than those of the battalion. The
applause bestowed upon them by the Priamites stimulated them to do
their best. We were followed for some distance by the juvenile portion
of the people of the town, but they soon left us; the “route step” was
ordered, and we went along as happily as though we had not just passed
through the “war of the students.”
The scenery in this locality was magnificent. There are half a dozen
cataracts in the vicinity of Hitaca, one of which is fifty feet higher
than Niagara, though, of course, its volume of water is vastly less.
Our march, therefore, was full of interest, and, with the sublime and
beautiful around us, we knew no such thing as fatigue. Halting for an
hour for dinner, we entered Hitaca in the middle of the afternoon,
almost as fresh as when we started, for we had made frequent stops to
rest and view the scenery.
We were handsomely received by some of the principal citizens, who had
been apprised of our approach. A field, near the head of the lake, was
appropriated to our reception, and we were invited to a collation in
the evening. We pitched our tents, brushed the dust from our uniforms,
and soon looked as spruce and tidy as when we started.
“We shall be full of soldiers to-night,” said one of the gentlemen who
visited us to me.
“We are only a hundred and fifty,” I replied.
“But the others will be here to-night.”
“What others, sir?” I inquired.
“Why, the battalion from the other side of the lake--the Wimpleton
students,” laughed the gentleman, as though he were familiar with the
quarrel which had so long existed between the two institutions.
“Indeed! Are they coming too?” I exclaimed, astonished at the
information; though I need not have been, for one side never did
anything in which the other did not immediately follow suit.
“We heard of them at Port Gunga this morning, and they must be here
very soon,” answered the citizen.
I did not exactly like the idea of meeting the Wimpletonians at first.
I dreaded a collision of any kind, which the rivalry between the two
Institutes was likely to produce. I went to Major Briscoe at once with
the information.
“Good!” replied he. “I am glad we arrived first.”
“We must keep our men close to-night, or there may be a row, which
would be very mortifying to all of us.”
“We will not have any row, or anything of the kind. Colonel Wimpleton
and Major Toppleton may quarrel, if they are so minded, but I will
have nothing to do with their feud. We will do the handsome thing,
Skotchley.”
“What’s that?” I asked with deep interest.
“Let us have peace,” said the major, impressively; and I am not sure he
was not the original author of this celebrated expression. “It takes
two to quarrel. We will be the first to hold out the olive-branch.
I propose to march out and escort the Wimpletonians into town with
all the honors. We will treat them with the utmost respect and
consideration; and I am sure there will be nothing but the best of
feeling.”
“I like that,” I replied, with emphasis.
“If we are cross and sullen, they will also be so; and then it won’t
take much to get up a quarrel.”
I was delighted with this proposition. It was exactly in accordance
with my own feelings. Major Briscoe ordered the lines to be formed, and
then resolved the battalion into a hollow square. He stated briefly
that the Wimpletonians were on the march for Hitaca, and would soon
arrive. He was in favor of conciliation and good feeling, especially as
we were to drill with them the next day. He meant to be courteous to
them, and should, therefore, tender them an escort. The fellows clapped
their hands, perhaps with a few exceptions. Briscoe then cautioned
his officers and men to treat our rivals as though they were our best
friends.
The speech concluded, the battalion broke into column, and we marched
out on the Southport road. We halted just outside of the town, and
Briscoe appointed me to go forward and meet the Wimpletonians. I was to
“do the pleasant” in the most agreeable manner, to tender the escort,
and arrange the formalities according to the instructions given me by
the major. I walked about half a mile, and stopped to view a beautiful
cascade. While I was appreciating its beauties, I heard the drum-beat
of the Wimpleton column. I waited until it came up.
Magnanimous as I was disposed to be on my errand of peace, I could not
help feeling that our rivals did not quite come up to our standard.
Their uniforms were not so new and bright, and they had only a drum
corps. I stepped up to Major Ben Pinkerton, who was in command, and,
saluting him with my sword, delivered my message.
“That’s handsome, and I’m very much obliged to you,” replied the major.
“I’ll speak to our fellows, and give you an answer in a few moments.”
He halted his column, and, after consulting his officers and men,
informed me that the polite offer of Major Briscoe was gratefully
accepted. I had delicacy enough to retire, after I had stated the
programme suggested by my commander, in order to enable Major Pinkerton
to give such instructions to his force as the unexpected meeting might
require. I did not hear what he said to them, but I have no doubt they
were substantially the same as those to which I had listened in our own
battalion.
The march was resumed, and in due time, the Wimpletonians reached our
battalion, which was drawn up in a line at the side of the road.
“Present--arms!” shouted Major Briscoe; and the band played the
appropriate air.
The Centreport battalion marched by the other, and, in turn, forming
at the side of the road, presented arms, while we marched in front
of it. We then took the head of the column, and escorted our guests
into Hitaca, where we were received with applause. On the ground
appropriated to the Wimpletonians we presented arms again. The two
majors met, shook hands, and appeared to be the best of friends. In
fact it was a jolly time. We helped the Wimps pitch their tents, and
did all we could to assist them. Such a fraternizing of ancient
enemies was never seen, and I began to think we should get to hugging
one another before the scene was finished.
At seven o’clock we formed again. More courtesies followed. The majors
each reviewed the battalion of the other, and we marched in one column
to the festivities of the evening. We had a grand time,--all the better
for the sudden and unexpected meeting with the Wimpletonians. At ten we
went to our camps.
CHAPTER XXVI.
TOPPLETON TRIUMPHANT.
At an early hour the next morning, Briscoe called me and the battalion
was soon on its feet. At half past five we had finished breakfast,
and everything was ready to embark in the steamer. Not a little to
our surprise, we saw that the Wimpletonians, who were encamped near
us, were under arms. Knowing that we were to leave before them, they
tendered us an escort, which was gratefully accepted. We marched down
to the landing-place, countermarched, presented arms, and saluted, each
battalion in its turn. When we were on the promenade deck of the boat,
we cheered each other with abundant good will. So far as the relations
of the two Institutes were concerned, the millennium appeared to have
come; for, instead of battling with each other on the slopes of the
Horse Shoe, as we had done during the preceding season, we were trying
to see which could outdo the other in courtesy and good feeling.
As the Ucayga did not start till three quarters of an hour later, Wolf
Penniman came on board of the steamer to see us. No one could have
been more delighted than he was when he saw the rival academics on
such friendly terms. He declared that it did his heart good to see the
sight, and that he should almost be willing to die if he could only see
Colonel Wimpleton and Major Toppleton reconciled to each other.
“I have some hopes of it,” he added, “after what I have seen to-day and
last evening.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, doubtfully. “They have been quarrelling for
several years, and it will be hard for them to make up.”
“To brake up you mean,” added Wolf, in railroad parlance.
“Since Waddie and Tommy have both switched off, it is possible that
their fathers may brake up. But how was Tommy when you left him?”
“He was quite sick. I sat with him most of the time, in my state-room,
during the passage, and I was satisfied that he had indeed switched
off. He confessed to me that he had been rather rough on the fellows.
When the boat arrived at Centreport, he concluded to go down to Ucayga
with me, and return so that I could see him home at noon. I think the
events of the last few days have knocked the conceit all out of him. He
is particularly grateful to you, Ned, for what you did, after he had
treated you so shabbily. That’s what turns an enemy into a friend.”
“I was trying to imitate your example, Wolf, for I believe in it.”
“O, my example is nothing! So far as Waddie was concerned, I only
did what my mother taught me--‘Love your enemies.’ That’s the true
principle. It is hard sometimes, but it pays in the long run, or the
short one either. I only hope that Tommy will do as well as Waddie
has done. After we had landed our passengers at Centreport, I ran the
Ucayga over to Middleport, and, procuring a carriage, conveyed Tommy to
his father’s house. The family were very much alarmed about him, and
sent for the physician. I shouldn’t wonder if he had a fever. I staid
with him till it was time for the boat to make her afternoon trip.”
“Did you see Grace?” I asked.
“I did,” replied Wolf, blushing. “She was very grateful to us for what
we had done for her brother. I shall see him again to-day noon.”
The bell rang for the departure of the boat, and Wolf hurried on shore.
As the old steamer worked out from the wharf, the Wimpletonians cheered
us again, and we lustily returned their parting salute. I saw Waddie in
the ranks, as I had seen him several times before. He did his duty as a
private, and I was told that he never even suggested any orders, much
less dictated the movements of the battalion. When he was consulted,
he gave his opinion freely; but he never put himself forward, and
positively refused to accept any office.
Our battalion formed almost the entire company of passengers on the
railroad boat. The fight between the two lines did not rage very
fiercely after the first season. Major Toppleton always said he
intended to do something to recover his lost ground, but he had
accomplished nothing yet. He had caused a partial survey to be made for
a continuation of the Lake Shore Railroad to Hitaca, but the expense of
constructing the road through the wild region was too appalling even
for him.
Colonel Wimpleton was waiting to see what the major intended to do.
When he found that the Ucayga, working according to the plan arranged
by Wolf, took the greater portion of the travel, he concluded not to
build another steamer at present. The steamboat line was paying well,
and another boat might carry the balance over to the other side of the
ledger.
On the other hand, the Lake Shore Railroad was doing a good business
with its local freight and passengers, so that the major hesitated
before he embarked on a new venture. The first excitement of the
competition had subsided, and I am sorry to add, that the personal
habits of Colonel Wimpleton were such that he did not give much
attention to business of any kind.
Our battalion landed at Gulfport, and immediately marched for
Centreport, where the prize drill was to take place. At the picnic
grounds we halted for rest and drill. The companies were addressed
by the major and by the captains, in order to fire their zeal in the
approaching friendly contest with the Wimpletonians. Our fellows
drilled splendidly, and I was morally certain that we should carry off
the banner. The march was resumed, and when we arrived at the entrance
of the town, we were met by the Wimpletonians, who had come down from
Hitaca in the Ucayga. All the courtesies we had practised before was
gone through with again; and under their escort we marched to the green
in front of the Wimpleton Institute, where the drill was to take place.
Already a great crowd of people from both sides of the lake had
assembled to witness the show. The two battalions were dismissed for
half an hour, and our new-made friends invited us to the refectory of
the Institute, where a substantial collation had been provided for
the contestants. The rival students mingled together in harmony, and
the utmost good will prevailed. Parties on both sides declared that
whatever the result of the contest, they should be satisfied; and there
were not wanting those on each side who hoped that the other would win
the prize.
Colonel Wimpleton was present, but Major Toppleton was detained at
home by the illness of Tommy. The judges were West Pointers, having
no interest in either party, and we all expected a just judgment
from them. At one o’clock we formed in line, and both battalions
were reviewed by Colonel Wimpleton and the judges. Then each company
alternately, one from the Centreport battalion, and then one from
the Middleport, was drilled separately. The Wimpletonians followed
with their battalion movements, and the contest was concluded by the
Toppletonians.
There were three judges, each of whom estimated the excellence of each
company and each battalion on a scale of one hundred. The average of
their figures, made without consultation among themselves, was taken
as the mark of the company or battalion. As the Wimpleton battalion
had three companies, while the other had but two, two thirds of the
total of its marks were taken as its aggregate for the company drill.
The results of the company and the battalion drill of each party were
then added together, and the one which had the most was entitled to the
banner.
The chairman of the judges, after a hollow square of both battalions
had been formed, stepped forward to announce the decision. He
began by commending both parties for the friendly spirit they had
exhibited. He then praised the general excellence of the drill in both
battalions, declaring that it would compare very favorably with that
of any volunteer organization which the speaker had ever witnessed.
Both sides lustily applauded this statement, and when the noise had
subsided, the chairman proceeded to read the figures of the several
judges. The Toppleton battalion was ninety-three, while the Wimpleton
was eighty-four; and Company A of the former had the highest mark for
company drill. These results decided the contest in our favor, and the
banner was awarded to Toppleton by a majority of twenty-two marks.
The Wimpletonians applauded with all their might. When the result had
been read, I saw Colonel Wimpleton biting his lips; but if he was
disposed to indulge in any unpleasant remarks, the generous conduct of
the battalion which bore his name silenced him. It was a fair thing
all around; but it ought to be said in justice to the Wimpletonians,
that they had many new recruits, whose clumsiness affected the general
result.
Our fellows were more than satisfied: they had won the prize; but what
was better, they had won the hearts of their rivals. The beginning
of all this friendly feeling was the act of Briscoe in tendering the
escort to the Wimpletonians. A sneer, a few hard words, or even a
little coldness on our part, would have kept alive and fanned the old
feeling of resentment. We had not been able to beat our rivals on the
hard-fought field of the Horse Shoe, but we had conquered them with
the mighty weapon of love, and our victory was complete. “Love your
enemies,” Wolf would have said, if he had been there; and the blessed
truth is as good for boys’ play as it is for the serious business of
life.
The Wimpletonians invited us to spend the afternoon with them, and we
did so. Towards night we were ferried across the lake by our friends,
and everything was “lovely” to the end. As soon as our battalion
landed, I hastened to the house of Major Toppleton, to see Tommy. He
was really very sick; but he was glad to see me, and I told him all
that had transpired since he left us. He was very sorry for the loss of
Jed’s colt; but he smiled with genuine satisfaction when I told him
how we had made friends of the Wimpletonians.
I could not believe he was the arrogant, conceited, tyrannical Tommy
Toppleton I had known so long; but he was sick, and there was no
assurance that he would not have a moral relapse when his physical
health was restored. For a fortnight he did not go out of his chamber.
Every day, at noon, Wolf came over to see him--and Grace. Then he
began to improve, and in a short time went out. Then Wolf told him
about Waddie, and the vast change which had been wrought in him; how
everybody on the other side loved him, and would do anything for him;
and how Ben Pinkerton had insisted upon resigning, in order that Waddie
might be again elected major of the battalion.
Tommy listened to the story with deep interest. He did not say
anything. He made no promises, as his rival and prototype on the other
side had done; but as the months rolled on, we realized that he was
another fellow. He imitated the example of Waddie, and took his place
as a private in one of the companies. I shall never forget the love and
devotion which his mother and Grace always manifested towards him, for
he was another boy in the house as well as abroad. His father was more
reserved, and said nothing; but he could not help being impressed by
the altered behavior of his son.
If Colonel Wimpleton and Major Toppleton still kept up their former ill
will and resentment, it was confined to them, for the two Institutes
could no longer be regarded as the rival academies. Each visited the
other occasionally, and at one of these meetings some one proposed that
the two battalions should be consolidated into a regiment. Tommy and
Waddie, who had cordially joined hands, favored the proposition. It was
carefully discussed for a whole afternoon, and a committee appointed to
arrange the union. The two battalions agreed to meet the next holiday
on the Horse Shoe to hear the report.
When the day came, it proved to be an exceedingly interesting occasion.
The committee reported that each battalion should retain its present
organization for separate parades. Field and staff officers were to
be elected or appointed for joint parades. A Colonel and lieutenant
colonel were to be elected. Pinkerton was to be major, and Briscoe
adjutant. A ballot for the two field officers to be elected resulted
in the choice of Tommy Toppleton as colonel, and Waddie Wimpleton as
lieutenant colonel, for they were really the two most popular fellows
in the regiment, under the new order of things. Both of them, with the
modesty becoming the new life upon which they had entered, declined,
and insisted that Pinkerton and Briscoe should have the highest
positions; but we finally persuaded them to accept, and we were never
sorry for their action or our own.
In the fall, the regiment marched entirely around the lake, using a
fortnight for the tour, and had a magnificent time. We did not stop
at Trottwood’s this time, though we saw Jed and his father at work in
the field. They never troubled Christy Holgate, and I doubt whether
he ever went near them. Peace and harmony reigned throughout the
regiment. We camped one night on High Bluff, and laughed over the war
of the students which had been fought there; but I think all of us were
satisfied with the final result, when Tommy Toppleton switched off.
Christy Holgate was not disturbed by the officers of justice. He was a
temperate, well-behaved man, and no one was disposed to meddle with him
after he had made all the reparation in his power for his crime. Mr.
Penniman divided the labor on the boat with him, so that Christy ran
the Ucayga from Centreport to Hitaca, and down to the same point the
next morning. This arrangement enabled the Pennimans to occupy their
place in Middleport, though Wolf was absent much of the time. Christy
moved his family to Hitaca, so that he was with them every night.
* * * * *
But I have told my part of the story, and if the moral of it is not
already apparent, I will simply add, that, when you find yourself
leading a wicked or useless life,--in other words, when you are on the
wrong track,--do as my good friend Tommy Toppleton did--SWITCH OFF.
_OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS._
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY
Illustrated. With Emblematic Dies. Each volume bound in Blue and Gray.
Per volume, $1.50.
AFLOAT
TAKEN BY THE ENEMY
WITHIN THE ENEMY’S LINES
A VICTORIOUS UNION
ON THE BLOCKADE
STAND BY THE UNION
FIGHTING FOR THE RIGHT
ON LAND
BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER
IN THE SADDLE
A LIEUTENANT AT EIGHTEEN
_Other volumes in preparation_
The opening of a new series of books from the pen of Oliver Optic is
bound to arouse the highest anticipation in the minds of boy and girl
readers. There never has been a more interesting writer in the field
of juvenile literature than Mr. W T Adams, who under his well-known
pseudonym, is known and admired by every boy and girl in the country,
and by thousands who have long since passed the boundaries of youth,
yet who remember with pleasure the genial, interesting pen that did
so much to interest, instruct and entertain their younger years. The
present volume opens “The Blue and the Gray Series,” a title that is
sufficiently indicative of the nature and spirit of the series, of
which the first volume is now presented, while the name of Oliver Optic
is sufficient warrant of the absorbing style of narrative. “Taken by
the Enemy,” the first book of the series, is as bright and entertaining
as any work that Mr. Adams has yet put forth, and will be as eagerly
perused as any that has borne his name. It would not be fair to the
prospective reader to deprive him of the zest which comes from the
unexpected, by entering into a synopsis of the story. A word, however,
should be said in regard to the beauty and appropriateness of the
binding, which makes it a most attractive volume.--_Boston Budget._
“Taken by the Enemy” has just come from the press, an announcement
that cannot but appeal to every healthy boy from ten to fifteen years
of age in the country. “No writer of the present day,” says the Boston
_Commonwealth_, “whose aim has been to hit the boyish heart, has been
as successful as Oliver Optic. There is a period in the life of every
youth, just about the time that he is collecting postage-stamps, and
before his legs are long enough for a bicycle, when he has the Oliver
Optic fever. He catches it by reading a few stray pages somewhere, and
then there is nothing for it but to let the matter take its course.
Relief comes only when the last page of the last book is read; and then
there are relapses whenever a new book appears until one is safely on
through the teens.”--_Literary News._
ALL-OVER-THE-WORLD LIBRARY
Illustrated Per Volume $1.25
FIRST SERIES
A MISSING MILLION or the Adventures of Louis Belgrave
A MILLIONAIRE AT SIXTEEN or The Cruise of the Guardian Mother
A YOUNG KNIGHT ERRANT or Cruising in the West Indies
STRANGE SIGHTS ABROAD or A Voyage in European Waters
SECOND SERIES
THE AMERICAN BOYS AFLOAT or Cruising in the Orient
THE YOUNG NAVIGATORS or The Foreign Cruise of the Maud
UP AND DOWN THE NILE or Young Adventurers in Africa
ASIATIC BREEZES or Students on the Wing (in press)
THIRD SERIES
ACROSS INDIA or Live Boys in the Far East
HALF ROUND THE WORLD or Among the Uncivilized
FOUR YOUNG EXPLORERS or Sight-Seeing in the Tropics
PACIFIC SHORES or Adventures in Eastern Seas
“The bare announcement of a new series of books by Oliver Optic will
delight boys all over the country. When they further learn that their
favorite author proposes to ‘personally conduct’ his army of readers
on a grand tour of the world, there will be a terrible scramble for
excursion tickets--that is, the opening volume of the ‘Globe Trotting
Series.’ Of one thing the boys may be dead sure: it will be no tame,
humdrum journey; for Oliver Optic does not believe that fun and
excitement are injurious to boys, but, on the contrary, if of the right
kind, he thinks it does them good.”--_Current Review._
THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES.
Six Volumes. Illustrated. Per vol. $1.25.
1. GOING WEST;
Or, The Perils of a Poor Boy.
2. OUT WEST;
Or, Roughing it on the Great Lakes.
3. LAKE BREEZES;
Or, The Cruise of the Sylvania.
4. GOING SOUTH;
Or, Yachting on the Atlantic Coast.
5. DOWN SOUTH;
Or, Yacht Adventures in Florida.
6. UP THE RIVER;
Or, Yachting on the Mississippi.
This is the latest series of books issued by this popular writer, and
deals with Life on the Great Lakes, for which a careful study was made
by the author in a summer tour of the immense water sources of America.
The story, which carries the same hero through the six books of the
series, is always entertaining, novel scenes and varied incidents
giving a constantly changing, yet always attractive aspect to the
narrative. “Oliver Optic” has written nothing better.
YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD.
FIRST SERIES.
A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. 16mo. Illustrated
by Nast, Stevens, Perkins, and others. Per volume, $1.25.
1. OUTWARD BOUND;
Or, Young America Afloat.
2. SHAMROCK AND THISTLE;
Or, Young America in Ireland and Scotland.
3. RED CROSS;
Or, Young America in England and Wales.
4. DIKES AND DITCHES;
Or, Young America in Holland and Belgium.
5. PALACE AND COTTAGE;
Or, Young America in France and Switzerland.
6. DOWN THE RHINE;
Or, Young America in Germany.
The story from its inception and through the twelve volumes (see
_Second Series_), is a bewitching one, while the information imparted,
concerning the countries of Europe and the isles of the sea, is
not only correct in every particular, but is told in a captivating
style. “Oliver Optic” will continue to be the boy’s friend, and his
pleasant books will continue to be read by thousands of American
boys. What a fine holiday present either or both series of “Young
America Abroad” would be for a young friend! It would make a little
library highly prized by the recipient, and would not be an expensive
one.--_Providence Press._
SECOND SERIES.
A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. 16mo. Illustrated
by Nast, Stevens, Perkins, and others. Per volume, $1.25.
1. UP THE BALTIC;
Or, Young America in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.
2. NORTHERN LANDS:
Or, Young America in Russia and Prussia.
3. CROSS AND CRESCENT;
Or, Young America in Turkey and Greece.
4. SUNNY SHORES;
Or, Young America in Italy and Austria.
5. VINE AND OLIVE;
Or, Young America in Spain and Portugal.
6. ISLES OF THE SEA;
Or, Young America Homeward Bound.
“Oliver Optic” is a _nom de plume_ that is known and loved by
almost every boy of intelligence in the land. We have seen a highly
intellectual and world-weary man, a cynic whose heart was somewhat
imbittered by its large experience of human nature, take up one of
Oliver Optic’s books and read it at a sitting, neglecting his work in
yielding to the fascination of the pages. When a mature and exceedingly
well-informed mind, long despoiled of all its freshness, can thus find
pleasure in a book for boys, no additional words of recommendation are
needed.--_Sunday Times._
THE STARRY FLAG SERIES
Six volumes. Illustrated. Per vol. $1.25.
1. THE STARRY FLAG;
Or, The Young Fisherman of Cape Ann.
2. BREAKING AWAY;
Or, The Fortunes of a Student.
3. SEEK AND FIND;
Or, The Adventures of a Smart Boy.
4. FREAKS OF FORTUNE;
Or, Half Round the World.
5. MAKE OR BREAK;
Or, The Rich Man’s Daughter.
6. DOWN THE RIVER;
Or, Buck Bradford and the Tyrants.
Mr. Adams, the celebrated and popular writer, familiarly known as
“Oliver Optic,” seems to have inexhaustible funds for weaving together
the virtues of life; and notwithstanding he has written scores of
books, the same freshness and novelty runs through them all. Some
people think the sensational element predominates. Perhaps it does. But
a book for young people needs this: and so long as good sentiments are
inculcated such books ought to be read.
THE BOAT-BUILDER SERIES.
Completed in Six Volumes. Illustrated. Per Vol., $1.25.
1. ALL ADRIFT;
Or, The Goldwing Club.
2. SNUG HARBOR;
Or, The Champlain Mechanics.
3. SQUARE AND COMPASS;
Or, Building the House.
4. STEM TO STERN;
Or, Building the Boat.
5. ALL TAUT;
Or, Rigging the Boat.
6. READY ABOUT;
Or, Sailing the Boat.
The series includes in six successive volumes the whole art of
boat-building, boat-rigging, boat managing, and practical hints to make
the ownership of a boat pay. A great deal of useful information will be
given in this Boat-Building series, and in each book a very interesting
story is sure to be interwoven with the information. Every reader will
be interested at once in “Dory,” the hero of “All Adrift,” and one of
the characters to be retained in the future volumes of the series, at
least there are already several of his recently made friends who do not
want to lose sight of him, and this will be the case of pretty much
every boy who makes his acquaintance in “All Adrift.”
_J. T. TROWBRIDGE’S BOOKS._
SILVER MEDAL STORIES
Six Volumes. Handsomely Illustrated. Per Vol., $1.25
THE SILVER MEDAL
HIS OWN MASTER
BOUND IN HONOR
THE POCKET-RIFLE
THE JOLLY ROVER
YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS
“If every boy could read these stories, or have them read to him, there
would be fewer rogues in the world. Straightforward, honest stories,
without cant, without moralizing, full of genuine fun and hard common
sense, they are just the tales that are needed to make a young fellow
fall in love with simple integrity and fair dealing. They are noble
contributions to juvenile literature.”--_Woman’s Journal._
“Mr. Trowbridge has a good perception of character, which he draws with
skill; he has abundance of invention, which he never abuses; and he
has, what so many American writers have not, an easy, graceful style,
which can be humorous, or pathetic, or poetic.”--_R. H. Stoddard in N.
Y. Mail._
START IN LIFE STORIES
Four Volumes. Handsomely Illustrated. Per Vol., $1.00.
A START IN LIFE
BIDING HIS TIME
THE KELP-GATHERERS
THE SCARLET TANAGER
“No better or more pleasing writer for young folks than Mr. Trowbridge
can be found. He draws his characters true to life, concealing no
faults, and exaggerating no virtues, but paints each in their own
lights and shadows so vividly that to avoid the one and imitate the
other must be the natural impulse of all boys and girls who read his
most excellent and fascinating stories.”--_San José Mercury._
Every boy of our acquaintance likes the books by Trowbridge. Every
young girl ought to enjoy them, also, for they are wholesome, true to
nature and human nature, and full of good sentiment. His stories are
always interesting, sometimes thrilling, and often they contain much
information, either of history or natural history.
THE TOBY TRAFFORD SERIES
HANDSOMELY ILLUSTRATED
Per volume $1.25
The Fortunes of Toby Trafford
Father Brighthopes
Woodie Thorpe’s Pilgrimage
And other Stories
To see life as it is, and depict it by easy and truthful touches, is
a high attainment. Mr. Trowbridge has abundantly vindicated his claim
to a place among the writers to whom readers attribute the grace and
power of naturalness. “Woodie Thorpe’s Pilgrimage,” “Uncle Caleb’s Roan
Colt,” “Lost on the Tide,” etc., are all stories of deep interest,
which one will follow with attention. The book does not preach, but
conveys some salutary lessons.
There is many and many a volume written for boys, but they are not
all alike beneficial; therefore the standard writers, to which class
belongs Mr. Trowbridge, may undisputably claim a kingdom whose reigning
motto is manliness.
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS BOSTON
Transcriber’s Notes
• Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.
• Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.
• Illustrations relocated close to related content.
• Page number references in illustration captions removed.
• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.
• Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original.
• P. 58: Inserted missing word: “dismissied _from_ the service”.
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