“That explains how I got knocked down,” said he. “The rioters were trying to drag the professor out of the car, and we were doing all we could to protect him, when all at once some heavy body took me in the back, and the first thing I knew I was sprawling on the floor. I thought I should be trampled to death before I could get up.”
When Hopkins struck the ground he stood still and waited for some of the mob to come and knock him on the head; but seeing that they were looking out for themselves, and that some ofhis comrades were making good time up the track in the direction of Bridgeport, he started too, doing much better running than he did when he stole farmer Hudson’s jar of buttermilk, and passing several of the company who were in full flight. The bullets sang about his ears and knocked up the dirt before and behind him, and Hopkins began looking about for a place of concealment. Seeing that some of his company ran down from the track and disappeared very suddenly when they reached a certain point a short distance in advance of him, Hopkins stopped to investigate. He found that they had sought refuge in a culvert, which afforded them secure protection from the bullets; but Hopkins was inclined to believe that in fleeing from one danger they had run plump into another. There were strikers as well as students in there; and as he halted at the mouth of the culvert he heard a hoarse voice say:
“You soldier boys had better not stop here. You have made the mob mad, and as soon as they get through with those fellows in the car, they are going to spread themselves through the country and make an end of everybody who wears theacademy uniform. I heard some of them say so, and I am talking for your good.”
“And I will act upon your advice,” said Hopkins to himself. “It is a dangerous piece of business to go along that railroad-track, but I don’t see how I am going to help it.”
It proved to be a more dangerous undertaking than the boy thought it was. Death by the bullets which constantly whistled over the track, was not the only peril that threatened him now. Believing that the main body of their forces could keep the professor and his handful of students in the car until their cartridges were expended, after which it would be an easy matter to drag them out and hang them as they fully meant to do, the rioters had sent off a strong detachment to look after the boys who had escaped from the rear of the car. Hopkins could see them running through the fields with the intention of getting ahead of the fugitives and surrounding them.
“That’s a very neat plan, but I don’t think it will work,” said Hopkins, as he drew himself together and prepared for another foot-race. “I wish I had known this before I left the culvert sothat I could have told—I’ll go back and tell them if I lose my only chance for escape by it.”
Hopkins turned quickly about, but saw at a glance that there was no need that he should waste valuable time by going back to the culvert. The boys were leaving it in a body and making their way across a field. They were going to join their comrades who had left the car, but Hopkins did not know it, for he could not see the company, it being concealed from his view by some thick bushes which grew on that side of the track.
“They’re all right,” said Hopkins, “but it seems to me they are taking a queer way to get home. I’ll stick to the track, because it leads to Bridgeport by the most direct route. Now then for a run! Hallo, here! What’s the matter with you, Stanley?”
While Hopkins was talking in this way to himself, he was flying up the track at a rate of speed which promised to leave the fleetest of the flanking party far behind; but before he had run a hundred yards, he came upon a student who was sitting on the end of one of the ties with his head resting on his hands. As Hopkins drew nearer he saw that the boy had bound his handkerchiefaround his leg just above his knee, and that it was stained with blood.
“What’s the matter?” repeated Hopkins.
“I’m shot and can’t go any farther,” was the faint reply.
“When did you get it?”
“Just as I jumped from the car.”
“Well, get up and try again. You must go on, for if you stay here you are done for. Look there,” said Hopkins, directing the boy’s attention to the rioters who were trying to surround them.
“I can’t help it. I ran till I dropped, and I couldn’t do more, could I? I am afraid my leg is broken. Take care of yourself.”
“I will, and of you, too,” replied Hopkins. “Get up. Now balance yourself on one foot, throw your arms over my shoulders and I will carry you.”
The wounded boy, who had given up in despair, began to take heart now. He did just as Hopkins told him, and the former walked off with him on his back as if his weight were no incumbrance whatever. He did not run, but he moved with a long, swinging stride which carried him and his burden over the ground as fast as most boys wouldcare to walk with no load at all. The mob followed them until they came to the creek which was too wide to jump and too deep to ford, and there they abandoned the pursuit. At all events Hopkins and Stanley saw no more of them that night.
“Look out,” said Stanley, suddenly. “There’s one of them right ahead of us.”
Hopkins looked up and saw a man standing on the track. The manner of his appearance seemed to indicate that he had been hidden in the bushes awaiting their approach.
“You had better put me down and save yourself,” whispered Stanley, as Hopkins came to a halt wondering what he was going to do now. “If you get into a fight with him I can’t help you.”
“I didn’t pick you up to drop you again at the first sign of danger,” was the determined reply. “I wish I had a club or a stone. You don’t see one anywhere, do you?”
“Say, boss,” said the man, in guarded tones.
“Bully for him; he’s a darkey,” exclaimed Hopkins. “We have nothing to fear.”
“Say, boss,” said the man again, as he came down the track, “Ise a friend. Don’t shoot.”
“All right, uncle. Come on.”
“What’s de matter wid you two?”
“There’s nothing the matter with me,” answered Hopkins, “but this boy is shot. Can you do anything for him?”
“Kin I do sumpin fur de soldiers?” exclaimed the negro. “’Course I kin, kase didn’t dey do a heap fur me when de wah was here? I reckon mebbe I’d best take him down to de house whar de women folks is.”
“Handle him carefully,” said Hopkins. “He’s got a bad leg.”
The negro, who was a giant in strength as well as stature, raised the wounded boy in his arms as easily as if he had been an infant, and carried him up the track until he came to a road which led back into the woods where his cabin was situated. Here they found several colored people of both sexes who had gathered for mutual protection, and who greeted the boys with loud exclamations of wonder and sympathy.
“Hush yer noise dar,” commanded the giant, who answered to the name of Robinson. “Don’t yer know dat dem strikers is all fru de country, an’ dat some of ’em was hyar not mor’n ten minutes ago?”
“Not here at this house?” exclaimed Hopkins, in alarm.
Yes, they had been there at the house, and in it and all over it, so Robinson said, looking for the boys who had escaped by the rear door. They might return at any moment, but he (Robinson) would do the best he could for them. He couldn’t fight the mob, as he would like to, but perhaps he could keep the boys concealed.
“What do you think they would do with us if they found us?” inquired Stanley.
Robinson couldn’t say for certain, but the men who came to his house were angry enough to do almost anything. They were all armed, and some of them carried ropes in their hands. This proved that their threat to hang the young soldiers was no idle one.
The first thing Robinson did was to look at Stanley’s wound. A bullet had plowed a furrow through the back of his leg just below his knee, and although the artery had not been cut and the bone was uninjured, everybody saw at a glance that it was impossible for him to go any farther. Hopkins inquired where he could find a surgeon, but the negro wouldn’t tell him, declaring that ifhe set out in search of one he would never see his friends again.
While Hopkins was trying to make up his mind what he ought to do, he suddenly became aware that there was something the matter with himself. One of his boots seemed to be growing tighter, and he limped painfully when he tried to walk across the floor.
“I declare, I believe I have sprained my ankle,” said he; and an examination proved that he had. His ankle was badly swollen and inflamed, and after he took his boot off he could not bear the weight of his foot upon the floor.
“I reckon you’ns has got to put up at my hotel dis night, bofe of you,” said Robinson. “You can’t go no furder, dat’s sho’.”
“Perhaps you had better let us lie out in the woods,” said Hopkins. “If the strikers should return and find us here, they might do you some injury.”
The negro said he didn’t care for that. Soldiers had more than once put themselves in danger for him, and it was a pity if he couldn’t do something for them. At any rate he would take the risk. He bustled about at a lively rate while he wastalking, and in five minutes more the disabled boys had been carried up the ladder that led to the loft and stored away there on some hay that had been provided for them. After that Stanley’s leg was dressed with cold coffee, which Robinson declared to be the best thing in the world for gunshot wounds. Hopkins’s ankle was bound up in cloths wet with hot water, a plain but bountiful supper was served up to them, and they were left to their meditations. Of course they did not sleep much, for they couldn’t. They suffered a good deal of pain, but not a word of complaint was heard from either of them. Hopkins acted as nurse during the night, and shortly after daylight sunk into an uneasy slumber, from which he was aroused by a gentle push from Stanley, who shook his finger at him to keep him quiet.
“They’ve come,” whispered his companion.
“They! Who?” said Hopkins, starting up.
“The mob. Don’t you hear them?”
Hopkins listened, and his hair seemed to rise on end when he caught the low hum of conversation outside, which grew louder and more distinct as a party of men approached the house. Enjoining silence upon his companion Hopkins drew himselfslowly and painfully over the hay to the end of the loft, and looked out of a convenient knot hole. Stanley, who watched all his movements with the keenest interest, trembled all over when Hopkins held up all his fingers to indicate that there were ten of them. He also made other motions signifying that the rioters were armed and that they had brought ropes with them. Just then there was a movement in the room below, and Robinson opened the door and stepped out to wait the mob.
“Say, nigger,” exclaimed one of the leaders, “where are those boys who were here last night?”
Robinson replied that he didn’t know where they were. They had been taken to the city early that morning, and he thought they were in the hospital.
“Were they both hurt?” asked one of the rioters.
“Yes; one had a bullet through his leg, and the other had been shot in the foot.”
“We wish those bullets had been through their heads,” said the leader. “It’s well for them that they got away, for we came here on purpose to hang them.”
“Dat would serve ’em just right,” said Robinson.“Dey ain’t got no call to come down hyar an’ go to foolin’ wid de workin’ man when he wants his bread an’ butter. No, sar, dey ain’t.”
The boys in the loft awaited the result of this conference with fear and trembling. They fully expected that the rioters would search the house and drag them from their place of concealment, but the negro answered all their questions so readily and appeared to be so frank and truthful, that their suspicions were not aroused. When Stanley, who kept a close watch of his friend, saw him kiss his hand toward the knot-hole, he drew a long breath of relief, for he knew that the rioters were going away.
This visit satisfied both them and their sable host that they were not safe there, and Robinson at once sent his oldest boy to the nearest farm-house to borrow a horse and wagon. When the vehicle arrived the boys were put into it, and Robinson took the reins and drove away with all the speed he could induce the horse to put forth.
“How do you suppose those men knew that we were at your house?” said Hopkins.
“One of dem no account niggers dat was dar las’ night done went an’ tol’ ’em,” replied Robinson,angrily. “I’ll jest keep my eye peeled fur dat feller, an’ when I find him, I’ll make him think he’s done been struck by lightnin’. I will so.”
Robinson took the boys to the house of the nearest surgeon, who received and treated them with the greatest kindness and hospitality. As Hopkins and Stanley were boys who never spent their money foolishly they always had plenty of it, and consequently they were able to bestow a liberal reward upon the negro, who volunteered to drive to the nearest station and sent off a despatch for them. The next day a carriage arrived from Bridgeport and Hopkins went home in it, but Stanley, much to his regret, was ordered to remain behind, the surgeon refusing to consent to his removal; but he could not have been in pleasanter quarters or under better care.
There were half a dozen other boys in the room who told stories of escapes that were fully as interesting as this one. They could have talked all night, but the supper-call sounded, and that broke up the meeting.
“I say, fellows,” exclaimed Egan, the next time he found all his friends together, “there’s something going to happen during this camp that never happened before. The paymaster is coming here to settle with us.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that we are entitled to a dollar a day for the work our company did at Hamilton,” replied Egan. “As we were under orders five days we have five dollars apiece coming to us from the State.”
“Do the wounded come in for that much?” inquired Hopkins.
“They belong to the company, do they not?” demanded Egan. “They are not to blame for getting hurt, are they? They will get just as much as the others.”
We may here remark that the Legislature gavethem more. Hopkins received a hundred dollars to pay him for his sprained ankle; the boy who was hit in the eye with a buck-shot, and who stood a fair chance of going blind from the effects of it, got eleven hundred; Stanley received six hundred, and so did each of the boys who were shot at Don Gordon’s side when the company was ordered out of the car.
“I’ll never spend those five dollars,” said Don.
“Neither will I,” chimed in Hopkins. “If I get the money all in one bill, I’ll have it framed and hang it up in my room beside a fox-brush which I won at the risk of my neck.”
“I wonder how mine would look hung around the neck of that white swan that led me such a race two winters ago,” said Egan. “I think they will go well together, and every time I look at them, they will remind me of the most exciting incident of my life. Gordon, you’ll have to make yours into a rug and spread it on the floor beside the skin of that bear that came so near making an end of Lester Brigham.”
The boys had only three days more to devote to study during the school term, and much lost time to make up. The work was hard, they found italmost impossible to keep their minds upon their books, and everybody, teachers as well as students, was glad when the first day of August arrived, and the battalion took up its line of march for its old camping ground. The students were hardly allowed time to become settled in their new quarters before their friends began to flock into the camp. A few fathers and guardians came there with the intention of taking their sons and wards from the school at once—they did not want them to remain if they were expected to risk their lives in fighting rioters. Some of the timid ones were glad to go; but the others, who were full of military ardor, begged hard to be permitted to complete the course, and pleaded their cause with so much ability that their fathers relented, and even took the trouble to hunt up Professor Kellogg and congratulate him on having “broken the back-bone” of the Hamilton riot.
Lester Brigham’s father and mother were among the visitors, and so were General Gordon and his wife. The former were very indignant when they left Rochdale. Mr. Brigham repeatedly declaring that it was a sin and an outrage for the superintendent to send boys like those under his care intobattle, and after he had told him, in plain language, what he thought of such a proceeding, he was going to take Lester out of that school without any delay or ceremony. But when he reached the camp, he did not feel that way. General Gordon reasoned with him, and when he shook hands with Lester, he said he was sorry the boy hadn’t been in the fight, so that he could praise him for his gallant conduct. Mr. Brigham didn’t know that Lester had hidden his head under the bed-clothes when the bugle sounded.
“I was afraid you would want me to leave the school,” faltered Lester, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his surprise.
“By no means,” said his father, earnestly. “You boys will have full control of this government some day—did you ever think of that?—and now is the time for you to learn your duty as citizens. What are you going to be when this examination comes off? A captain, I hope.”
“I shan’t be anything,” replied Lester, who could scarcely conceal his rage. “I shall never be an officer, because I can’t see the beauty of toadying to the teachers. I’ll not stay here to fight strikers, either.”
“I sincerely hope your company will never be called upon to perform any duty so hazardous,” said Mr. Brigham; “but if it is, I want to hear that you are in the front rank. If you do not obtain promotion this examination, I shall think you have wasted your time.”
“I have invited a couple of my friends to go home with me,” said Lester, who wanted to make sure of a cordial reception for Jones and Williams, even if he and they were expelled from the academy for misconduct.
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Brigham. “Your mother and I will endeavor to make their visit so agreeable that they will want to come again.”
“And Williams has invited me to go home with him next year,” added Lester. “He lives down in Maryland, a short distance from Egan and Hopkins. May I go?”
“Certainly. Make all the friends you can, but be sure that they are the right sort.”
“I’ve got his promise,” said Lester to himself, as he paced his lonely beat that night, “and he’ll not break it. But I must say he’s a nice father for any fellow to have. I thought sure he hadcome here to take me home with him. He talks very glibly about my risking life and limb in defence of law and order, but would he take it so easy if he were in my place? I’ll not stay here another year, and that’s flat.”
Contrary to his expectations Lester Brigham, although he fell far behind his class in both deportment and studies, had not been left at the academy under arrest, and now he was glad of it. It was easier to get out of the camp than it was to leave the academy grounds, and he and his fellow-conspirators could hold a consultation every day. They began to exhibit some activity now, and among those who had agreed to accompany Lester on his “picnic” there was not one who showed any signs of backing out, or who even thought of it, with the exception of Lester himself. Three of their number had been taken home by their angry parents, but those who remained held to their purpose, and urged their leaders to decide upon a plan of operations. Lester, who had been rendered almost desperate by the extraordinary behavior of his father, was anxious that something should be done at once, and he and his two right-hand men had many anearnest conference, the result of which was the promulgation of an order to the effect that none of the “band,” as they called themselves, should ask for a pass until they were told to do so.
“That will keep us together, you know,” said Lester and his lieutenants. “If one of us asks for a pass to-day and another to-morrow—why, when the time for action comes those who have already been out will be refused, and consequently not more than half of us will get away. Williams will have to go out to do a little scouting so as to ascertain when and where we can get a boat, but the rest of us must be content to stay in.”
Their first week under canvas was a busy one, as it always was. The fortifications, which had been thrown up the year before in anticipation of that fight with the Mount Pleasant Indians, must be repaired and camp routine established before liberty was granted to anybody. Before this work was completed many of their visitors took their departure. Among these were General and Mrs. Gordon, who wished Don and Bert a pleasant visit with their friend Curtis in his northern home, and Lester’s father and mother, who did not forget to give the boy a good supply of spendingmoney before they went, and to assure Jones and Williams that they looked forward to their visit to Rochdale with many pleasurable anticipations.
“That money is intended for the use of yourself and your friends,” said Mr. Brigham. “If it is stolen from you, or if the superintendent finds out that I gave it to you, it will be your own fault. If you will come home with a strap on your shoulder, I will give you as much more.”
During the second week passes were freely granted, and one of the first to go out was Enoch Williams, whose duty it was to find a suitable boat and lay plans for seizing it at a specified time. He was gone all day, and when he came back he was full of enthusiasm, some of which he communicated to Jones, who was the first boy he met after reporting his return. They exchanged a few whispered words, and then hurried off to find Lester.
“It’s all right, Brigham,” said Jones, gleefully. “Enoch has done his full duty, and deserves the thanks of every fellow in the band. We’re off to-morrow night.”
Somehow Lester did not feel as highly elated over this piece of news as his friends thought hewould. He wanted to desert and do something that would make the academy boys talk about him after he was gone, but he wished from the bottom of his heart that he had never said a word about running away in a boat.
“I think myself that I have planned things better than any other boy in the band could have done it,” said Enoch, with no little satisfaction in his tones. “I’ve got the boat, and now you must assess every fellow in the band five dollars.”
“What for?” demanded Lester.
“To pay for her, and to buy our provisions.”
“To pay for her,” echoed Lester. “I thought we were going to steal her.”
“So we are—after a while. Now I will begin at the beginning and tell you just what I have done: When I got down to the river I found that the cutter I wanted to take on account of her superior accommodations, had gone off on a cruise, and that there was only one yacht in port. But she’s a beauty, and I wouldn’t be afraid to go to Europe in her. She was anchored out in the stream, and while I was wondering how I could get aboard of her, her keeper came off in a dory and told me that if I wanted to take a look at theschooner he would be glad of my company, for he was alone there. I went, and in less than an hour I had everything arranged. His owner is going on a cruise with a party of friends next Monday, and it took but little urging on my part to induce the keeper to agree to give the band a ride down the river to-morrow night, provided we would promise to come back when he said the word, so that he could have the schooner in her berth at daylight.”
“You didn’t promise that, of course,” said Lester, when Enoch paused to take breath.
“Of course I did,” answered Enoch.
“Well, you’re a good one,” exclaimed Lester, in deep disgust. “I’ll not go on any such expedition. A night ride on the river! There would be lots of fun in that, wouldn’t there? When I start on this picnic I don’t intend to come back to Bridgeport until I have had sport enough to pay me for the trouble of deserting, or I am captured and brought back.”
“Neither do we,” said Jones, as soon as he saw a chance to crowd a word in edgewise. “Let Enoch finish his story, and then see if you don’t think more of his plans.”
“I promised that he could come back with his vessel before daylight, so that his owner wouldn’t suspect that he had been doing a little cruising on his own hook,” continued Enoch, “but I didn’t say that we would come back with him.”
“You might as well have said so,” snapped Lester. “Where are we going to stay and what are we going to do without a boat to sail about in?”
“Wait until I have had my say, and then you may talk yourself blind for all I care,” retorted Enoch, who was beginning to get angry.
“Go easy, Williams,” Jones interposed. “We don’t want a row before we get out of camp. If we go to quarreling among ourselves there’s an end of all our fun.”
“I don’t want to quarrel,” said Lester, who did not like the way Enoch glared at him.
“Then wait till I get through before you pass judgment upon the arrangements I have made,” exclaimed Enoch. “I didn’t promise Coleman—that’s the boat-keeper’s name—that we would return to Bridgeport with him, and neither did I say that he could bring the yacht back, for I don’t intend that he shall do anything of the kind.”
“How are you going to prevent it?” inquired Lester.
“That’s the best part of the plan,” said Jones. “Go on, Enoch.”
“This is the way we will prevent it,” continued the latter. “We’ll go with him as far as Windsor, and then we will stop and make an excuse to get him ashore. As soon as we are rid of him we’ll fill away for the bay. If the wind is at all brisk he can’t catch us.”
“What do you say to that?” demanded Jones.
“I say it looks like business,” answered Lester, who now, for the first time, began to take some interest in his scheme. “It’s all right, Enoch; you couldn’t have done better, and I couldn’t have done as well. There’s my hand.”
“I thought you would like it after you had given me a chance to explain,” said Enoch, growing good-natured again.
“So did I,” chimed in Jones. “We want to do something daring and reckless, you know; something that will make the good little boys open their eyes.”
“There’s only one objection to it,” continuedEnoch. “When we send Coleman ashore we shall lose our small boat, but we can easily stop at one of the islands in the bay and borrow another.”
“So we can,” exclaimed Lester, with great enthusiasm. “Say, boys, what’s the use of buying any provisions? Let’s turn pirates and forage on the farmers for our grub?”
“That’s the very idea,” said Enoch.
“I am in favor of foraging and have been all the while,” said Jones. “But we must be careful and not try to carry things with too high a hand. If we get the farmers down on us, they will help our pursuers all they can, and that will bring our cruise to an end very speedily. We must buy the most of our provisions and we must speak to the boys about it now, so that when they ask for a pass they can draw on the superintendent for five dollars apiece.”
“But how will you get out of the lines, Enoch?” inquired Lester. “The superintendent will not grant you liberty for two days in succession.”
“I’ll get out; don’t you worry about that,” replied Enoch, confidently. “Now let’s separate and post the other boys, and see who they wantfor treasurer. That’s an official we have never had any use for before.”
“Tell them that I am a candidate,” said Lester, who thought he would be a little better satisfied if he could keep his five dollars in his own hands.
“That won’t do at all,” said Jones, quickly.
“Of course not,” chimed in Enoch. “You’ll have enough to do to manage the yacht. I shall push Jones for the office.”
“By the way, how much did you agree to pay Coleman for giving us a ride down the river?” asked Lester.
“Twenty-five dollars,” replied Enoch.
“That’s a good deal of money to pay out for nothing. The understanding was that we were to capture our vessel. If we had held to that, we could have got her for nothing.”
“And had a tug after us as soon as she could get up steam,” replied Enoch. “As I said before, this schooner is the only yacht in port. We couldn’t capture her without getting into a fight with Coleman, and if we had alarmed anybody, we should have had to run a race with the telegraph as well as with the tug. Now, remember what I say, Lester: We shall be in danger as long as weare this side of Oxford. Coleman knows that we are going to take French leave, and has promised to be as sly as he can in taking us on board the schooner; but no matter how carefully we cover up our trail, some sharp fellow like Mack will be sure to find it, and telegraph the authorities at Oxford to be on the look-out for us.”
“And Coleman himself will raise an outcry just as soon as he finds out that we have given him the slip,” added Jones.
“To be sure he will. I tell you, Brigham, we’re going to have a time of it, and you will have a chance to show just how smart you are. After we get the schooner everything will depend upon you. If you can take us safely past Oxford and out into the bay, you will be a leader worth having, and the boys will feel so much confidence in you that they will do anything you say.”
“And if I fail in my efforts to do that, they will lose what little confidence they have in me now, and put somebody else in my place,” said Lester to himself, as he and his friends moved off in different directions to hunt up the rest of the band and tell them of the plans that had been determined upon. “What am I to do now?”
There was a time when Don Gordon would have been delighted with such a prospect as this. The responsibility resting upon the captain of the schooner, and which was much too heavy a burden for Lester to bear, would have aroused all the combativeness in his nature, and made him determined to succeed in spite of every obstacle that could be thrown in his way. Lester, however, felt like backing out, and he would have done so if he had received the least encouragement from a single one of the band to whom he spoke that night. They were all strongly in favor of Enoch’s plan, and promised to be on hand at the appointed time with their money in their pockets.
“If you don’t want to go, now is the time to say so,” Lester ventured to suggest, hoping that some timid boy would take the hint and give him an excuse for staying behind himself; but the invariable reply was:
“I do want to go. I didn’t agree to this thing just to hear myself talk. If you fellows are going, I am going too.”
“Whom have you seen, Brigham?” asked Jones, as the two met again just before the supper call was sounded. “All right. Enoch and I haveseen the rest, and have found them all true blue. There’s not a single weak-kneed one among them. We mustn’t leave the camp in a body, you know, for that might excite suspicion; but we’ll see them in Bridgeport to-morrow afternoon, and tell them to be at Haggert’s dock at dark.”
They were all going, that was evident, and Lester did not see how he could refuse to accompany them. If he feigned illness or neglected to ask for a pass, he would surely be found out and accused of cowardice, and then the boys would have nothing more to do with him. There were few outside the band who ever took the trouble to speak to him, and if they deserted him he would be lonely indeed.
“And more than all, Williams and Jones would refuse to go home with me, and that would knock my visit to Maryland in the head,” said Lester to himself. “That wouldn’t be at all pleasant. I shall have a harder time at Rochdale than I ever had before. Don and Bert Gordon will be sure to tell all the people there how I have acted ever since I came to the academy, and what a coward I was on the night the false alarm was given, and they will make it so disagreeable for me that Ican’t stay. I must stick to those boys, for they are the only friends I have. I believe I’ll turn the command of the yacht over to Enoch. He wants it and I don’t; and if I give it up to him of my own free will, perhaps it will increase his friendship for me.”
Lester breathed easier after he made this resolution, and, although he did not enjoy his sleep that night, he did not look forward with so many gloomy forebodings. He received his pass and his money when he asked for them, and in company with Jones set out for Bridgeport. They directed their course toward Haggert’s dock, and when they reached it Lester obtained his first view of a sea-going yacht. One glance at her was enough to satisfy him that he could do nothing with her, and he suddenly thought of an excuse for saying so.
“Is that the schooner?” he asked, as he and his companion seated themselves on a spar that was lying on the dock.
“Why, of course she’s a schooner,” exclaimed Jones, looking up in surprise. “A vessel of that size wouldn’t be square-rigged, would she? Can’t you see that she is a fore-and-after?”
“Not being blind I can,” replied Lester, loftily. “I inquired if she wastheschooner—the one we are going to take.”
“Oh!” replied Jones. “Yes, I suppose she is, but I can very soon find out,” he added, as he drew his handkerchief from his pocket. “If that man who is lounging in the cockpit is Coleman, I can bring him ashore.”
“Having always been used to plenty of sea-room, I am not sure that I can handle the schooner in this narrow river,” said Lester.
“We are not going to stay in the river, you know,” answered Jones. “We shall get out of it as soon as we can.”
“I know that; but Enoch said last night that we shall be in danger as long as we remain this side of Oxford, and the boy who takes us down the river ought to be one who knows how to handle boats in close places. I don’t know much about schooners, for, as I told you long ago, my yacht was a cutter.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Jones.
“There is a good deal of difference the first thing you know,” exclaimed Lester; and fearing that he might be asked to tell what it was, hehastened to say: “Williams is a good fellow and a good sailor too, if I am any judge, and I think I will ask him to take command. Of course I could manage the schooner, and perhaps I will take her in hand after Enoch gets her out of the river.”
“All right,” said Jones. “I guess Enoch will take her if you ask him. That’s Coleman.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he waved his hand in reply to my signal, and is now coming off in his boat.”
In a few minutes Coleman rowed up to the wharf in his dory. He did not get out, but stood up in his boat and kept it in its place by holding fast to a ring-bolt.
“I wanted to make sure that everything is just as it should be,” said Jones, who saw that the boat-keeper was waiting to hear what he had to say. “Can we go on our cruise to-night?”
“Are you one of the deserters?” asked Coleman.
“I am; and my friend here, is another. One of our fellows was down here yesterday and talked the matter over with you. Has anything occurred to interfere with the arrangements you and he made?”
“Not that I know of. How many of you are there?”
“Just twenty-five,” replied Jones.
“That will be a dollar a piece,” said Coleman. “Can you raise so much money? Then it’s all right; but there’s one thing I want understood before we start: I must be back here before daylight.”
“There’s nothing to prevent it,” answered Jones; “that is, if you can walk back from Windsor by that time,” he added, mentally.
“I am doing this thing without my owner’s knowledge,” continued Coleman. “If he should come down here early in the morning and find the yacht gone, I’d lose my situation.”
“We know that. All we ask of you is to take us as far as Windsor, where we intend to go ashore for an hour or two. You don’t object to that, I suppose.”
“Oh, no. If you don’t want to go any farther than that, I can easily get back in time to avoid suspicion. Anything going on at Windsor?”
“A party,” replied Jones.
After a little more conversation the two boys got up and walked away, and Coleman went back to the schooner.
“There is that much done,” said Jones. “We have paved the way for getting him ashore. After we get him up in town we will lose him, and then we’ll have the schooner to ourselves. Now let’s separate and look out for the rest of the fellows. Tell them about the party that isn’t going to come off in Windsor, and give them to understand that they may talk about it as much as they please in Coleman’s hearing. Urge upon them the necessity of being on the dock at dusk, so as not to run the risk of being left behind, but caution them against forming a crowd there. We don’t want anybody to see us off, and consequently we must be careful not to attract attention. Williams and I will meet you at noon at Cony Ryan’s.”
“Well, don’t bring any other fellows with you,” said Lester, who knew that this meant pies, pancakes and milk for three, and that he would have to foot the bill.
Jones said he wouldn’t, and the two boys gave each other a farewell salute, and set out in different directions in search of the other members of the band.
If the deserters had had the ordering of things themselves they could not have made them work more to their satisfaction. There was not a single hitch anywhere; but there was just enough excitement to put them on their mettle, and give them an idea of what was before them. In less than twenty minutes after Lester Brigham parted from his friend Jones, he ran against Captain Mack and Don Gordon. The latter wore a bayonet by his side to show that he was on duty. If they had not been so close to him, Lester would have taken to his heels. Although he had not yet deserted, and carried a paper in his pocket that would protect him, the sight of these two boys made him feel guilty and anxious.
“Hallo, Brigham,” exclaimed the young captain, as he returned Lester’s salute. “If I didn’tknow better, I should say that you were out on French leave.”
“Oh, I am not,” answered Lester, with more earnestness than the circumstances seemed to warrant. “I have a pass.”
“I know it, for I was in the superintendent’s marquee when it was given to you,” said the captain. “But I must say that you look rather queer for an innocent boy. Seen anything of Enoch Williams?”
“No, I haven’t,” replied Lester, who now began to prick up his ears. “Is he out?”
The captain laughed and said he was.
“Has he got a pass?”
“Of course not. If he had we wouldn’t be looking for him, would we? He followed Egan’s example and Gordon’s, and ran the guard in broad daylight. We’ve traced him to the village, and we’re going to catch him if we have to stay here for a week. The boy who was on post at the time Enoch went out said he ran like the wind, and if I can get Don after him, I expect to see a race worth looking at. My men are scattered all over the village, and if you see Enoch I wish you would post some of them.”
“I will,” answered Lester.
“He won’t,” said Don, as he and the captain moved on.
“I know that very well,” returned Mack. “Brigham is up to something himself, or else his face belies him.”
“He and Jones and Williams are cronies, you know,” continued Don, “and I believe that the surest way to find our man is to keep an eye on Lester.”
“I believe so myself,” said the captain, giving his companion a hearty slap on the back. “That’s a bright idea, Gordon, and we’ll act on it.”
“Mack thinks he’s smart, but he may find out that there are some boys in the world who are quite as smart as he is,” soliloquized Lester, as he moved on up the street. “I don’t know whether I want Enoch to command that schooner after all. His running the guard in daylight shows that he is inclined to take too many risks.”
Lester began to be alarmed now; the village seemed to be full of Captain Mack’s men. He met them at nearly every corner, and they, as in duty bound, asked to see his pass, and made inquiriesconcerning the deserter. Every one of them declared that there was something afoot.
“Williams didn’t run the guard in that daring way and come to town for nothing,” said they. “There’s no circus here, nor is there anything interesting going on that we can hear of; but there’s a scheme of some kind in the wind, and we know it.”
Lester’s fears increased every time Captain Mack’s men talked to him in this way, and he began looking about for Jones. He wanted to know what the latter thought about it; but he could not find him, nor could he see any of the band. They had all disappeared very suddenly and mysteriously, and now the only academy boys he met were those who wore bayonets. Eleven o’clock came at last, and Lester was on the point of starting for Cony Ryan’s, when he heard his name pronounced in low and guarded tones, and looked quickly around to see Jones standing in a dark doorway.
“Don’t come in here,” whispered the latter, as Lester stepped toward the door. “Stand in front of that window and pretend to be looking at the pictures, and then I’ll talk to you.”
Lester wonderingly obeyed, and Jones continued:
“We’re suspected already.”
“I know it,” answered Lester, in the same cautious whisper. “Mack’s men all believe that Enoch had some object in deserting as he did, and one of them said they wouldn’t go home until they caught him if they had to stay here a week.”
“That’s just what they said to me,” returned Jones. “The thing is getting interesting already, isn’t it?”
“Almost too much so. What do you suppose the teachers would do to us if Mack should hear of our plans?”
“They wouldn’t do anything but stop our liberty,” replied Jones. “Some of the best fellows in the school make it a point to desert every camp, and there’s nothing done to them. Stealing the schooner is what is going to do the business for us. We’ll be sent down for that, and it’s just what we want.”
“Have you seen anything of Enoch?”
“Yes; he’s all right. He’s gone down to Ryan’s to order dinner for us.”
“Where are the rest of the fellows?”
“Some of them are hiding about the village, and the others have gone down to Ryan’s. Enoch and I thought it best to tell them, one and all, to keep out of sight. If Mack and his men should hear of our plan, the fat would all be in the fire.”
“Would they arrest us?”
“You’re right.”
“Why, we haven’t done anything.”
“No, but we’re going to do something, and if they knew it, it would be their duty to stop us.”
“Well, why don’t you come out, or why can’t I go in there?” demanded Lester. “There’s no one, except village people, in sight.”
“There’s where you are mistaken,” replied Jones. “Look across the street. Do you see that fellow on the opposite sidewalk who appears to be so deeply interested in something he sees in the window of that dry-goods store?”
Yes, Lester saw him. He had seen him before, and took him for just what he appeared to be—a country boy out for a holiday. His tight black trowsers would not come more than half-way down the legs of his big cowhide boots; his felt hat was perched on the top of a thick shock of hair which looked like a small brush-heap; his short coatsleeves revealed wrists and arms that were as brown as sole-leather; and the coarse red handkerchief which was tied around his face seemed to indicate that he was suffering from the toothache. But if he was, it did not prevent him from thoroughly enjoying his lunch—a cake of ginger-bread and an apple which he had purchased at a neighboring stand, and which he devoured with so much eagerness, as he stood there in front of the window, that everybody who saw him laughed at him.
“I see some gawky over there,” said Lester, after he had taken a glance at the boy.
“That’s no gawky,” replied Jones. “It’s Don Gordon.”
Lester was profoundly astonished. He faced about and looked again. There was nothing about that awkward clown, who did not know what to do with his big feet, that looked like the neat and graceful Don Gordon he had met a short time before.
“You’re certainly mistaken,” said Lester. “Don’s pride wouldn’t let him appear in the public street in any such rig as that.”
“It wouldn’t, eh? You don’t know that boy.”
“Besides, Gordon couldn’t look and act so clumsy if he tried,” continued Lester, who had striven in vain to imitate Don’s soldierly carriage. “Why, he is making a laughing-stock of himself.”
“I know it, and so does he; and he enjoys it. I don’t know where he procured his disguise, but if he didn’t borrow it, he bought it. He’s got more money than he can spend, and he will stick at nothing that will help him gain his point. Now, can you see Mack anywhere?”
Lester looked up and down the street and replied that he could not.
“Well, he’s somewhere around, and you may be sure of it,” Jones went on. “He is keeping Don in sight, and Don has disguised himself so that he can keepyouin sight. They have been following you around the streets for two hours, and this is the first chance I have had to tell you of it. Have you let anything slip?”
“No,” replied Lester, indignantly.
“You’re spotted, any way; and I can’t, for the life of me, see why you should be if you have kept a still tongue in your head,” said Jones, in deep perplexity. “Now, our first hard work must be to shake those fellows, and then we’ll draw abee-line for Cony’s. When I say the word, come into the hall and go up those stairs as if all the wolves in Mississippi were close at your heels; but don’t make any noise.”
Lester braced himself for a jump and a run, and Jones took up a position in the hall from which he could observe Don’s movements without being seen himself. The amateur detective—it really was Don Gordon—having disposed of his lunch and growing tired of waiting for Lester to make a move in some direction, shuffled rather than walked over to the other window, not neglecting, as he made this change, to take a good look at the boy he had “spotted.” As soon as he was fairly settled before the other window, Jones whispered “Now!” whereupon Lester darted through the door and went up the stairs three at a jump. Jones lingered a minute or two and then followed him.
“It’s just as I expected,” said he, hurriedly, when he joined Lester at the top of the stairs. “Captain Mack was concealed somewhere down the street. He saw you when you ran through the door and signaled to Don, who is now coming across the street. Follow me and runon your toes. Stick to me, and ask no questions.”
So saying Jones broke into a run and led the way through a long hall to another flight of stairs, which he descended with headlong speed, Lester keeping close at his heels. On reaching the sidewalk they slackened their pace to a walk, and Jones suddenly turned into a shoe-store, with the proprietor of which he was well acquainted.
“Mr. Smith,” said he, addressing the man who stood behind the counter, “may I go in your back room long enough to take something out of my boot?”
Time was too precious to wait for the reply, which they knew would be a favorable one, so Jones and Lester kept on to the back-room. When they got there the former took his foot out of his boot—there was nothing else in it—while his companion, acting in obedience to some whispered instructions, concealed himself and kept an eye on those who passed the store.
“There he goes!” he exclaimed suddenly, as Don Gordon walked rapidly by, peering sharply through the glass doors as he went. “He must have followed us through the hall.”
“Of course he did, and consequently there is no need that I should tell you why I came in here. Now we’ll start for Cony’s.”
As Jones said this he opened a back door which gave entrance into a narrow alley, and conducted his companion through a long archway that finally brought them to a cross-street. After making sure that there were none of Captain Mack’s men in sight, they came out of their concealment and walked rapidly away toward the big pond. When they reached Cony Ryan’s house and entered the little parlor which had been the scene of so many midnight revels, they found it in possession of their friends, who greeted them in the most boisterous manner and inquired anxiously for Enoch Williams. A few of them had had opportunity to exchange a word or two with him, all knew how he had run the guard, but none of them could tell where he was now.
“He is safe enough,” said Jones, knowingly. “Of course you don’t expect him to show himself openly, as we can who have passes in our pockets. If you will be on Haggert’s dock at dark—and those who are not there will stand a good chance of being left, for when we get readyto start we shall wait for nobody—you will find him. In the meantime be careful how you act, and keep out of sight as much as you can. Mack knows that we haven’t come down here for nothing.”
The boys said they were well aware of that fact, and Jones went on to tell how closely Don Gordon and Captain Mack had watched Lester in the hope of finding out what it was that had brought him and his friends to town that day, and described how he and Lester had managed to elude them. While the boys were laughing over the success of their stratagem, Jones disappeared through a back door, but presently returned and beckoned to Lester, who followed him into the kitchen. Cony Ryan was there, and he had just placed upon the table two large buckets covered with snow-white napkins.
“That’s your dinner,” said he, as he shook hands with Lester, who had put many a dollar into his pocket that term. “They tell me that you are getting to be a very bad boy, Brigham. You have put the fellows up to stealing a yacht.”
“It’s a pretty good scheme, isn’t it?” said Jones.
“I never heard of such a thing,” said Cony. “I know every boy who has been graduated at this academy during the last half century, and although there were some daring ones among them, there were none who had the hardihood to do a thing like this. I have about half made up my mind that if Captain Mack comes here, I will report the last one of you.”
“Well, so long as you don’t wholly make up your mind to it, we don’t care,” replied Jones, who knew their host too well to be alarmed by any such threats as this. “I’ll take one basket, Brigham, and you can take the other. Cony, you keep your eyes open and give us the signal at the very first sign of danger.”
“Where are you going?” inquired Lester, as Jones, with one of the baskets on his arm, led the way out of the door toward a grove that stood a little distance off on the shore of the big pond.
“To find Enoch,” answered Jones. “I know right where he is. I say, Lester, you did something to be proud of when you got up this scheme. When Cony Ryan praises a fellow, the praise is well deserved.”
“I am very well satisfied with it,” said Lester,complacently. “You said something about a signal of danger; what is it?”
“Did you ever hear Cony’s greyhound sing?” asked Jones in reply. “Well, if Cony sees any of Mack’s men approaching his house, he’ll tell his hound to ‘sing,’ and the animal will set up the most dismal howling you ever heard. If Enoch hears that, you will see him dig out for dear life.”
After walking a short distance into the grove, the two boys came to a little creek, whose banks were thickly lined with bushes. Here Jones stopped and put down his basket, and hardly had he done so when Enoch Williams made his appearance. He had been concealed in the bushes, awaiting their arrival. This was the first time Lester had seen the deserter that day, and one would have thought by the way he complimented Enoch, that the latter, when he ran by the guard, had performed an exploit that no other boy in the academy dare attempt.
“I am glad to see you two,” said Enoch, nodding his head toward the baskets, “for I am hungry.”
“Any news?” asked Jones, as he spread the lunch on one of the napkins.
“Not a word,” replied the deserter. “I haven’t seen Mack or any of his squad for a long time.”
“We have,” said Lester. “We’ve just had some fun in getting away from them.”
Of course Enoch wanted to know all about it, and Jones told the story while they were eating their lunch. The good things that Cony had put up for them rapidly disappeared before their attacks, but busy as they were, they did not neglect to keep their eyes and ears open. They depended upon Cony and his hound to guard one side of the grove, and upon themselves to detect the presence of any danger that might threaten them from other directions; but Mack and his men never came near them. Being well acquainted with Cony Ryan, they knew it would be a waste of time to look for a deserter about his premises. The old fellow was a staunch and trustworthy friend. He could not be bribed, coaxed or flattered into betraying a boy’s confidence.
It seemed as if the day never would draw to a close. As Enoch did not think it safe to venture near the house, Jones and Lester kept him company in the grove, where they rolled about on thegrass, consulting their watches every few minutes and laying out a programme for their cruise. By this time it was understood that Enoch was to command the schooner. He was delighted when Lester proposed it, accepted the responsibility without the least hesitation, and spoke confidently of his ability to make the cruise a lively one and to give their pursuers a long chase, if he could only succeed in getting the yacht out into the bay.
The hours wore away, and when six o’clock came the deserter and his friends finished what was left of their lunch and began to bestir themselves. Jones and Lester returned to Cony Ryan’s house, which they found deserted by all save the proprietor and his family, the members of the band having formed themselves into little squads and strolled off toward the dock. Having made sure that the coast was clear, Jones went out on the back porch and gave a shrill whistle, to which the deserter responded in person.
“Now, Lester,” said Jones, when Enoch entered the house, “you stay here and act as look-out for Williams, and I will take a scout about the village and see how things look there. It will bedark by the time I come back, and then we will make a start.”
Jones was gone a long while, but the report he brought was a favorable one. The members of the band were all hidden about the dock, awaiting Enoch’s appearance with much anxiety and impatience, and Coleman was ready to carry out his part of the contract. The sails were cast loose, and all they had to do was to slip the anchor, and let the current carry them down the river. He had seen nothing of Captain Mack or his men, nor had he been able to find any one who could tell him what had become of them. He believed they had gone back to camp.
“Mack rather plumes himself on his success in capturing deserters, I believe,” said Enoch, as he arose from the sofa on which he had been lounging and put on his cap. “He fails sometimes, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t shout until you are out of the woods,” replied Jones, who knew that his friend was congratulating himself on his cunning. “The pursuit has not fairly begun. He may gobble you yet and all the rest of us into the bargain.”
“Well, it will not cost him anything to try,”said Enoch, confidently. “I am more at home on the water than I am on land, and the boy who beats me handling a yacht must get up in the morning.”
“But they will follow us in tugs,” said Lester.
“Then we’ll hide among some of the islands in the bay and let them hunt for us,” replied Enoch. “I tell you it will be a cold day when we get left.”
After Lester had paid for the lunch they had eaten in the grove, he and his companions left Cony Ryan’s hospitable roof and set out for the dock, neglecting no precautions on the way. Jones and Lester went ahead, stopping at every corner and looking into every doorway, and Enoch, who followed a short distance behind them, did not advance until they notified him, by a peculiar whistle, that he had nothing to fear.
By keeping altogether on the back streets and giving the business thoroughfares a wide berth, they managed to reach the dock without meeting anybody. There was no one in sight when they got there, but Jones’s low whistle was answered from a dozen different hiding places.
“Ahem!” said Enoch, looking toward the schooner.
“Ahem!” came the answer through the darkness. “Who is it?”
“The band,” replied Enoch; and then there came a few minutes of silence and impatient waiting, during which Coleman got into his dory and shoved off toward the dock. Another whistle from Jones brought several students from their places of concealment, and when the dory was filled to its utmost capacity, it was pulled back to the schooner. Coleman was obliged to make three trips in order to take them all off, and when Jones, who was the last to leave the dock, sprang over the schooner’s rail, he announced that not a single one of the band was missing.
“Keep silence fore and aft,” commanded Coleman, as he made the dory’s painter fast to the stern and went forward to slip the chain. “Wait until we get under way before you do any talking.”
The boys were careful to obey. With a single exception they were highly elated over the success of their plans, and now that the schooner was moving off with them, they were determined that she should not come back to her berth again until she had taken them on a good long cruise. Thatexception was, of course, Lester Brigham. He became timid when he found himself at the mercy of the current which was carrying him off through darkness so intense that he could scarcely see the vessel’s length ahead of him, and took himself to task for his foolishness in proposing such an expedition. But when he found that the schooner was seaworthy, and that Enoch knew how to keep her on top of the water and to get a good deal of speed out of her besides, these feelings gradually wore away, and he even told himself that he was seeing lots of fun.
When the current had taken the little vessel so far down the river that there was no longer any danger to be apprehended, Coleman came up to Enoch, whom he recognized as one of the leaders of the band, and inquired:
“Are there any among you who know a halliard from a down-haul?”
Enoch replied that there were.
“Then send a couple of them forward to run up the jib, while I take the wheel,” said Coleman. “I want to throw her head around. No singing, now.”
“What did he mean by that?” asked Lester, speaking before he thought.
“Why, have you never heard sailors sing when they were hoisting the sails?” exclaimed Enoch. “It makes the work easier, you know, and helps them pull together.”
“Why, of course it does,” said Lester. “What was I thinking of?”
“I don’t know, I am sure. Come with me and lend a hand at the jib. Jones, you had better attend to Coleman now.”
“Shall I give him his money?” asked Jones, who, we forgot to say, had been elected treasurer of the band without one dissenting voice.
“Yes; hand it over, and perhaps he will want to go ashore and spend some of it. You see,” added Enoch, as he and Lester went forward, “our first hard work must be to get rid of Coleman without raising any fuss, and Jones is going to try to induce him to go off with us at Windsor; so keep away from him and let him talk.”
It was so very dark and there were so many ropes leading down the foremast that Lester didn’t see how Enoch could find the one he wanted; but he laid his hand upon it without the least hesitation, and when he began pulling at it, Lester knewenough to take hold and help him. The schooner swung around as the wind filled the sail, and when her bow pointed down the river the fore and main sails were hoisted, and in a few minutes more she was bowling along right merrily. Enoch superintended the work, all the boys lending willing but awkward assistance, and Coleman complimented him by saying that he was quite a sailor.
“And I am the only one on board,” said he, as soon as he found opportunity to speak to Jones in private. “Brigham is a fraud of the first water. There are lots of fellows aboard who make no pretensions, but who know more about a boat in five minutes than he does in a month.”
“His yacht was a cutter, you know,” suggested Jones.
“Oh, get out!” exclaimed Enoch. “He doesn’t know a cutter from a full-rigged ship.”
Lester, who was painfully aware that his ignorance of all things pertaining to a yacht had been fully exposed, was leaning against the weather-rail, heartily wishing himself back at the academy.He then and there resolved that he would never again attempt to win a reputation among his fellows by boasting. It is a bad thing to do; and the boy who indulges in it is sure to bring himself into contempt sooner or later.