HAZING A “PLEBE.”
“We’ll settle with you at some future time my fine gentleman,” said Tom
Fisher, as he and his companions ran toward the academy in obedience to
the call of the bugle. They had spent the hour after breakfast in
strolling about the grounds, discussing the history of one of the new
students, as we have related in the first chapter.
“All right,” replied Don Gordon, winking at his brother, who laid his
finger on his lips and shook his head warningly. “Whenever you want to
see me just send me word, and I will be on hand.”
“You may get some of that independence whipped out of you before you
have been here many more days,” chimed in Clarence Duncan.
“Who’ll do it?” asked Don, cheerfully.
“_I_ will,” replied Duncan, in savage tones.
“O, you can’t. It’s bred in the bone. But I’ll tell you one thing—you
and your partner there,” added Don, nodding his head toward Tom Fisher.
“You want to keep your hands off my brother, or I’ll make spread-eagles
of the pair of you.”
“Well, that beats anything I ever heard of!” exclaimed Dick Henderson,
opening his eyes in surprise. “You have good cheek to talk of making
‘spread-eagles’ of such fellows as Fisher and Duncan, haven’t you, now?”
“Do you think so, little one?” asked Don. As he said this he patted Dick
on the head in a most patronizing way—an action on his part that caused
Dick to jump aside and bristle up like a bantam that had been poked with
a stick. “Well, you hang around and you will see it done, unless they
take my advice and mind their own business,” added Don.
Fisher and Duncan did not have an opportunity to reply to this threat,
for just then they reached the door and found one of the teachers
standing there. They were somewhat behind time, and they were obliged to
hasten to their dormitories and take off their caps and overcoats so
that they could march to their recitation-rooms with their classes. They
looked daggers at Don as they went up the stairs, but he smiled back at
them in the most unconcerned manner possible.
“I knew he was a tough one the moment I put my eyes on him,” said Fisher
that night after drill hours, when he and about fifty other students
were exercising their muscles in the gymnasium. “There isn’t another
fellow in school who can do that.”
The subject of these remarks was Don Gordon, who had just come out
dressed in neat dark-blue trunks and flesh-colored tights. His arms were
bare to the shoulder, revealing muscles at which the boys around him
gazed in admiration. His first act was to walk up to the nearest swing,
take hold of one of the rings and draw himself up to his chin twice in
succession with one hand.
“I tell you, Duncan, you had better let him alone,” continued Fisher,
still watching Don, who was now going hand over hand up a rope toward
the lofty ceiling.
“And swallow everything he said to me this morning?” exclaimed the
bully.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” Fisher hastened to reply. “Those insulting
remarks must of course be taken back and apologized for; but you can’t
make him do it alone.”
“Just give me the chance, and I’ll show you whether I can or not,”
answered Duncan, who was always angry whenever there was any imputation
cast upon his prowess. “He has come here intending to set at naught all
the old-time customs of the institution—haven’t you noticed how
persistently he refuses to salute everybody but an officer?—and if we
are willing to stand by and let him do it, I say we are a pack of
cowards. He must be made to come down from his high horse.”
“And he shall be,” said Fisher, encouragingly. “We will attend to that
bootblack’s case to-night, and the first good chance we get we’ll take
Mr. Gordon in hand. By the way, Duncan——”
The two boys drew off on one side and entered into a whispered
consultation, now and then beckoning to one or another of their friends,
until there were a dozen or more students gathered about them. They
conversed earnestly together for a few minutes, and then put on their
clothes and left the gymnasium. Don and Bert Gordon followed them soon
after, and on giving their names to the orderly in the hall, were
admitted to the presence of the superintendent. After they had both
saluted him, Don said:
“Colonel, we have brought with us a letter of introduction from our
father, addressed to Mr. Packard, who is a relative of one of our
nearest neighbors, and if you have no objections we should like
permission to present it to-night.”
“Certainly,” said the superintendent, as he picked up a pen and pulled a
sheet of paper toward him. “You can go immediately after supper, and I
will write you a pass. You ought to have presented it when you first
came. Why did you put it off so long?”
“Why—I—you know, sir, that we received a reprimand on the morning
following our arrival here for not putting out our light at ten
o’clock,” faltered Don, “and I was afraid you would think we ought to
stay inside the grounds until we had learned to obey the rules.”
“Ah, yes,” said the superintendent with a smile. “I believe I remember
something about that. Well, it did you good, did it not? You haven’t
been reported since. I hope your record at the end of your course will
be as good as that of your father, who, I must say, was a very exemplary
student. It is true that he did run the guard now and then, the
temptations at Cony Ryan’s proving rather too strong for him; and when
he was here with you last August, I think he told me that while he was a
member of my school he spent forty-three Saturdays in walking extras;
but, for all that, he was a good boy—a _very_ good boy. Here’s your
pass.”
Don expressed his thanks for the favor, and he and Bert saluted and
retired, lost in wonder.
“Running the guard!” repeated the former, in a loud tone. “What does
that mean?”
“What’s walking an extra?” said Bert, in the same low voice; “and who is
Cony Ryan?”
“Here comes Egan; we’ll ask him,” said Don.
The individual referred to was a first-class boy, and the first sergeant
of Don’s company. When he was on duty he was a soldier all over; but
during the hours of recreation he was as jovial and friendly a fellow as
there was to be found about the academy.
“Say, sergeant,” said Don, not forgetting to salute, “what does a cadet
do when he runs the guard?”
“What does he do?” repeated the sergeant. “Why, he spends a good portion
of the next Saturday afternoon in walking an extra to pay for it.”
“I mean, how does he run the guard?” explained Don.
“Now, Gordon, isn’t that just the least bit—you know,” said the
sergeant, laying his finger by the side of his nose and looking very
wise. “You surely don’t expect me to tell you how it is done, do you?
You had better ask Fisher or Duncan, or some of that crowd. They have
had considerable experience in it.”
“We want to know what the meaning of the expression is,” said Bert.
“O, that’s it! Well, when a fellow slips out of his room, gets off the
grounds without being caught, and comes back in the morning in time to
fall in and answer to roll-call, we call that running the guard. By
walking an extra we mean doing additional guard duty. The reason that
Saturday is selected as a day of punishment is because the afternoon is
given over almost entirely to recreation; but those who have been
arrested while attempting to run the guard, or who have been caught in
other acts of disobedience, are not allowed to take advantage of those
hours of recreation, because they have already had their fun.
Understand?”
Don said he did; and then he inquired who Cony Ryan was, and what he did
to tempt the boys.
“Cony Ryan!” repeated the sergeant, his eyes growing brighter and a
smile overspreading his face, as the memory of old times came back to
him. “Why, he is a part of the academy, and I have seen the day when I
thought we could not possibly get along without him. He keeps a neat
little house down by the big pond, where he serves up the best pancakes
_I_ ever ate. His mince and pumpkin pies top the heap; and as for his
maple molasses—ah!”
The sergeant walked off, smacking his lips, and Don and Bert kept on up
the stairs.
“I rather think Egan has been there,” observed the latter.
“I know he has,” replied Don, “and the taste of that maple syrup clings
to his palate yet.”
On entering their room Don threw himself into a chair, stretched his
legs out before him, buried his hands in his pockets, and gazed down at
the floor in a brown study; while Bert leaned his elbows on the table,
rested his chin on his hands, and looked at him. Presently Don threw
back his head and laughed so loudly and heartily that his brother was
obliged to laugh too.
“I never dreamed of such a thing,” said Bert, who knew what was passing
in Don’s mind.
“No more did I. Just think how that dignified father of ours must have
looked running the guard and standing punishment for it afterward! He
took good care not to say a word to us about it, didn’t he? I say,
Bert,” exclaimed Don, suddenly, and then he as suddenly paused.
“Don’t you do it,” said Bert, earnestly. “You will be certain to get
yourself into trouble by it.”
“If I did, I should be perfectly willing to take the consequences. But
father couldn’t haul me over the coals for it, could he?”
“If father were here now, he wouldn’t think of doing such things.”
“Neither would I if I were a man.”
“But you won’t go to Cony Ryan’s, will you?” pleaded Bert.
“Of course not. Don’t borrow any trouble on that score. I promised
mother that I would behave myself, and I am going to do it. But I should
like to taste those pies and pancakes, all the same,” added Don, to
himself.
That evening, after supper, Don and Bert showed their pass to the sentry
at the gate, and set out to pay their long deferred visit to Mr.
Packard. Why was it that they did not think to read that pass when it
was given to them? If they had, they might have saved themselves from
something disagreeable that afterward happened. They passed a very
pleasant evening at Mr. Packard’s house, and at half-past ten they took
leave of their new friends and started for the academy.
As they were walking briskly along the road that ran around one end of
the big pond, they heard an indistinct murmur of voices, and presently
saw a crowd of boys, who were walking in a compact body, pass across the
road in front of them, and direct their course toward the middle of the
pond. They thought at first that it was a skating party; but as they did
not stop to put on their skates, Don and Bert became interested in their
movements and halted to observe them. Just then a voice, speaking in
pleading accents, came to their ears.
“Don’t do it, boys—please don’t,” it said, in piteous tones. “I wouldn’t
mind it so much if I could stand it, but I solemnly assure you that I
can’t. I have had one attack of pneumonia this winter that was brought
on by exposure, and ducking me in this icy water will surely give me
another.”
“No it won’t,” replied another voice that Don knew belonged to Tom
Fisher. “This is a time-honored custom, and we are not going to give it
up; are we, boys?”
“Not much,” answered the others, in concert.
“Our fathers were hazed when they went to this school; they, in turn,
hazed others, and we couldn’t think of disgracing them by refusing to
follow in their footsteps,” continued Tom. “Everyone of the fellows you
see around you—myself among the rest—has been hazed in one way or
another; and are you, a New York boot-black, any better than we are?”
“Hurry him on and pitch him in,” said Clarence Duncan, in his deep base
tones. “Wash some of the black out of him.”
“Yes, in with him,” piped little Dick Henderson.
“Well, boys, if you must do it to preserve your honor, let me take my
clothes off first,” said the pleading voice. “This is the only suit I
have in the world, and if I get it wet I shall freeze to death, for I
have no fire in my room to dry it by.”
“Then go to bed,” was the rough rejoinder.
“Why, what in the world are those fellows going to do?” said Bert, who
had listened in great amazement to this conversation, every word of
which came distinctly to the ears of himself and his brother. “I am
afraid they are going to do something to somebody.”
“Have you just found it out?” exclaimed Don, who now discovered that the
boys were making their way toward a hole that had been previously cut in
the ice. “A party of students, led by Fisher and Duncan, are going to
haze a Plebe by ducking him in the pond. Now I shall have a word or two
to say about that. They are the same fellows who blocked up our path
this morning and wouldn’t let us go by. You know they promised to settle
with me some day for showing so much ‘independence,’ as they called it,
and they might as well do it now as any other time.”
“O Don, mind what you are about,” cried Bert.
“I will. I’ll black the eyes of some of them before they shall stick
that boy through the ice. Why, Bert, what would father say to me if he
should hear that I stood by and witnessed such a proceeding without
lifting a hand to prevent it? He would tell me I wasn’t worthy of the
name I bear.”
No one who knew the temper of the academy boys, and the tenacity with
which they clung to the “time-honored customs” of the institution to
which they belonged, would have thought Don Gordon a coward if he had
taken to his heels and made the best of his way to his room. He knew
very well that if he attempted to interfere with Tom and his crowd, he
stood a good chance of being ducked himself; but the knowledge of this
fact did not deter him from promptly carrying out the plans he had
resolved upon. It would have been bad enough, he told himself, if the
students had selected as a victim a boy who had an extra suit of
clothes, a change of linen to put on, and a fire to warm himself by
after his cold bath; but to pitch upon one who had none of these
comforts, and who ran the risk of being thrown into a dangerous illness
by the folly of his tormentors, was, in his estimation, a most cowardly
act, and one that could not be too severely punished.
“Bert, you had better stay here where you will be safe,” said Don.
“I’ll not do it,” was the prompt reply. “If you are going into danger, I
am going in too.”
Don, knowing that it would be of no use to argue the matter, ran out on
the ice, and when he came up with the crowd his coats were off, and he
was in his shirt-sleeves. Fisher and his companions stopped when they
heard the sound of his approaching footsteps, and some of them acted as
if they wanted to run away; but when they discovered that Don and Bert
were alone, they waited for them to come nearer, thinking that perhaps
they were a couple of the members of their own class who wanted to join
in the sport. When they saw Don pull off his overcoat, however, their
eyes were opened.
“Here comes an intruder, boys,” exclaimed one of the students, “and
judging by the way he acts, he is getting ready for a rumpus.”
“Let him get ready,” said Fisher. “There are a dozen of us. If he turns
out to be a Plebe, we’ll stick him in too. The more the merrier, you
know. Who comes there?” he added, raising his voice.
“A peace-maker,” replied Don, throwing his coats on the ice.
“Yes, you look like it,” sneered Clarence Duncan. “If that is so, what
did you pull your duds off for?”
“Because I did not know how you would receive my overtures, and I
thought it the part of wisdom to be prepared for any emergency,”
answered Don.
So saying, he walked boldly into the crowd, which gave way right and
left as he advanced, and took his stand by the side of the prisoner, who
was firmly held by two of the largest and strongest students, while two
others stood close behind him, in readiness to lend their assistance in
case he made any attempt at escape. Although Don had never exchanged a
word with the boy, he knew him at once, for they belonged to the same
company. It was the new student whose presence, if we are to believe
Fisher and his friends, was a disgrace to the academy and everybody
belonging to it. He wore the same thin clothes in which he had shivered
as he walked up the path that morning, and the keen wind that swept
across the icy surface of the big pond must have chilled him to the very
marrow. He had no muffler about his face nor any gloves on his hands,
which he held clasped one within the other, as if they were very cold.
Don looked at him and then at the comfortably clad boys who were
standing around, and his blood, which was none of the coolest at any
time, boiled with indignation.
“You are a pack of contemptible cowards,” said he, pulling off his
gloves and slamming them down on the ice.
“Why, bless our royal heart, it’s the Planter!” exclaimed Tom Fisher,
who now, for the first time, recognized the intruder. “Here’s luck,
boys. Grab hold of him, some of you, and we’ll wash him too.”
“If that’s the Planter, this must be his brother,” said Dick Henderson.
“Why, so it is,” said Fisher, after he had taken a sharp look into
Bert’s face. “Here’s more luck. Take hold of him too, boys; and since
they have had the assurance to push themselves in among us without being
asked, we will give them the post of honor. We’ll duck them first.”
In obedience to these orders three or four pairs of hands were laid upon
Bert’s arms; but when the rest of the crowd moved forward to lay hold of
Don, Duncan stepped up and stopped them.
“Stand back, all of you,” said he. “I want to have a little talk with
this fellow before he is put into that air-hole. Gordon, you insulted me
this morning in the presence of my friends, and I want you to apologize
for it at once. If you don’t do it, I will give you a thrashing right
here on this ice that you won’t get over for a month.”
“How did I insult you?” asked Don, and the bully was somewhat surprised
to see that he did not appear to be at all alarmed.
“You said you would make a spread-eagle of me. Now, which will you do,
apologize or fight?”
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll fight.”
Duncan was fairly staggered by this reply. Remembering the exhibition of
strength he had witnessed in the gymnasium that afternoon, he had no
desire to come to blows with the stalwart youth who stood before him. He
had hoped to frighten an apology from Don, and when he found that he
could not do it, he wished he had not been in such haste to make
overtures of battle to him. But it was too late to think of that now,
for his reputation was at stake. Besides he did not believe that his
friend Fisher would stand by and see him worsted.
“You need have no fear of these fellows who are standing around,” said
Duncan, who wanted to put off the critical moment as long as he could.
“They will not double-team on you.”
“If they do they will take the consequences,” said Don, confidently. “I
think myself that they had better keep their distance.”
These bold words astonished everybody.
“Why I believe he thinks he can whip the whole crowd,” said Henderson,
who was one of the four who were holding fast to Bert’s arms. Bert was a
little fellow, like himself, and consequently Dick was not very much
afraid of him.
“Come on,” said Don, impatiently. “I am getting cold standing here in my
shirt-sleeves. Give me a little exercise to warm me up. Remember I
wasn’t born as near the Arctic Circle as you fellows were, and for that
reason I can’t stand the cold as well. Hurry up, somebody—_anybody_ who
thinks he was insulted by the words I uttered this morning.”
Driven almost to desperation by this challenge, which he knew was
addressed to himself, and which seemed to imply that his prospective
antagonist placed a very low estimate upon his powers, Duncan pulled off
both his coats, assumed a threatening attitude and advanced toward Don,
who extended his hand in the most friendly manner. The bully, believing
that Don wanted to parley with him, took the proffered hand in his own,
and in a second more arose in the air as if an exceedingly strong spring
had suddenly uncoiled itself under his feet. When he came down again he
measured his full length on the ice, landing in such dangerous proximity
to the hole that had been cut for the poor student’s benefit, that his
uniform cap fell into it.
Everybody was struck motionless and dumb with amazement. The bully was
so bewildered that he did not get upon his feet again immediately, and
the poor student forgot to shiver.
[Illustration: DUNCAN’S UNEXPECTED OVERTHROW.]