_A Deed of Darkness.--The Money-diggers.--The dim Forest and the
Midnight Scene.--Incantation assisted by Caesar, the Latin Grammar, and
Euclid.--Sudden, startling, and terrific Interruption.--Flight of the
“B. O. W. C.”--They rally again._
MIDNIGHT came. Before that time the “B. O. W. C.” had prepared
themselves for the task before them. They were arrayed in the well-worn
and rather muddy clothes in which they had made their memorable
expedition. Solomon was with them, dressed in his robes of office. The
venerable Grand Panjandrum had gathered all the lanterns that he could
collect; but as these were only five in number, and as they wanted
twenty-one, there had been some difficulty. This had, at length, been
remedied by means of baskets, pails, and tin kettles; for it was thought
that by putting a candle in a pail, or something of that sort, it would
be protected from the wind. Solomon also was provided with matches,
so as to kindle the light at once if it should be blown out; and Bart
tried, in the most solemn manner, to impress upon him the necessity of
watchfulness. It was Solomon’s duty to watch the lights, and nothing
else; the others were to dig. Besides the pails, pots, lanterns,
candlesticks, and tin kettles, they carried a pickaxe, four spades,
and the Bust,--which last was taken in order to add still more to the
solemnity of the occasion,--and after distributing this miscellaneous
load as equally as possible among the multitude, they at length set out.
The Academy was all silent, and all were hushed in the depths of
slumber; so they were able to steal forth unobserved, and make their way
to the “Old French Orchard.”
The night was quite dark, and as they walked up the hill, the scene was
one of deep impressiveness. Overhead the sky was overcast, and a fresh
breeze, which was blowing, carried the thick clouds onward fast through
the sky. The moon was shining; but the dense clouds, as they drove past,
obscured it at times; and the darkness that arose from this obscurity
was succeeded by a brighter light as the moon now and then shone forth.
Before them rose the solemn outline of the dark forest, gloomy and
silent, and the stillness that reigned there was not broken by a single
sound.
After walking some distance, they stopped, partly to rest, and partly
to see if they were followed. As they turned, they beheld beneath them
a scene equally solemn, and far grander. Immediately below lay the dark
outline of the Academy, and beyond this the scenery of Grand Pré; on the
right extended the wide plains, now almost lost to view in the gloom of
night; on the left the Cornwallis River went winding afar, its bed full,
its waters smooth and gleaming white amid the blackness that bordered
it on either side. Overhead the sky arose, covered over with its
wildly-drifting clouds, between which the moon seemed struggling to
shine forth. Beneath lay the dark face of the Basin of Minas, which
faded away into the dimness of the opposite shore, while immediately in
front,--now, as always, the centre of the scene,--rose Blomidon,
black, frowning, sombre, as though this were the very centre from which
emanated all the shadows of the night.
At the top of the hill they met Captain Corbet, who had a spade on his
shoulder.
“It’s rayther dark,” said he, in a pensive tone. “Ef I’d aknowed it was
to be so dark, I’d postponed it.”
“Dark!” said Bart, cheerily; “not a bit of it. It’s just right. We want
it just this way. It’s the proper thing. You see, if it were moonlight,
we’d be discovered; but this darkness hides us, The moon peeps out now
and then, just enough to make the darkness agreeable. This is just the
way it ought to be.”
They moved on in silence towards the spot. Here, on three sides, the
forest encircled them; below them was the deep, dark gully; and the
shadows of the forest were so heavy, that nothing could be distinguished
at a distance. Captain Corbet, usually talkative, was now silent and
pensive, and uttered an occasional sigh. As for Solomon, he did not say
one word. The whole party stood for a moment in silence, looking into
the cellar.
“Come, boys,” said Bart, at length, “hurry up. The first thing we’ve got
to do is to make the arrangements. We must arrange the lamps.”
Saying this, they all proceeded to put down their lanterns, pots,
kettles, pails, and baskets, around the cellar, so as to encircle it.
Inside each of the pots, kettles, pails, and baskets, a candle was put,
while the Bust was placed at the end of the cellar nearest the wood.
“Now,” said Bart, “let’s all go into the cellar, and Solomon will light
the candles.”
They went into the cellar; but Solomon showed so much clumsiness in
lighting them, that Bart had to do it. This was soon accomplished. The
surrounding forest sheltered them from the wind, and the lights did not
flicker very much, except at times when an occasional puff stronger than
usual would be felt. Once a light was blown out; but Bart lighted it
again, and then they all burned very well.
So there they stood, in the cellar, with the circle of lights around
them, under a dark sky, at the midnight hour.
“I feel solemn,” said Captain Corbet, after a long silence; “I feel
deeply solemn.”
“Solemn!” said Bart; “of course you do; so say we all of us. Why
shouldn’t we?”
“I feel,” said Captain Corbet, “a kind of pinin feelin--a longin and a
hankerin after the babby.”
“O, well, all right,” said Bart; “never mind the baby just now.”
“But I feel,” said Captain Corbet, in a voice of exceeding
mournfnlness--“I feel as though I’d orter jine the infant.”
“O, never mind your feelings,” said Bart. “Have you got your mineral
rod?”
“I hev.”
“Very well; try it.”
“I’d rayther not. I--I--Couldn’t we postpone this here? It’s so solemn!”
“Postpone it! Why, man, what are you thinking of? Postpone it! Nonsense!
Think of your baby. Postpone it! And you pretend to be a father!”
Captain Corbet drew a long sigh.
“I feel,” said he, “rayther uncomfortable here;” and he pressed his hand
against his manly bosom.
“Never mind,” said Bart. “Come; try the mineral rod.”
Captain Corbet took the rod, and tried to balance it on his finger; but
his hand trembled so that it at once fell to the ground.
The boys gave a cry of delight. He had been standing, as before, in the
middle of the cellar, and the rod fell in the former place.
“Not a bit of doubt about it!” cried Phil. “There it goes again! Come,
let’s go to work, boys.”
“But we must have some ceremonies,” said Bart. “It would never do to
begin to dig without something.”
“So I say,” remarked Captain Corbet, feebly.
Meanwhile Solomon had been standing in his robes, a little apart,
looking nervously around.
“Hallo, Solomon!” cried Bart.
Solomon gave a start.
“Ya--ya--yas, sr.”
“You’re not watching the lights.”
“Ya--yasr.”
“That basket has fallen.”
“Ya, yasr,” said Solomon, whose teeth seemed to be chattering, and who
seemed quite out of his senses.
Bart walked up to him, and saw at a glance how it was.
“Why, old Solomon,” said he, gently, “you’re not frightened--are
you? It’s only our nonsense. Come, Grand Panjandrum, don’t take it
in earnest. It’s all humbug, you know,” he added, dropping his voice.
“Between you and me, we none of us take it in earnest. Come, you keep
the lamps burning, and be the Grand Panjandrum.”
At this a little of Solomon’s confidence was restored. He ventured to
the edge of the cellar, and lifted up the basket in time to save it from
burning up; but scarce had he done this than he retreated; the gloom,
the darkness, the magic ceremonies, were too awful.
“Come,” said Tom, “let’s begin the ceremonies.”
Captain Corbet gave another sigh.
“I feel dreadful anxious,” said he, “about the infant; I’m afeard
somethins happened; I feel as if I’d orter be to hum.”
“All right, captain,” said Bart; “we’ll all be home before long, and
with the _pot of gold_, you know. Come, cheer up, for the ceremonies are
going to begin.”
“See here, now,” said Captain Corbet. “This here’s a solemn occasion. I
feel solemn. It’s awful dark. We don’t know what’s buried here, or what
will happen; so let’s don’t have any heathen ceremonies.”
“O, the ceremonies are not heathen,” said Bart. “Each of us is going to
make an incantation in the most solemn language that we can think of;
so, boys, begin.”
“The most solemn thing that I can think of,” said Phil, “is English
history; so here goes.” And stretching forth his hand solemnly, he said,
in a whining voice, like a boy reciting a lesson:--
“_Britain was very little known to the rest of the world before the time
of the Romans. The coasts opposite Gaul were frequented by merchants,
who traded thither for such commodities as the natives were able to
produce_.”
“The most solemn thing, to me,” said Tom, “is Euclid.” And then he
added in the same tone, “_The square described on the hypothenuse of a
right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the squares described on
the other two sides of the same._”
“And I,” said Arthur, “find Arnold’s Latin Exercises the worst. The most
solemn thing for an invocation is,--’
“_In temporibus Ciceronis Galli retinuerunt barbaram consuetudinem
excercendæ virtutis omni occasione. Balbus odifcabat murum!_”
“I,” said Bruce, “have something far more solemn.” And stretching out
his hand, he said, in a loud, firm voice,--
“_Dignus, indignus, content us, proditus, captus, and fretus,
also natus, satus, ortus, editus, and the like, govern
the--hem--nominative--no--the vocative--no--the ablative--all the
same._”
“For my part,” said Bart, “the most solemn thing, to me, is Cæsar. The
way they teach it here makes it a concentration of all the worst horrors
of the Grammar, and Arnold, and History, with the additional horrors of
an exact translation. O, brethren of the ‘B. O. W. C.,’ won’t you join
with me in saying,--
“_Gallia est omnis divisa in partes très, quarum unam incolunt Belgo,
aliam Aquitani, tertiam, qui ipsorum lingua Celto, nostra Galli
appellantur. Hi omnes lingua, institutis, legibus, inter se differunt.
Gallos ab Aquitanis Garumna_”
“Here!” cried Captain Corbet, suddenly interrupting Bart; “I can’t stand
this any longer. It’s downwright heathenism--all that outlandish heathen
stuff! Do ye mean to temp fate? Bewar, young sirs! It’s dangerous!
’Tain’t safe to stand here, at midnight, over a Frenchman’s bones, and
jabber French at him.”
“French?” said Bart. “It’s not French.”
“That ain’t the pint,” said Captain Corbet, who had worked himself up
into considerable excitement. “The pint is air it English? No, _sir_.
Does any Christian onderstand sich? No, _sir_. We hain’t got no business
with sich.”
“But it’s Latin,” said Bart.
“Wuss and wuss,” said Captain Corbet. “I take my stand by the
patriarchs, the prophets, and the postles. Did they jabber Latin? No,
sir. They were satisfied with good honest English. It was a solemn time
with them thar. English did for them. So, on this solemn occasion, let
us talk English, or forever after hold our peaces.”
“Well, what shall we do?” asked Bart.
“Do?” said Captain Corbet; “why, do somethin solemn. I should like--” he
added, mildly. “Ef you could, it would be kind o’ sewthin ef you could
sing a hime.”
“A hymn,” said Bart; “certainly.” Now, Bart had a quick talent for
making up jingling rhymes; so he immediately improvised the following,
which he gave out, two lines at a time, to be sung by the “B. O. W. C.”
It was sung to the mournful, the solemn, the venerable, and the very
appropriate tune, known as “Rousseau’s Dream.”
“Why did we deprive the Frenchman
Of his lands against his will,
Take possession of his marshes,
Raise a school-house on the hill?
“‘Twas a foolish self-deceiving
By such tricks to hope for gain;