_Bart and Solomon fall into an Ambush, and after a desperate
Resistance are made Prisoners.--Bonds and Imprisonment.--Bruce and
the Gaspereau-gians.--A Challenge, a Conflict, and a Victory.--Immense
Sensation among the Spectators.--The Prisoners burst their Bonds.--Their
Flight.--Recovery of the Spoils of War._
MEANWHILE Bart and Solomon had been having their own little adventure.
They had left the Academy at half past three, so as to have everything
ready for the boys by four o’clock. For this purpose Solomon carried a
basket of provisions, filled with those multiform and very attractive
dishes which his rare culinary genius never failed to create whenever a
fitting occasion demanded it.
So they ascended the hill, and crossed the old French orchard, and
descended into the gully, and went up the other side into the woods, and
then walked along the path towards the camp.
Suddenly, as they came to a place where the path turned to the left,
there was a loud shout; and in an instant they were surrounded by some
twenty or thirty boys. The boys were rough and wild. They were dressed
in homespun. They were strong-limbed, red-cheeked, horny-handed, burly
fellows; and they threw themselves violently upon Bart and Solomon.
Bart struggled bravely; but what could he do against so many? In his
desperate struggles he managed to knock down one or two of them; but
before long he was lying down, first on his back, and then on his face,
and his hands were tied behind him. Then he was allowed to get up. He
did so, and found himself none the worse for the rough-and-tumble fight
which he had been indulging in. A pang, however, came to his generous
heart as he saw Solomon with his hands tied; and another pang, also, as
he saw two of the Gaspereaugians carrying off the basket with all its
precious store of provisions.
But in spite of his situation, Bart did not for a moment lose heart.
“Couldn’t you have managed it with less than thirty?” he said, quietly,
to the Gaspereaugians. “Wouldn’t twenty have done to attack me and old
Solomon?”
The Gaspereaugians looked sulky at this.
“Ten, I should say,” resumed Bart. “Ten Gaspereaugians ought to be
enough for one of us; and if so, why bring thirty? Answer me that. You
won’t? Very well. All the same.”
“Here, young chap,--you dry up!” growled a big Gaspereaugian, who was
near him. “Ten of us? I’ll show you that I’m a match fur any ten o’
youns. That wull I jist. So dry up!”
“It’s quite right to keep me tied up,” resumed Bart, cheerily. “I might
do you harm, and I only wonder you don’t tie my feet too. You wouldn’t
be safe if my hands were loose,--of course. But, my Gaspereaugian
friends, why bind the hands of my aged companion? He won’t hurt you.
He’s one of your own people. His home is in your own charming valley.
You all know old Solomon. I guarantee that he shall not harm one of you.
So, my friends, unbind his aged hands.”
“You shut your mouth,” growled the big Gaspereaugian, “or I’ll precious
soon make you. I know you,--young f’ler,--no humbug! You’re the chap
that blacked my eye with a snowball last winter.”
“Was it you?” said Bart, with a laugh. “That _is_ capital! If I wasn’t
tied up, I’d insist on shaking hands with you. And did I black your eye?
Ha, ha, ha! I never knew that before. It was a capital shot. I remember,
now that you mention it. But look here--you gave me something back. You
gave me a snowball that set my nose bleeding for half an hour; and that,
I think, was about the only blood that was shed in all our battles.”
Bart spoke with such jolly carelessness, and such good humor, that his
fun was contagious, and the Gaspereaugians burst into a roar of
laughter. Even the big fellow who had threatened him joined in the
laugh, and a murmur went round among them to the effect that this
prisoner wasn’t a bad fellow.
“Solomon,” said Bart, “Solomon, my sable friend, how do you feel?”
“Tip top,” said Solomon, with a grin. “Solomon?”
“Yes, s’r.”
“They’re going to tie us up tighter. They’re so afraid of us! Do you
think you can stand it?”
“Stan it? Yes, s’r. ’Tain’t nuffin. All same to an ole niggar like me.
I knows ebery one ob dem. I’m Gasperojum myself.”
“Fellow-citizens,” said Bart, “and gentlemen of the Gaspereaux Valley,
I appeal to your chivalry! Is it generous, or noble, or chivalrous, to
bind the hands of my aged friend? I’ll give my word that he shan’t knock
down more than a dozen of you, if you let him loose. Come now, aren’t
there a dozen of you that will be willing to be knocked down for the
sake of alleviating the woes of an aged, a virtuous, and an occasionally
rheumatic African? Besides, you don’t know what he is. He’s not a common
person. He’s a Grand Panjandrum.”
“O, you Panjer danjer yerself, an see how you like it!” growled the big
Gaspereaugian, who felt some slight fear that Bart was making fun of
him.
“See here,” said Bart; “since you’ve tied us up, hadn’t you better tie
up that basket of provisions, too? If you haven’t got any cord, you may
take what I have.”
This was received with roars of laughter, to which Bart listened with
unaltered placidity.
Meanwhile, as Bart had been speaking, he had been trying his fetters,
and found them not so tight but that he could work his hands free. His
jests about their tying his hands made the Gaspereaugians ashamed to
secure them more tightly. Some of them, indeed, were in favor even
of untying him. But Bart had been hurriedly bound, and his hands
were small, so that to slip them through the bonds was not a work of
difficulty. He soon found out this, but kept his own counsel, and held
his hands rigidly behind him, as though they were bound too tightly to
be moved. As he spoke he looked all around watchfully, so as to see his
chances of escape. To slip his hands was easy whenever he chose. Had it
been himself alone that was concerned, he would have made a dash into
the woods, and could have easily eluded pursuit. But he could not leave
Solomon; and so he waited in the hope that some favorable juncture might
arrive when he could free his companion also.
The Gaspereaugians now led them away across the brook that ran by
the camp and took up their station on the other side, on that smooth,
grass-grown slope which has already been mentioned. Bart and Solomon
were put inside of a half-finished hut of spruce, which some of the boys
had been building. Through the interstices of the branches they could
see the camp of the “B. O. W. C.” perfectly well. It was not far away,
and the Gaspereaugians were debating whether to go and pull it down now,
or to wait until some more boys might come.
In the midst of this debate, Bruce came upon the scene, with his
companions; and they, after looking hastily around, had found themselves
in the presence of the invading host. There stood Bruce in full view of
Bart and Solomon; his brows lowering darkly and menacingly, and a stern
interrogation in his face, before which the Gaspereaugians as first
seemed to quail.
“What do you want here, you fellows?” said Bruce, at last.
There was no reply for nearly a minute. The eyes of all the
Gaspereaugians were fixed upon the speaker, but no one answered.
At this moment, Bart, finding himself unobserved, slipped his hands out
of their bonds, and quickly untied those of Solomon.
“Now, Sol,” he said, “there’s going to be a row. This is our chance.
When I start, you follow. But don’t start till I do. Mind, now!”
“Yes, s’r,” said Solomon, with his usual grin. “I’m yours till
def,--slave or free,--live or dead,--sure’s a gun,--an ebber faitful!”
And now Bart looked all around, waiting for a chance to start.
The Gaspereaugians had forgotten all about their prisoners. Other things
far more exciting presented themselves. There stood Bruce; and once more
his lordly and imperious voice rang out,--
“What are you fellows doing here? Away with you all--every one of you!”
Bruce was tall, and broad-shouldered, and stout, and muscular. His hat
sat loosely on his head, and his hair clustered in careless curls about
his broad forehead. His eyes seemed to flash, and his thin nostrils
quivered with disdain. He looked like a statue of Apollo, as he stood
there, in the glow of his youthful strength and beauty, and faced down
his enemies. Their very numbers, instead of overawing him, only served
to rouse to the utmost the whole vigor of his soul, and stirred up his
proud, bold spirit to a scornful self-assertion.
A movement now took place among the Gaspereaugians, and murmurs passed
through them. At length the big fellow who had been so fierce with Bart
went forward from out the crowd of his companions, to the place where
Bruce was standing by the pool of the camp. He was a big, hulking,
clumsy, low-browed fellow, with a heavy gait and sullen face. He was
taller and stouter than Bruce, and evidently considered himself the
champion of his party. As he approached, Bruce stood, with folded arms,
regarding him, while his lips curled into a smile.
“Well,” he said, in a gay and careless tone, “what can I do for you?”
The big fellow clambered up the dam, and stood in front of Bruce.
“Whar’s Bruce Rawdon?” he said, looking round, and pretending not to
know that he was there before him. “Whar’s this Bruce Rawdon that youns
brag on? Put him down here, fur I want to hev a trial with him--I want
to wrastle.”
“My good fellow,” said Bruce, “I’m Bruce Rawdon, and I’m quite at your
service. Only you are mistaken if you think that we brag on any one.
We’re not a bragging camp.”
The Gaspereaugian looked at him, and made a ridiculous grimace.
“So this is Bruce Rawdon!” said he--“this here! Wal, Rawdon, let’s
wrastle. We’ll decide who’s the best man. On’y take care of your
close, my fine feller. I’m generally considered rough. Yes, rough as a
bar,--that’s what I be.”
“All right,” said Bruce, quietly, and in a minute he had flung off his
hat, coat, and waistcoat.
“I’ll keep my duds on,” said the Gaspereaugian; “on’y that--that’s by
way of defyin’.”
And saying this he flung his hat on the ground.
Upon this the two champions prepared to grapple.
The place where they stood was a grass plot on one side of the pool.
The pool was full to the brim. The “B. O. W. C.” stood on the dam. The
Gaspereaugians stood about twenty paces off. It was a moment of intense
excitement.
For a few seconds they stood with extended arms, warily regarding one
another. Then Bruce made a plunge forward, and before the other could
guard against it, he had caught him around the waist, under his arms.
Bruce had got the “underhold.”
The two were now locked in a close embrace, and for a few moments the
big Gaspereaugian made tremendous efforts to throw his antagonist. But
the efforts were unsuccessful. Bruce did not exert himself much, but
quietly evaded the efforts of the other, and still held his adversary in
an unrelaxing grasp.
The Gaspereaugians now began to look anxious. Bruce’s face was so calm,
his action was so quiet, he seemed to make so little effort in spite of
the immense exertions of his antagonist, that he appeared to show some
vast reserve of strength in store, ready to be put forth at some sudden
moment.
The Gaspereaugian was, in truth, a big, burly fellow, whose muscles had
been developed by a life of hard labor on a farm; but he was slow, and
clumsy, and ignorant of all skill in wrestling. Now, Bruce was an adept
in almost every active sport; while his limbs were so admirably knit,
and his muscular development was so splendid, that even on the score of
brute strength he soon gave evidence that he overmatched the other; at
the same time, he made it apparent that his strength was only half put
forth. The Gaspereaugians grew more anxious every moment, while Arthur,
Tom, and Phil, who had never for an instant doubted the result, felt
their excitement increasing to an unendurable degree.
Bruce soon showed what his idea had been in these manoeuvres. He had now
worked himself around, so that his back was towards the pool, and the
Gaspereaugian had made one violent effort to push him in backwards.
It was in vain. Bruce stood like a rock. Then suddenly, as the
Gaspereaugian’s efforts slackened somewhat, Bruce flung his right
arm around him lower down, and by one quick and tremendous effort of
strength raised him up into the air. In an instant the fellow’s legs
spun upward; he appeared to turn a back summerset, and then,--down
he went, all sprawling, on his back, with his arms and legs extended
wildly, straight into the pool!
“No sound of joy or sorrow
Arose from either bank,
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank.”
Thus far the two prisoners had remained in confinement. They might
easily have escaped; their hands were free, and no one was paying any
attention to them, but they remained there. Solomon would not go till
Bart led the way; and Bart was too tremendously excited by the struggle
to think of moving. He stood there rooted to the spot, staring
with intense interest. At last the end came, and as Bart saw the
Gaspereaugian’s legs go tossing up, and saw him fall splashing into the
pool, he touched Solomon, and, followed by him, he darted into the thick
shrubbery. The basket of provisions stood there neglected; this Bart
seized as he passed, and gave it to Solomon. After this they made a
circuit to get to the camp.
Meanwhile the discomfited wrestler had scrambled to his feet in the pool
of water, and stood for a time up to his waist, sputtering, blowing,
and gasping for breath. The boys stood looking on; and Bruce watched him
quietly, not knowing whether the struggle would be renewed or not.
But the Gaspereaugian did not make any advances towards resuming the
conflict. He himself had been foiled so completely in his most desperate
efforts, and the tremendous strength of those arms which had raised
him in the air and flung him into the pool was so formidable to his
imagination, that he was not at all inclined for another trial. The one
trial had sufficed. So he slouched off, with his sulky face bent down,
and soon joined his crestfallen companions.
Scarcely had he joined them than a shout was heard near the camp. Bruce
and the other boys turned, and, to their delight and surprise, saw Bart
and Solomon, with the basket of provisions.
“Hurrah!” cried Arthur; “why, Bart, we were afraid you’d come to grief.”
“So we did,” said Bart; “we were captured--we’re escaped prisoners of
war.”
“Captured! Prisoners of war!” cried Bruce.
“Yes,” said Bart.
“How?”
“About an hour ago we came up and fell into an ambush.”
“But how did you manage to get away?”
Upon this Bart told them all about it, and his story was received with
unbounded delight, and gave rise to no end of fun. What was best was,
the fact, not merely that they had escaped, but that they had brought
off the basket also in safety.
Suddenly Bart looked at his watch.
“Brethren of the ‘B. O. W. C.,’” said he, “it’s only sixteen minutes
after four. Thus, after so many adventures,--after ambushes, fights, and
captivities,--we have succeeded in keeping our appointment, and are not
more than sixteen minutes behind time.”
Upon this Solomon carried the basket into the camp, and the others
followed, and prepared to take their lunch as coolly as if nothing had
happened.
This was too much for the Gaspereaugians. It was a bitter mortification
for them to witness the defeat of their companion; it was equally
aggravating to see their prisoners reach their friends, carrying with
them their basket; and all this reached its climax when they saw the
quiet preparations for a lunch.
They stood in that state of mind and body which is expressed by the
remarkable word--dumb-foundered.
But what could they do?
Hostilities did not seem to be very attractive now, for the defeat of
their champion had greatly changed the aspect of affairs. To stand
there stupidly looking on was also not quite the thing. They had come to
indulge in a general triumph over the school--and this was the end! They
hesitated for some time, and stood in doubt.
But their indecision was at last ended. Their champion walked off
silently and sulkily; and they, seeing the leader go, slowly filed away
after him. And so--
_Exeunt omnes Gaspereaugienses!_