_Great Excitement.--What is it?--Pat busy among the small Boys.--A
great Supper, and a sudden Interruption.--The Midnight Knell.--General
Uproar.--Flight of the Grand Panjandrum.--A solemn Time.--In the
Dark.--Bold Explorers.--The Cupola, and the Abyss beneath.--The
Discovery._
THAT afternoon Pat was very busy among the smaller boys. He asked them
many questions about the noise in the attic, and found there was great
terror among them. For the noises had been heard both on Saturday night
and Sunday night by those who were in that building; and they were so
terrified that they would not have staid there a third night if the
other boys had not come back. A superstitious awe had settled down deep
into their minds, and they conversed with one another on this subject in
subdued whispers.
Pat found them in this condition, and managed to make them still more
terrified before he left them. Some of them were anxious to tell one of
the teachers about it all; but Pat dissuaded them by declaring that it
would be of no use, and that they would only be laughed at for their
pains.
Many of the other boys also, on coming back, felt a return of their
former fear, and looked forward to the approach of night with some
uneasiness. Pat made himself quite busy with these boys, too; and
although he said nothing very directly, yet he made many mysterious
hints that implied a great deal. He alluded to his own fearful position,
with his bed in that very garret, separated by only a board partition
from the dark haunts of the mystery. He spoke of his past experience;
and it seemed as though, if he only chose, he could easily unfold a tale
whose lightest word would harrow up their souls. Only he didn’t. The
boys begged him to tell all. But Pat wouldn’t. He shook his head with
deep and solemn meaning. And the boys looked on him with a profounder
awe. And Pat, when he went up to his haunted chamber, was regarded as
some poor victim on his way to his doom.
Pat, however, was not regarded in this light by all. Some there were who
held aloof from this feeling of awe. Among these was Bart, who could
not help noticing Pat’s movements, and was very much impressed by them,
though in a way very different from that in which the other boys were
affected. He saw how Pat managed to stimulate the excited imaginations
of others without saying anything directly, and heard him lament most
lachrymosely his hard fate in having to occupy a room in so fearful a
place. He happened to be near the group to which Pat was talking, and
could not help saying,--
“Well, Pat, my room’s just underneath yours, and if anything happens,
you can take refuge with me. I’ll give you a sofa for the night.”
“Deed, thin, an you’ll find me comin down some night,” said Pat, “ony
maybe I mightn’t iver git down there. Maybe the same thing that would
dhrive me down might prevint me goin down.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you what to do: you yell like Old Harry, and I’ll
go up.”
“You’d niver get up.”
“Never get up? Why not?”
“It wouldn’t let you.”
“It? What It?”
“Why, It--the wan that walks.”
“The one that walks? That’s just what it doesn’t do. It’s very bad at
walking.”
“You’d soon see, if ye’d iver find him. Any how, he’d shtop yer comin
till my room.”
“Stop me? Nonsense! How can it stop me, when it’s in the cupola?”
As he said this, Bart looked in an expressive manner at Pat.
Pat looked away, and shook his head. Whether he suspected that Bart know
all or not, he did not give him back any look of intelligence, or show
any confusion. He simply looked away, and said,--
“Well, well,--aich wan must have his own opinion. Well know betther
perhaps some day.” Bart smiled, and turned away. Soon he joined Bruce
and Arthur.
“I’ve given Pat one or two hints already,” said he, “that I saw through
the business, and I’ve just given him another. It’s a shame for him to
go frightening the small boys that way. I was going to arrange it all
to-morrow, or next day, so that they would look on it as a joke. But
Pat is keeping up the gloomy, tragic character, and there’ll be more
disturbance. Only he’d better look out. I’ve given him fair warning.
There’s poor little Harry Thompson, with his face as pale as a sheet. It
isn’t fair. It’ll have to be stopped.”
“Shall we stop it to-night?”
“Well, no; we had better wait till we see if it goes on, and whether
Pat’s hand can be discerned in it. If we do find it so, I really don’t
see any reason why he should be spared.”
From this it will be seen that Bart had already made his friends
acquainted with the discovery which he had made in the garret, and that
they had decided upon some general plan of action. They did not wish
to put an end to the affair too prematurely or clumsily, but rather to
terminate it in as brilliant a manner as possible.
As this day was positively the last of the holidays, the “B. O. W. C”
determined to celebrate it by a modest supper in the Rawdons’ rooms.
Solomon was accordingly called upon, and, as always, he showed himself
equal to the occasion, Personally, he was all smiles and joyousness.
His little black beads of eyes twinkled incessantly, his face actually
shone, and his complexion was a rich, oily sepia. He made desperate
efforts to preserve an air of profound solemnity; but occasionally a
short, sharp snort of a laugh would burst forth, after which his face
would at once regain its mask of gravity.
“Dar!” said he, as he put the last dish on. “Dar! blubbed breddern, dis
heah’s all in hona ob dis great an shinin casium. You hab now finished
your high an mighty ventures. Dar you hab bess ob ’Cad’my fare; none
but de brave, you know, deserb dat fare. Off you go to lib on lasses
an pork, an come back to vive you healt by de neficient car ob ole
Solomon. Den off you clar agin, jes like mad, an git half starbed, so
hab to come back agin to de tractions heah. An now, blubbed breddern,
pitch in. Heah’s turkey, an chicken, an sass, an mince pies, an apple
tarts, an pickled ’ysters, an red-hot coffee, an cream, an fifty oder
tings too noomrous to mentium. Fur fudda ticulars, gemmen, see small
bills. Yours, truly.”
With these words Solomon welcomed them to the feast that he had
prepared. The boys seated themselves around the groaning board, and gave
themselves up to the joy of the occasion. They fought their battles o’er
again. They went over all the events of the holidays. Again they drifted
through the dense fog, or wandered through the trackless forest; again
they waded through deep waters, or dug deep in the solid ground.
As they thus chattered and laughed, Solomon stood surveying them with a
beaming smile illuminating all his dark but expressive features; and all
the time he kept whispering to himself words expressive of his feelings
on “dat ar casium.”
Suddenly all this was interrupted.
It was late. All was still. All the other boys seemed to have gone to
bed. Outside, the night was quite dark. And then and there, amid that
stillness and in that darkness, it rang out right over their heads.
It was again that peculiar sound which they had once before heard, a
long, shrill, abrupt, discordant shriek, repeated again and again, and
echoing dismally throughout the gloomy extent of the long, unfinished
garret, and dying away in the far distances with low and melancholy
intonations. The ceiling above them only intervened between this room
and the garret, so that they could hear it very plainly.
As the sound rang out, Solomon started. He was that moment lifting
a plate, and the plate fell from his nerveless hands crashing on the
floor. His face seemed to turn to a sickly greenish-brown; he staggered
back, and leaned against the wall.
At that moment there was a knock at the door.
This completed Solomon’s horror. His knees gave way, his teeth
chattered, his eyes rolled fearfully. He sank upon the floor, and
remained there in a sitting posture.
“Come in,” shouted Bruce. “Hallo, Solomon! What’s the matter? Get
up. Are you faint? Here, take a drink of water. Why, man, what’s the
matter?”
Encouraged by Bruce’s words, Solomon made a great effort, and got up,
edging away behind the boys as far from the-door as he could get.
No one had come in. And so Arthur went to the door, and opened it.
Nobody was there.
As he stood wondering, Jiggins’s door opened, and Jiggins made his
appearance, clad in the habiliments of the night.
“Hallo, Jiggins!” said Arthur. “Did you knock?”
“Me? Knock? Me? No,” said Jiggins. “I--I was just in bed, and asleep,
and heard that howl above; and then there came a knock. I thought it was
you, wanting to see me.”
“No; none of us knocked.”
“Somebody did, then.”
“And some one knocked at our door, too,” said Arthur.
“What does it all mean?” said Jiggins.
By this time the other boys were out in the hall, and were looking at
one another. Bart looked along the floor, to see if the knock could
have been produced by a stone thrown. Behind Tom might be seen Solomon,
afraid to be too far behind, and yet not daring to venture forward.
“It’s queer,’ said Arthur.
“I don’t like it,” said Jiggins, solemnly. “It somehow don’t seem
right. I feel really uncomfortable. There’s something about
that--is--not--right.”
“Well, boys,” said Bart, “shall we go up again?”
“I suppose we may as well.”
“O, it’s no use,” said Arthur. “There’s nothing more. Still, this knock
ought to be investigated.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“O, no,” groaned Solomon. “No--don’t--doo-on’t go; don’t go an leab dis
pore ’stracted nigga ’posed to sich clamties. Don’t leab a ’flicted ole
darky to de powers of darkness.”
“Nonsense! Solomon. Don’t be afraid. You wait here till we come back.”
“Couldn’t! Darsn’t!” cried Solomon. “Neb-ber, nebber lib troo dat ar
speriment. No, Mas’r Bart, _you_ won’t leab a ole fool; _you’ll_ stan by
a ole man.”
“All right,” said Bart. “I’ll see you down stairs, if you like. Come.”
At that instant there sounded out a deep toll from the great bell in
the cupola. It was one single toll, but so profound, so awful, and so
solemn, did that solitary knell peal forth through the still night
air, that even those who felt no fear could not avoid an involuntary
sensation of awe.
Solomon clutched at Bart’s arm, and looked as though he had no life left
in him.
“That settles it,” said Bart. “That’s a little too much, boys. We’ll
have to wind this thing up--won’t we? Bring along a light, Phil.”
“O, Mas’r Bart! get me home,” groaned Solomon. “I member you when you
wor a chile. I used to give you candy. Don let me be gobbled up.”
“Nonsense! Solomon. Come along; I’ll see you safe down, and then you can
run for it to your room. Wait a minute, boys.”
Down went Bart, with Solomon, shuddering and quaking, at his heels, and
finally reached the door.
“Now, then, Solomon,” he said, “run for it.”
Away went Solomon, in a frenzy of fear, his whole frame shuddering in
vague superstitious terror, his brain reeling with excitement, his
fancy crowded with images of horror. Away he went; he burst into the
boarding-house, he raced up the stairs, he rushed into his room as
before, banged all the furniture against the door, and lay crouched in a
corner, and quaking till morning.
Bart returned at once.
“Boys,” said Jiggins, “it’s a solemn time--a deeply solemn time!”
“Won’t you come up, Jiggins?”
“No, boys,” said Jiggins; “and I warn you not to go up. That’s a solemn
place--a deeply solemn place.”
“Well, come up, and help us to feel the solemnity,” said Bart.
Jiggins shook his head.
“I don’t like the looks of it,” said he. “It’s too solemn. There’s a
certain something about it that makes me feel a--kind of a--a degree of
a--solemnity--that--a--”
But Jiggins’s voice died away upon the ears of the boys, as they
ascended the stairs, before he could finish what he was trying to say.
The object of the boys in going up now was, first, to find the cause
of the knock, and secondly, to find the cause of the tolling bell. They
thought that perhaps some one might be concealed in the attic, and so
they looked about very carefully in all directions. Tom stood at the
head of the attic stairs, so as to bar the way to any possible fugitive.
The others then went all over the attic most carefully, beginning at the
end next Pat’s room, and so on over to the open space under the cupola.
Crossing this, they searched all over the farther end. They peeped into
every nook and corner, they left nothing unexamined. But at length they
were forced to give up this search, for nothing could be found. Coming
back, therefore, they stood in silence by the open space under the
cupola, and looked down into the gloomy, yawning chasm over which went
the narrow plank pathway, and tried to peer through the deep gloom of
this place.
After standing here for some time, they crossed to the other side, on
their way back, and were hero joined by Tom.
“Boys,” said Bart, “we can’t get at the bottom of that knock; that’s
evident; but we oughtn’t to go till we find out about the bell. What do
you say to going up?”
“Very well,” said Bruce; “only we can’t take the lamps.”
“Of course not; and even if we did, the wind would blow them out. But
it don’t make any difference about that. We can feel about, you know. If
any one’s in the cupola, we’ll have him, and find out who he is.”
“I’ll put the lamp on the plank here,” said Tom, “and it will throw some
light up.”
“No,” said Arthur; “it might get shaken off, and then good by to the old
Academy. In a quarter of an hour, that old tinder-box below would be in
flames. Put it over there on the floor. Never mind whether it throws up
any light or not. We can all go up in the dark just as well.”
Tom thereupon put his lamp on the solid floor of the garret; and after
this the whole party walked the plank, and reached the foot of the
ladders that ran up to the cupola. There were two of these, and in
climbing up, one had to work his way through a net-work of beams. In the
daytime this was troublesome enough to an unpractised hand, and in the
dark would have been impossible. But these boys knew every inch of the
way, and could go up almost as easily in the dark as in the light.
Bart went first, Bruce next, then Arthur, then Phil, and Tom came last.
The first ladder was slightly slanting in one direction, and terminated
at a narrow board, from which the second ladder went up slanting in an
opposite direction to the cupola. They went up quite nimbly and rapidly,
considering the total darkness, and soon reached the cupola.
Bart was up there first.
In the middle of the cupola, and hanging immediately over the opening
through which they came up, was the great bell, whose deep, solemn tones
were familiar enough to them from the summons which it hourly sent forth
during term time, but whose solitary knell, sounding as it lately did
in the stillness of the night, had struck such sudden awe into their
hearts. All around the bell was room enough to walk, and to look out of
the windows of the cupola.
Bart had reached the cupola first, and he at once walked round it to
find if any one was concealed here. The circuit was made by the time
Bruce had come up, who immediately went round, as Bart had done. Then
the others came up.
“Well,” said Phil, “what’s the luck?”
“There’s no one here,” said Bart.
“Have you felt everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“He couldn’t get up above there--could he?”
“O, no.”
“Perhaps he’s outside,” said Arthur.
At this suggestion they all flung open the shutters which surrounded the
cupola, and as it was too dark to see, they felt in all directions with
their hands. They soon found, however, that no one was there.
“Now,” said Phil, “the question is, how in the world-could that bell
have tolled?”
All were silent for a few minutes, trying to conjecture some possible
way.
It will be seen that on this occasion Bruce had not a vestige of his
former superstitious feeling. The affair with the donkey had taught
him a salutary lesson, and the discovery that Bart had made, when
communicated to him, had made him angry with himself for the fear which
he had felt before. He was perfectly convinced now that there was some
trick, which was the only cause of the knock and the toll of the bell,
and this he tried to discover.
Suddenly he stooped down and felt under the bell.
“Boys,” said he, after a pause.
“Well.”
“Do you think a fellow could ring the bell without coming up into the
cupola, by some very simple process? Do you think a string tied to the
tongue could do it?”
“What!” cried all, in great excitement; and all of them sprang forward
to feel for themselves.
But Bruce warded off their hands.
“Wait,” said he. “The string’s here. Stand back. I want to see where it
goes to.”
The boys fell back now in greater excitement than ever. The string was a
common piece of twine. Bruce followed it, and found that it went across
to the side of the cupola, facing their end of the building, and then it
was passed through a crevice close to the floor, and passed outside.
But where?
Bruce pulled the string. The other end was fastened; but by the
resistance he could tell that it ran for a long distance.
“There’s only one place that it goes to, of course,” said Bart, “and
that is Pat’s room. But why in the world he should get up this, passes
my comprehension. We’ll have to teach him a lesson, boys.”