bettor of it, he did as directed, and said, “I was only going to fool you
fellers; I never meant to do more’n scare him,” looking at Stephen, “and
then I was going to let his dog go. But,” sorrowfully, “you came along
and spoilt it all.”
“Suppose Carlo had gone at your heels when you let him out of the box?”
Charles asked.
Bob turned pale and muttered something in confusion.
“Well, what do you say about our turning the tables on you?” George asked.
“Nothin’,” the prisoner answered stoically, still playing the part of
an orthodox villain. No; he, a boy of nearly seventeen years, would not
again beg for mercy at the hands of his inferiors--in age; and he awaited
his punishment with well-feigned indifference.
If the boys had been better versed in human nature, they would have known
that this passive submission on his part boded evil to their future
welfare.
Although Bob was acting like an orthodox villain, the six, in taking upon
themselves to judge and punish him, were not acting like orthodox heroes.
By no means. They were not the irreproachable youngsters who figure in
octodecimo volumes. They all had an idea of the fitness of things; and
all--even George and Will--thought it just and right that Bob should
know, by actual experience, what Carlo’s feelings had been during his
imprisonment.
_Chapter XXVIII._
THE TABLES TURNED WITH A VENGEANCE.
The six judges arose, and stood before the culprit.
The cage was critically examined, and Steve seemed to find it very
amusing to point out its defects. Bob was pestered with questions about
it, but he maintained a sullen silence, submitting doggedly to the
inevitable.
“We must put you into narrow quarters for a little while, Bob,” Stephen
said good-humoredly, “and try to disentangle a few leagues of this good
cord.”
Two of the heroes supported Bob while Steve freed him from the rope. The
discomfited plotter was too stiff to make much resistance, yet when he
found himself free he struggled nervously, but feebly, to break away from
his tormentors. Then Jim, who was trying to make himself useful, threw
open the door of the cage, and Charles and Stephen dumped him gently in.
Now, Bob had not built the cage for such a purpose; consequently, he did
not sit comfortable in it--worse still, it threatened to burst asunder.
But it did not.
His feet and legs were got inside somehow, but his head was mercifully
left out, exposed to the sun and air. His hat had fallen off when he
sprang upon the raft, and been taken over the falls; but George, more
humane than the others, took off his own hat, and placed it firmly, but
gently, on the exposed head.
Unknown to the soi-disant judges, the boy was wedged so fast in his cage
that he was powerless to help himself. Thus he was virtually a prisoner
in the very prison that he had prepared for another! This was turning the
tables with a vengeance! This was poetical justice!
Poor little villain! He must have been in an exceedingly cramped and
uneasy position; but his pride and his orthodoxy came to his relief, and
he would not complain to the pitiless arbitrators of his fate.
“Look here, boys,” George cried, “if you are bound to punish him, you
ought to kick out the end of that box, so that he could sit up straight,
like a man, and be comfortable.”
“Yes, it _is_ too bad,” Steve said pityingly. “But it will soon be over;
and if we should go to tampering with the box, we might kick Bob in the
stomach. Besides, Bob looks more forlorn than he is; and we have no
business to destroy his boxes and things.--Now, where’s the rope, and
then we will hurry through with it and let Bob out.”
About three hundred feet of the cord were disentangled, and once more the
raft was set afloat with a prisoner on it.
In order to humble Bob still further, Steve intended to let Carlo carry
the end of the rope in his mouth for a little way. But now he had not the
heart to do it. As the raft floated along lazily, Steve essayed to give
a shout of triumph, but it died away in his throat.
The dog, however, began to gambol, sneeze, and bark, in an extraordinary
manner. During the trial he had been the only really neutral one, and now
he seemed to enjoy himself more than any of the self-styled judges. Bob
looked on in some uneasiness, but he need not have been alarmed, for the
dog made no motion to swim out and attack him.
The boys did not exactly understand it, yet somehow they seemed to take
no pleasure in floating Herriman down the stream; and instead of an
exultant procession along the bank, they marched solemnly onward, hardly
speaking, and each one becoming more and more ashamed of himself. George
had a theory of his own about this, but he did not make it known.
Seeing that matters had gone so far, Steve and Charles did not wish to
stop till Bob had had his ride; but they felt ill at ease, and their
conscience almost persuaded them that they were in the wrong.
So with the entire five (Jim being, as the reader has doubtless divined,
a mere supernumerary in this history, although he figures conspicuously
once or twice.) From the moment they placed the boy in his cage they
began to relent.
To any person coming upon them, this risible spectacle would have been
presented: six boys marching gravely down the stream; some three hundred
feet in advance a raft drifting lazily along; on said raft a box, from
which protruded an enormous head,--large enough for a genius,--neatly
covered with a now battered but once respectable--nay, fashionable--straw
hat.
Thus the raft drifted till within a quarter of a mile of the falls. Then
Stephen said, “Ever since I went over the falls I’ve felt too nervous to
prowl around very near them; so let us pull her up stream now, and let
Bob go when we get into port.”
All agreed to this, and the rope, which had hitherto been slack, was
pulled taut. The raft stopped its downward course, and was drawn towards
them--perhaps, half a foot.
Then something that might have been expected from the beginning happened.
The rope broke!
Unknown to them, the jagged edge of the raft had worn the rope all but
in two while Bob was hauling the raft towards him. In this place it now
parted.
There was consternation among the self-constituted punishers. In truth,
it is impossible to describe their terror, anguish, and remorse. All
through their own foolishness a fellow-creature was in imminent danger.
To be swept over the falls in his helpless condition meant Death. And
whatever was done must be done quickly.
The boys felt as guilty as criminals _ought_ to feel.
“Bob,” Charles screamed, “climb out, and jump into the river, and swim!”
“Oh, he can’t! he can’t!” Will cried, seeing that Bob was struggling
desperately and vainly to get out of the box.
“George,” Steve cried wildly, “you spoke about swimming to the raft while
Carlo was on it--swim now! Quick!”
“Of course,” the Sage replied, still a philosopher, but a perturbed one.
“Yes, of course, I’ll go.”
To add to the confusion, stunning screams now came from Bob. He forgot
that he was a villain; all his orthodoxy and stoicism forsook him; and he
again brought his stentorian lungs into play. Far from having impaired
his lungs on the night of George’s “experiment,” he seemed only to have
strengthened them; and now he howled and bellowed like a wounded giant.
Cannot this be explained logically? The age of the romancer’s younger
villains ranges between twenty-seven and thirty-nine; while the age of
older villains varies greatly among different authors, and, much to the
reader’s sorrow, is not always given. From this it would seem that Bob
was too young to set up for a knave.
In view of this, the reader, having more discernment than the writer,
suggests the following: The only reason why Bob had taken it so coolly
was because he knew the boys too well to fear any harm from them.
Besides, he had heard all that was said during the “trial,” and he saw
that the boys’ anger towards him had abated. But when he found that the
raft was no longer under their control, he naturally became alarmed.
Yes, Bob again began to discharge atrocious and high-sounding
interjections.
All the boys saw that George was more composed than they; and by mutual
consent, he was left to plan a rescue. His coat had been off ever since
he prepared to swim to Carlos relief; and now he stripped off the rest of
his clothes, plunged into the river, and swam boldly for the imperilled
boy.
He had, however, more self-confidence than self-possession; or he would
have run down the bank till opposite to the raft, and so have gained
time. He now swam as fast as possible; but the raft was some distance in
advance, and steadily drawing nearer the falls.
The boys watched George anxiously, but were too demoralized to aid him in
any way.
“Hello, you vagabonds!” was thundered behind them. “What does all this
noise mean?”
The heroes were startled; and on turning, were appalled to see a burly
rustic coming towards them at a round pace.
“Oh, dear,” groaned Will; “why does this fellow want to come here just at
this time?”
“Oh, dear,” echoed Charles, Stephen, Marmaduke, and Jim.
“What does all this mean, you young villains?” roared the new-comer.
“A boy is floating over,” Marmaduke gasped.
“Well, do you mean to let him float? Why don’t you
get up and save him? Oh, you awful boys! This is
murder--parricide--manslaughter--abduction--gravitation--parsimony!
What do you suppose the law’s going to say about this? It--it is
un-con-sti-tu-tion-al!”
The five trembled--Jim exceedingly. In fact, he seemed on the point of
betaking himself to flight.
“I say, I’ll persecute you all for litigation!” the new-comer next
observed.
He was an ignorant, brutal man, an inhabitant of the village. In his
boyhood he had been snubbed by old and young; and now, in his manhood, he
took delight in bullying all the boys he met.
“George Andrews, there, is trying to save him,” Will said, pointing at
the swimmer.
“Humph! much _he’ll_ do!” growled the rustic. “Well, I’m going to set
here (at this Marmaduke shuddered) till that boy is lost or saved. Its my
duty to the Government, and I’ll do it if it takes all day.”
His duty to the Government, however, did not prompt him to take an active
part in rescuing Bob, and he stretched himself along the bank and looked
on with dogged composure.
George did not know of this man’s arrival. He swam bravely, but gained
on the raft very slowly. His heart sank when he saw this, but he kept on
hopefully, and just at the critical moment the raft grounded on a snag,
and was held fast. Bob was saved! Not through human agency, however.
Bob ceased from howling, and George called out cheerily: “You are all
right, Bob; and I’m--”
At that instant a little wave washed down his throat and effectually cut
him short.
He had never swum so close to the falls, but he proceeded warily, and
managed it so that the shock of striking the raft eased it off the snag.
Then he scrambled on board, took up an oar, and for a full minute feared
that the current would carry them both over. But the raft was brought
under control, and slowly, very slowly, rescuer and rescued left their
dangerous position.
“Bob, when we get a little farther up, I’ll try and get you out of that,
and then we can go faster, if you will help.”
The joyful cries of the boys now attracted his attention, and, to his
horror, he perceived that some person was with them.
“Oh, Bob,” he groaned, “who is that man on the bank?”
Bob peered in the direction indicated, and said, hesitatingly, “I--I
guess it’s somebody else.”
“Now how mean!” George growled. “I can’t land till that fellow goes away;
and here I am in a great hurry to get my clothes on, for fear a crowd
should gather round us! Bob, did you ever moralize how it is crowds
gather? Let anything happen, and a crowd is sure to come along to see how
it will end.”
“No, I never morry-lice,” Bob replied, good-humoredly.
“Well,” said the Sage, fetching a great sigh, “I don’t know but that you
are just as well off.”
One by one the five were now coming along the bank, each one looking
pleased, yet crest-fallen.
“C-can we help you in any way, George?” Marmaduke asked.
George looked his indignation. However, he soon recovered his
equilibrium, and said, frigidly, “If one or two of you would bring my
clothes down here, and if the rest of you would stay up there with that
man, to keep him from coming here, I should be very much obliged to you
all.”
This was done, and George brought the raft to the bank and dressed,
screened by three of his doughty school-fellows.
“I’ll see you all again,” shouted the law-abiding rustic. And he walked
away, muttering learnedly about “burglarious incendiarism.”
George was soon dressed, and then he set about liberating Bob, who was
still cooped up in his cage.
“I’m afraid this will have to be broken open,” George said.
“Break it, then!” said Bob, glaring fiendishly at his sometime darling
contrivance.
The Sage, with the help of the other boys, then forced the top, or roof,
off the cage; and Bob was again at large. Poor boy! he did not linger,
nor make any threats, but after mumbling in George’s ear, “you’re the
best of them all,” set forward at a business-like pace.
Then, at last, the boys got over their fright.
George was quite satisfied with himself, and he looked about him with a
peaceful expression on his face that the others tried in vain to assume.
But now and then he would glance furtively up and down the river, to the
right and to the left.
“What are you looking for, George?” Steve finally asked, breaking the
silence.
“I--I--well, its rather strange that a crowd doesn’t come. Now in all
that you read, in newspapers or stories, a crowd always gathers.”
“Not generally in murders--in the stories,” Marmaduke corrected.
“Well, this is a pretty nice business!” Will said, ruefully. “I--I’m
ashamed of myself!”
“So am I,” said Charles and Stephen.
“George, I couldn’t possibly have swum out and saved that boy,” Charles
admitted, frankly. “My heart was beating like a----”
“Yes you could,” George interrupted, not wishing to receive more praise
than he deserved.
“How is it that it turned out so badly?” Steve asked. “Bob used us very
badly; and _we got the worst of it when we punished him_!”
“We ought to have been merciful, and let him go as soon as Will gave him
up to us,” George commented. “That’s a good way to cure some people of
meanness,” he added, in a “moralizing” mood.
“Well, now!” Steve ejaculated. “Jim has made off too! I guess he
skedaddled while Mr. Reiter was around.”
“Yes; and Bob has left the spoils in our hands!” Will observed. “What
shall we do with them?”
“They are not ours, but Bob won’t hanker for them,” Charley replied,
jocosely. “Suppose we let the prison float over the falls, with the long
rope dragging behind. Perhaps we should not be so melancholy doing that
as we were when we made a floating battery of Bob.”
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Bravo! Well done! That’s just what we want! Now, we
can sail up to our harbor on our raft, and tow this oriental bird-cage
behind, and let it drift away whenever we choose.”
This felicitous expression was made by Stephen, of course.
This programme was carried out, and then the boys went home, feeling
that they had had a little satisfaction from Herriman, after all.
Although a crowd refused to gather on the banks of the stream, yet the
news of this exploit travelled throughout the village,--which established
moralizing George’s theory,--and as each hero passed through his doors,
a storm of righteous indignation burst over his devoted head; for very
properly, honest parents were scandalized to find that their children
could commit such atrocities.
Whether Bob still meditated vengeance is not known, as shortly after this
occurrence, Mr. Herriman borrowed some of Mr. Horner’s romances, which so
unhinged his mind that he turned gold-hunter,--or silver-hunter, he was
not morally certain which,--and removed, with his family, to a far-off
Territory, and the six heard of Bob no more.
Poor Bob! The horror of being swept over the falls made a deep, but not
lasting, impression on his mind.
As for the six boys, they profited little by that lesson.
It would be wise to close this chapter here; but doubtless the reader is
aware that the writer of this tale is not wise.
That night Marmaduke waded through the verb and adverb in five different
grammars:--one, a dog’s-eared, battered, and soiled volume, which his
father was supposed to have studied in his youth; another, a venerable
ruin, which, tradition said, had been his grandfather’s; still another,
his mother’s, whose bescribbled fly-leaves held the key to a long-buried
and almost forgotten romance; his little brother’s “Elementary;” and his
own “Logical and Comprehensive.”
What wonder is it that the poor boy went to bed with an aching head,
feeling, like Stephen, that it is “all a muddle,” and that he did not
understand it at all?
The object is not to ridicule the noble science of grammar, but to point
the finger of scorn at those grammarians who suppose that _children_ can
understand that science; and also to check those juveniles who flatter
themselves that they are perfect in it.
_Chapter XXIX._
A HORRIBLE PLOT.--THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
The summer holidays were again at hand. Before school closed, however,
the head master, Mr. Meadows, intended to give a prize to the “student”
who should write the best composition. Each one was at liberty to choose
his or her own subject; and the whole six--except, perhaps, Steve and
Jim--were resolved to do their best to win.
Of course this prize was to be given with due ceremony and parade. Still,
it was not thought that any thing specially noteworthy would take place,
and the affair would not be brought up except to show the mournful
blunder made by Will.
A few days before this, the four most distinguished heroes--Will,
Charles, Stephen, and George--assembled at their favorite resort, a mossy
bank bordering the river. Here they hatched a horrible plot--a plot
far exceeding in enormity and inhumanity the pitiful one contrived and
executed by Bob on this same river a week or so before.
In order to show that these boys had no notion to what lengths their
unchecked fancy might lead them, their whole conversation on this
memorable occasion is given.
“Boys,” Charles began, “I wish we could plan some amusement for the
holidays--something that would make it lively.”
“I think we have had enough of playing tricks,” Will said with disgust.
“We are older and wiser now than we used to be,” Charles replied, “and we
should have more sense than to get ourselves into trouble any more.”
“What about Bob’s punishment?” asked George. “Didn’t we get into trouble
enough then, and is that so very long ago?”
“Exceptions prove the rule!” Charles triumphantly retorted.
“Well, what is it that you mean to do?” Steve inquired lazily.
“Oh, I don’t know; nothing in particular;” Charles answered. “But let us
lay our heads together, and plan something startling.”
“Very good; but who is the one to be startled?” the Sage asked.
“According to all accounts, we boys have startled the inhabitants of this
village quite enough. Only the other day I heard a good old lady say, in
speaking of us, ‘Those awful boys! They carry consternation with them!’”
“Of course;” put in Steve. “And now that we’ve got our reputation up, we
must keep it up. It would be very wrong for us to let our talents dwindle
and rust away; so, Charley, if any new idea has come to you, let us know
it.”
“You all know the old house away up this river?” Charles asked.
“Well, I guess we are acquainted with it,” Will replied. “But what about
it? What could we do there?”
“It seems to me that it would be a good thing to go there and inspect it.
I never went through it, but I should like to do that now. And when we
get there, we should feel so romantic that we might hit on something--we
might even lay a plot!”
“What would the owner say to us for inspecting his house?” George asked.
“Don’t you know that it has no owner?” Charley asked, in some surprise.
“I’ve heard my father say that there has been a sign with ‘For Sale’
on it swinging there for twenty years. It’s such a crazy wreck that no
person will rent it; and I guess by this time it is a heap of ruins, and
not worth tearing down and carting away. There is only half an acre of
ground belonging to it, and likely that is full of great weeds. The man
who owns the place has more property, and he lets this go to ruin without
remorse; but every year he comes along and picks the ten or twelve apples
and pears off the old trees in the yard. He doesn’t care any more for it,
and the house has been empty so long that it’s called ‘Nobody’s House.’
No one cares to live in such a place, so lonesome and gloomy, and with
those ghostly fruit-trees and the neglected fence, all looking like
spectres. In fact, there is a story that the place is haunted!”
“You seem to know all about it, Charley,” said Steve. “I’ve seen it a
long way off, and I’ve heard that it is haunted, but that is all.”
“Yes, I asked pa to tell me about it, for I want to go and explore the
place some day,” Charles replied. “And it seems to me that it would be
fun for us _all_ to go some day. What a hubbub there would be if we all
got there together! And I’m certain the ‘owner’ wouldn’t care, if we tear
the old ruin all to pieces.”
“That’s a good idea!” said Steve, with sparkling eyes.
“Don’t you see, we might even take up our quarters there, it’s so far out
of the way,” Charles continued. “No one would come to molest us; for more
people than you suppose, believe the house is haunted, and never go near
it.”
“I see what you’re thinking of,” said Steve. “You mean to bring that old
ghost back to life!”
“Well, that might be done for a little by-play, but that isn’t what I
meant,” Charley returned. “I know that boys in stories try to raise a
ghost or two sometimes, when everything else fails them, but it wouldn’t
be a profitable business for us. We don’t want to copy after such
vagabond heroes; let us strike out in another line.”
“Well, if you have laid any plot, tell us what it is,” Stephen said
impatiently.
“Boys, I want to hatch a plot, with that shell of a house for our
head-quarters; but I want your help, for I don’t know how to go to work.
As I said before, I haven’t thought of any thing yet.”
“Don’t tell us what you ‘said before,’ Charley;” said Will. “It sounds
too much like a lecturer reminding the people of what he has said, just
as if he thought they didn’t pay attention enough to him to remember a
word of his speech.”
“Well, boys, I have an idea at last,” Charles said slowly, after a long
pause. “Let us persuade some one to go there, thinking a great villain
has a prisoner there.”
“Pshaw! Who would believe that!” said George, contemptuously.
“Wait till we get everything arranged,” Charles rejoined grimly. “This
is a good idea, George, and I can prove it to you. And now that I have
thought of it, I am going to work it out. We might even compose a letter,
begging for help, and seeming to come from some lonely prisoner in that
house, guarded by jailers and villains, and afraid of being put to death.”
“I don’t know who would be foolish enough to be caught by such a letter,”
George replied laughingly.
“Well, let us try it, anyway; and if we succeed it will be capital
sport,” said Stephen, interested already in the scheme. “But who will be
the victim, the fellow to be imposed on?” he asked suddenly. “Surely none
of us, after what we have said, will be foolish enough to be trapped.”
“Hardly,” said Charles, with a smile. “But Marmaduke isn’t with us; let
us make him the dupe.”
“Why single out Marmaduke?” asked Will.
“Well, the victim must be one of ourselves, and Marmaduke knows nothing
about our plot, of course. And besides, he is so full of mysteries and
romance that if he should get such a letter, he would believe every word
in it, and be mad to plan a rescue. His notions about such things are so
queer that it will do him good to be wakened up.”
“If Marmaduke is the one to be awakened,” George said, “I think your plan
may succeed very well; because, poor fellow, he is always expecting to
light on some prodigious mystery. I must give in, Charley, that it would
be fun to drop such a letter some place where Marmaduke would be sure
to find it, and then we could hide ourselves and see the result. How he
would rave at the thought of rescuing a captive!”