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THE HERO OF GARSIDE SCHOOL
by
J. HARWOOD PANTING
Author of "Clive of Clair College," "The Two Runaways," etc.
With Original Illustrations
London
Frederick Warne & Co., Ltd.
and New York
(All rights reserved)
Printed In Great Britain
[Illustration: FALCON WAS DEAD.... TO MAKE GOOD HIS ESCAPE, NO TIME MUST
BE LOST.]
CONTENTS
I THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
II THE MESSAGE
III THE CRY OF THE PSALMIST
IV SHADOWS OF THE EVENING
V THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK
VI HARRY MONCRIEF ARRIVES AT GARSIDE
VII A BAD COMMENCEMENT FOR THE TERM
VIII FOR THE SAKE OF A CHUM
IX GOOD ADVICE
X TORN FROM THE BLACK BOOK
XI FOR THE HONOUR OF THE FORM
XII THE FORUM
XIII A CHALLENGE FROM ST. BEDE'S
XIV THE CHAMPION OF HIS FORM
XV WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SAND-PIT
XVI "HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN A LEPER"
XVII THE "GARGOYLE RECORD"
XVIII PAUL WRITES A LETTER
XIX THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY
XX WYNDHAM AGAIN TO THE RESCUE
XXI THE CHASM WIDENS
XXII HATCHING A PLOT, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
XXIII THE LAST BOND OF FRIENDSHIP
XXIV THE RAFT ON THE RIVER
XXV ON A VOYAGE OF ADVENTURE
XXVI WHAT HAPPENED ON THE RAFT
XXVII THE OLD FLAG
XXVIII HIBBERT ASKS STRANGE QUESTIONS
XXIX AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR ARRIVES AT GARSIDE
XXX HIBBERT FINISHES HIS STORY
XXXI A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
XXXII HOW THE OLD FLAG WAS TAKEN FROM GARSIDE
XXXIII FRIEND AND FOE
XXXIV THE MYSTIC ORDER OF BEETLES
XXXV A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY
XXXVI THE "FOX-HOLE"
XXXVII THE LETTERS AT THE TUCK-SHOP
XXXVIII "FORGIVE, AND YE SHALL BE FORGIVEN"
XXXIX THE MISSING FLAG
XL HOW THE FLAG FOUND ITS WAY BACK TO THE TURRET
XLI FRIENDS IN COUNCIL
XLII UNEXPECTED TIDINGS
XLIII THE STORM BREAKS
XLIV IN THE GARDEN
XLV HOW THE VOTE WAS CARRIED
XLVI WATERMAN DOES A STRANGE THING
XLVII IN THE FOX'S HOLE
XLVIII THE BURNING SHIP
XLIX THE PETITION--WHAT BEFELL IT
L FOUND OUT
ILLUSTRATIONS
FALCON WAS DEAD.... TO MAKE GOOD HIS ESCAPE, NO TIME MUST BE LOST.
"'I AM MR. MONCRIEF,' SAID THAT GENTLEMAN, STEPPING FORWARD."
"AS ILL-LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, HIBBERT RAN FULL TILT AGAINST MR. WEEVIL,
JUST AS HE REACHED THE OUTER DOOR."
"SLIGHTLY RAISING HIMSELF FROM HIS POSITION ON THE ROOF, CRICK LIFTED
THE FLAGSTAFF FROM ITS SOCKET, AND DREW IT QUICKLY BENEATH THE
TRAP-DOOR."
"THE BOY WAS KNEELING BESIDE HIM,--IT WAS MONCRIEF MINOR.... 'ARE YOU
ALL RIGHT?' CAME IN A WHISPER FROM THE BOY."
THE HERO OF GARSIDE SCHOOL
CHAPTER I
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
"God grant that it may never happen, Paul; God grant that England may
never be invaded, that her foes may never land upon our shores."
And the lips of Mrs. Percival moved in silent prayer. Paul regarded the
loved face of his mother for a minute or two thoughtfully, as though he
were longing to put to her many questions, but dared not. At length he
said, breaking the silence:
"Did father ever speak of it?"
It was one of the greatest griefs of Paul's life that he had never known
his father. He had been a captain in the Navy, but was unfortunately cut
off in the prime of his career by a brave attempt to save the life of a
man who had flung himself overboard. The man was saved, but Captain
Percival was drowned, leaving a widow and son to lament his loss. Paul
at that time was only a year old, so that it was not till the years went
on he understood the greatness of his loss. Often and often his thoughts
turned to the father who had been snatched from him by a sudden and
untimely death, especially when he saw the boys of his school who were
fortunate enough to possess both parents; but often as his thoughts went
to his father, he rarely spoke of him to his mother. He could see that
the pain and sorrow of his death were still with her--that the awful
moment when the news came of that sudden, swift catastrophe had written
itself upon her heart and memory in writing which would never be
effaced.
Paul did not find out all that he had become to his mother till some
time after his father's death--not, in fact, till his first term at
school had ended. He had never been away from home so long before, and
he never forgot how she pressed him to her, and with what tender
earnestness she said, "Ah, dear, you do not know how I have missed you."
That same night, when she had thought him fast asleep, she entered his
room, looked long and earnestly in his face by the light of a candle,
and then stole gently out. And that Sunday, when he went to the old
church with her, he felt her hand steal into his as the vicar read the
Litany; and the pressure of her hand waxed closer as the vicar's voice
sounded through the church: "From lightning and tempest; from plague,
pestilence, and famine; from battle and murder, and from sudden death."
Then rose the fervent response from the congregation, "Good Lord,
deliver us." And none prayed it more fervently than the widow as she
knelt by the side of her son.
It was not only that Mrs. Percival had lost her husband at sea, but she
had lost a brother, a promising young lieutenant in the Navy, while on
active service in China; and Paul's grandfather had lost his life many
years back while fighting under Nelson at Copenhagen. It is little to be
wondered at, therefore, that Mrs. Percival rarely spoke about the sea to
Paul. She feared its fascination; she was anxious to keep his thoughts
from it. He was all that was now left to her, and she had no wish that
he should go into the service in which the lives of three near and dear
relatives had been sacrificed.
"Yes, your father sometimes spoke of it," Mrs. Percival answered. "His
father--that is to say, your grandfather--lived in the time when there
was such a great scare about wicked Napoleon invading England; but that
is long ago, and it was all ended by Nelson's last great victory at
Trafalgar. Ah, Paul, these scares and wars are terrible. I sometimes
think that it must be monsters ruling the world rather than men. If the
prayers of mothers and wives and orphans could only be heard, I am sure
that war, and the danger of war, would soon be over. But why are you
worrying about an invasion?"
"Well, Great Britain has a good many enemies, you know, mother, and
people are talking about a possible invasion. Besides, I've got to write
something about it next term, and it won't do for the son of a captain
to make a mess of it altogether."
"Write something?" questioned Mrs. Percival, turning pale. Ah, the
terrible fascination of the sea! Was it going to claim her son as it had
claimed her husband? "How is that?"
"A prize has been offered for the best paper on 'The Invasion of Great
Britain.' I may as well have a cut in."
"By all means, Paul; but for my sake--for my sake"--placing her hand
upon his shoulder--"don't think too much about the sea."
She leant forward and kissed him; then went hurriedly from the room.
Paul knew that it was his duty to do as his mother told him, but he
found it very hard. He was a stalwart lad of fifteen, with the blood of
two generations of seamen in his veins, so that it seemed as though his
very blood were part of the brine of the ocean.
He stood by the window, looking from the old Manor House in which he
lived to the road. Presently he saw Job Brice, who did odd jobs about
the house and garden, walking across the grounds to the paddock. Job had
been a seaman in the Navy at the same time as his father, and for that
reason had been given employment, to add to his pension, at the Manor
House; but he rarely spoke about his seafaring life to our hero. Paul
suspected that this, in a large measure, was due to his mother, for
whenever Job did speak, he always dwelt on the most unattractive side of
a sailor's life.
So soon as Paul caught sight of Job, he seized his cap, and went after
him. He came up with him just as he had entered the paddock.
"I say, Brice, I've just been talking to mother about father. I don't
like to question her too much, for I can see it gives her pain."
"Quite right, Master Paul; it does give her pain," said Job, turning his
scarred, weather-beaten face to the boy; "and it's very good of you to
think of her. It ain't all boys who're so thoughtful of their mother."
"Oh, don't butter me, Brice, for I'm long chalks from deserving it. But
perhaps you wouldn't mind answering me a question I could never quite
make out. I've heard that father died in saving another man. And that is
all I do know, for mother never speaks of it, and I can't keep boring
her with questions. How did it happen?"
"Well, no one knows exactly. So far as could be made out, some
pirate--some furrin sneak--got into his cabin while we were in port, and
got at his private despatches. He was imprisoned in the hold by the
captain's orders. The next day we were to make for Gibraltar, where the
spy was to be tried by court-martial. The next night was a dirty one--no
rain to speak of, but dark and blustery. While it was at its height, the
prisoner in the hold managed to escape, and jumped overboard. Your
father was one of the first to see him, and leapt after him. He reached
the poor wretch and held him till the boat put out; then a fiercer gust
of wind came, and they were separated. The spy was swept in the
direction of the boat. Your father was swept away from it. The spy was
caught up and dragged into it. Your father was never seen again. He'd
saved the spy's life at the expense of his own. There wasn't a man on
board the ship but esteemed--yes, loved your father. He was one of the
best skippers that ever walked a deck. What we felt afterwards, Master
Paul, can't be described. We felt just sick that he'd gone, and that
that sneaking, shivering furrin rascal had been saved. Some of the boys
would ha' lynched him, I think, only that he looked purty sick at that
time hisself, and they knew a court-martial was awaitin' him at
Gibraltar. Well, he were taken to Gib."
"And what happened?" asked the lad, as the old salt paused.
"What happened? Why, he got clean off!" cried the old salt indignantly.
"There was little or no evidence agen him. The one who knew all about
him, and what he'd been up to, was your father, and--and----"
Job Brice came to a dead stop as the back of his big, rough hand went
across his eyes.
"My father had gone to the bottom! Yes, yes, I understand it all!" said
Paul in a choking voice. "So they were obliged to release the man, and
he got off scot-free?"
"You've just guessed it, Master Paul! It makes me blood boil when I
think of it!"
Then he ended up, as he always did: "Ah, it's a dog's life, is the sea!
Don't you ever think of the sea, Master Paul!"
Paul knew from what quarter the final moral, with which Job invariably
favoured him, came. Usually he smiled; but there was no smile on his
face now. He could understand his mother's feelings as he had never
understood them before. He could understand why she so rarely spoke of
that time--why she never referred to his father's death.
"You can't remember the man's name, I suppose?"
"No, I can't remember that," answered Job, rubbing his head
thoughtfully, "'cept that it was a foreign one--Zuker, I think it was,
or some such name as that. Don't think no more about it. Thinking about
it don't do no good."
"Poor, poor father!" said Paul, as he turned once more towards the
house. "He must have been a brave man. Oh, that I could have seen him,
and known him, so that I might be able to remember him as he was in
life, instead of carrying about a dead image in my heart!"
Still, it was a comfort to know that his father had been loved by those
under him--that he had died a brave death. Better, far better, to die a
brave death than to live on in shame and infamy, as the man had probably
lived whom his father had saved.
And yet this mean, despicable spy might have turned over a new leaf from
the day his father had sacrificed his life to save him. He might have
begun a new and nobler life. If so, the sacrifice had not been in vain.