A year passed, and found us at the end of it the same wretched,
spiritless boys as ever. Stonebridge House had become no more
tolerable, the Henniker had grown no less terrible, and our fellow
"backward and troublesome boys" were just as unpleasant as they had
been. No new boys had come to give us a variety, and no old boys had
left. Except for the one fact that we were all of us a year older,
everything was precisely the same as it had been at the time of the
adventure related in my last chapter. But that one year makes a good
deal of difference. When Smith and I slid down the water-pipe a year
ago we were comparatively new friends, now we had grown to love one
another like brothers. When the Henniker, on the same occasion, put an
end to our scheme of escape, we had endured her persecutions but three
months, now we had endured them for fifteen. A great deal of secret
working may go on in a fellow's mind during a year, and in that way the
interval _had_ wrought a change, for we were a good deal more to one
another, Smith and I, and a good deal more desperate at our hard lot,
both of us, than we had been a year ago.
It had been a miserable time. My holidays alone with my uncle had been
almost as cheerless as my schooldays at Stonebridge House with Miss
Henniker. If it hadn't been for Smith I do believe I should have lost
every vestige of spirit. But happily he gave me no chance of falling
into that condition. He seemed always on the verge of some explosion.
Now it was against Hawkesbury, now against the Henniker, now against Mr
Ladislaw, and now against the whole world generally, myself included. I
had a busy time of it holding him in.
He still showed aversion to Hawkesbury, although I differed from him on
this point, and insisted that Hawkesbury was not such a bad fellow.
Luckily, however, no outbreak happened. How could it, when Hawkesbury
was always so amiable and forgiving and friendly? It was a wonder to me
how Jack _would_ persist in disliking this fellow. Sometimes I used to
be quite ashamed to see the scornful way in which he repulsed his
favours and offers of friendship. On the whole I rather liked
Hawkesbury.
The summer term was again drawing to a close, and for fear, I suppose,
lest the fact should convey any idea of pleasure to our minds, the
Henniker was down on us more than ever. The cane was in constant
requisition, and Mr Ladislaw was always being summoned up to administer
chastisement.
Even Hawkesbury, who generally managed to escape reproach, came in for
her persecution now and then.
One day, I remember, we were all in class, and she for some reason
quitted the room, leaving Mr Hashford in charge.
Now, no one minded Mr Hashford very much. He was a good-natured
fellow, who did his best to please both us and his mistress; but he was
"Henpecked," we could see, like all the rest of us, and we looked upon
him more as a big schoolfellow than as a master, and minded him
accordingly. We therefore accepted the Henniker's departure as a signal
for leaving off work and seizing the opportunity to loosen our tongues
and look about us. Hawkesbury happened to be sitting next to me. He
put down his pen, and, leaning back against the desk behind him, yawned
and said, "I say, Batchelor, I hope you and Smith haven't been
quarrelling?"
"Quarrelling!" exclaimed I, astounded at the bare notion. "Why,
whatever puts that into your head?"
"Oh," said he, with his usual smile, "only fancy. But I'm glad it isn't
the case."
"Of course it isn't," said I, warmly.
"I haven't seen you talking to him so often lately; that's why," said
Hawkesbury; "and it always seems a pity when good friends fall out."
I smiled and said, "How can I talk to him, except on the sly, in this
place? Never fear, Jack Smith and I know one another too well to fall
out."
"Ah, he is a mysterious fellow, and he lets so few people into his
secrets."
"Yes," said I, colouring a little. "He doesn't even let me into them."
Hawkesbury looked surprised. "Of course you know where he came from
first of all, and all that?"
"No, I don't," I said.
"What, not know about-- But I'd better not talk about it. It's not
honourable to talk about another boy's affairs."
"Hawkesbury," said Mr Hashford at this moment, "don't talk."
This was quite a remarkable utterance for the meek and mild Mr Hashford
to make in the Henniker's absence, and we all started and looked up in a
concerned way, as if he must be unwell.
But no, he seemed all right, and having said what he had to say, went on
with his work.
Hawkesbury took no notice of the interruption, and went on. "And, on
the whole, I think it would be kinder not to say anything about it, as
he has kept it a secret himself. You see--"
"Hawkesbury," again said Mr Hashford, "you must not talk."
Hawkesbury smiled in a pitiful sort of way at Mr Hashford, and again
turned towards me to resume the conversation. "You see--" began he.
"Hawkesbury," again said Mr Hashford, "this is the third time I have
told you not to talk."
"Who was talking?" cried the Henniker, entering at that moment.
"Hawkesbury, I'm sorry to say, Miss Henniker."
"Hawkesbury--a bad mark for--"
"Oh!" said I, starting up, "I was talking--"
"A bad mark to you, Batchelor, for interrupting me, and another for
talking. Hawkesbury, a bad mark for talking in class."
We were all astonished. We had hitherto looked upon Hawkesbury as a
privileged person who might do as he liked, and upon Mr Hashford as a
person who had not a soul of his own. Here was the phenomenon not only
of our schoolfellow getting publicly censured, but of Mr Hashford
backing up Miss Henniker, and Miss Henniker backing up Mr Hashford.
Flanagan afterwards confided to me his theory of this unwonted event.
"I expect," said he, "Hashford's just got his screw raised, and wants to
show off a bit before the Hen, and she wants to encourage him to be
rather more down on us, you know. She's got the toothache, too, I know,
and that accounts for her not being particular who she drops on, though
I am surprised she pitched on Hawkesbury. How pleased your chum Smith
will be!"
But my friend Smith, when I had a chance of speaking to him, seemed
indifferent about the whole affair, being taken up with troubles of his
own. A letter had come for him that day, he told me, in tones of fierce
anger. It had been opened and read as usual, before being handed to
him. He did not complain of that; that was an indignity we had to
submit to every time we received a letter. But what he did complain of,
and what had roused his temper, was that the last half-sheet of the
letter had been deliberately torn off and not given to him.
Directly after class he had marched boldly to the Henniker's parlour and
knocked at the door.
"Come in!" snapped she.
Smith did come in, and proceeded to business at once.
"You haven't given me all my letter, ma'am," he said.
Miss Henniker looked at him with some of the same astonishment with
which she had regarded me when I once told her she was to see my socks
were regularly darned.
Then she pulled herself up, in her usual chilly manner, and replied, "I
am aware of that, Smith."
"I want it, please, ma'am," said Smith.
Again the Henniker glared at this audacious youth, and again she
replied, "You will not have it, Smith!"
"Why not?"
"Leave the room instantly, sir, for daring to speak like that to me, and
write out one hundred lines of Caesar before you get your dinner!" cried
the Henniker, indignantly. "You've no right to keep--"
"Smith, follow me!" interrupted Miss Henniker, in her most irresistible
voice, as she led the way to Mr Ladislaw's study.
Smith did follow her, and was flogged, of course.
I was as indignant as he was at this tale of injustice; it reminded me
of my box of sweets last year, which I had never seen back.
Smith's rage was beyond all bounds. "I won't stand it!" said he;
"that's all about it, Fred!"
"What can we do?" asked I.
That was the question. And there was no answering it. So we slunk back
to our places, nursing our wrath in our bosoms, and vowing all sorts of
vengeance on the Henniker.
Nor were we the only boys in this condition of mind. Whether it was the
Henniker was thoroughly upset by her toothache, or by Hawkesbury's bad
conduct and Smith's impertinence, I cannot say, but for the next day or
two she even excelled herself in the way she went on.
There was nothing we could do, or think, or devise, that she did not
pounce upon and punish us for. Some were detained, some were set to
impositions, some were flogged, some were reduced to bread and water,
some had most if not all of their worldly goods confiscated. Even
Hawkesbury shared the general fate, and for a whole week all Stonebridge
House groaned as it had never groaned before.
Then we could stand it no longer. We all felt that; and we all found
out that everybody else felt it. But as usual the question was, what to
do?
It was almost impossible to speak to one another, so closely were we
watched, and even when we did, we discovered that we were all at sixes
and sevens, and agreed only on one thing, which was that we _could not_
stand it.
At length one day, to our infinite jubilation, as we were dismally
walking from the schoolroom to the parlour, we saw the front door open.
A fly was standing at it, and as we passed, the Henniker in her Sunday
get-up was stepping into it!
What had we done to deserve such a mercy? She was going to pay a state
call somewhere, and for one blessed hour at any rate we should be at
peace!
A council of war was immediately held. For once in a way Stonebridge
House was unanimous. We sunk all minor differences for a time in the
grand question, what should we do?
A great many wild suggestions were immediately made.
Rathbone undertook, with the aid of any two other fellows, to inflict
personal chastisement on the public enemy.
This was rejected peremptorily. It would be no use, we should catch it
all the worse afterwards; besides, bad as she was, the Henniker was a
woman, and it would be cowardly to thrash her.
"Tie up her hands and feet and gag her," suggested Philpot.
Wouldn't do again. She'd get Ladislaw to help her out.
"Tie up Ladislaw and Hashford too."
We weren't numerous or strong enough to do it.
"Let's all bolt," suggested Flanagan.
They'd send the police after us. Or if they didn't, how were we to get
on, without money or shelter or anywhere to go?
"Suppose," said I, "we shut them out of the schoolroom and barricade the
door, and don't let them in till they accept our terms."
"That's more like it," said some one; "but then what about food? We
can't store enough, even if we emptied the larder, to stand a long
siege."
"Well, then," said Smith, "suppose we screw them up, and don't let them
out till they give in."
"That's it," said every one, "the very thing."
"What do you say, Hawkesbury?" inquired I.
"Well," said he, smiling pleasantly, "it's not a nice thing to turn
against one's master and mistress; but really Miss Henniker has been
very vexing lately."
"Hurrah! then you agree?" And the question was put all round, every one
assenting. At least so I thought. But Smith as usual was doubtful of
Hawkesbury.
"You agree, Hawkesbury?" said he.
"Really," said the other, with a smile, "it isn't nice to be suspected,
Smith. Isn't it enough to say a thing once?"
"Oh yes, yes," cried out every one, impatiently, and most anxious to
keep the meeting harmonious. "He said he did, Smith; what more do you
want? Do let's pull all together."
"Just what I want," said Smith.
"Well," said Philpot, "I propose we lock them up in the big schoolroom."
"Wouldn't it be better," said Flanagan, "to lock the Henniker up in her
own room, and let Ladislaw and Hashford have the parlour? It will be
more comfortable for them. There's a sofa there and a carpet. Besides,
the window's a worse one to get out of."
"How about feeding them?" some one asked.
"That'll be easy enough," said Smith. "There's a ventilator over all
the doors, you know. We can hand the things in there."
"I vote the old Hen gets precious little," interposed Rathbone. "I
wouldn't give her any."
This idea was scouted, and it was resolved that all the prisoners should
have a sufficient, though, at the same time, a limited amount of
provisions. That being arranged, the next question was, when should we
begin? We had to take a good many things into account in fixing the
important date. To-day was Friday. The butcher, some one said, always
brought the meat for the week on Monday; but the baker never came till
the Wednesday. So if we began operations on Monday we should have a
good supply of meat but very little bread to start with; and it was
possible, of course, the baker might smell a rat, and get up a rescue.
It would be better, on that account, to defer action till after the
baker's visit on Wednesday. But then the washerwoman generally came on
the Thursday. We all voted the washerwoman a nuisance. We must either
take her a prisoner and keep her in the house, or run the risk of her
finding out that something was wrong and going back to the village and
telling of us.
"If we could only keep it up a week," said Smith, "I think we could
bring them to terms."
"Suppose we drop a line to the washerwoman the day before not to call,"
suggested I.
The motion met with universal applause, and I was deputed to carry it
out at the proper time. The good lady's address I knew was on a slate
in Miss Henniker's pantry.
"And I tell you what," said Smith, starting up with the brilliancy of
the suggestion; "let's hide away all the bread we can find, except just
what will last over to-morrow. Then most likely she'll tell the baker
to call on Monday, and we can begin then!"
It was a brilliant suggestion. Two of the company departed forthwith to
the larder, and unobserved hid away a few loaves in one of the empty
trunks in the box-room.
Our plans were ripening wonderfully. But the most difficult business
was yet to come. What terms should we require of our prisoners as the
price of their release? And on this point, after long discussion, we
found we could not agree. Some were for the immediate dismissal of the
Henniker; others demanded that she should not be allowed to speak
without special permission; and others that she should remain in her
parlour all day long, and come out only for prayers and to give orders
to the tradesmen.
These proposals were too absurd to take seriously; and as presently the
company began to grow a little quarrelsome over the matter, it was
decided for peace' sake that the question should be deferred, and terms
arranged when the prisoners themselves offered to give in.
"If I may make a suggestion," said Hawkesbury, who had taken no part in
the previous discussion, "it is that you should appoint one fellow
captain, and agree to obey his orders. You'll never manage it if you
don't."
"Not at all a bad idea," said one or two. "You be the captain,
Hawkesbury."
"No, thank you," said he, smiling gratefully. "I really am not used to
this sort of thing; but I think Smith, now, would be just the fellow."
I considered this beautiful of Hawkesbury, coming so soon after Smith's
rather uncomplimentary behaviour to him.
The proposition was generally approved. Smith was not a favourite, but
he had made the only suggestions of any real use in the present case,
and appeared to have entered into the scheme so warmly that it was
evident no one would make a better captain.
He received his new dignity with great complacency.
"I'll do my best," said he, "if you fellows will back me up and stick to
the engagement."
Our time was now getting brief, so after a few more hurried suggestions
and discussions we separated and returned to our ordinary duties.
That evening the Henniker was no better than she had been during the
day. Her brief sojourn in society that afternoon had not improved her a
bit, Flanagan, as usual, suggested a plausible reason.
"I expect," whispered he, "she went after a new pupil and didn't hook
him; that's why she's in such a precious tantrum."
"Flanagan!" cried the well-known voice--"Flanagan, come here!"
Flanagan obeyed, and stood meekly before the tyrant.
"This is the eighth time to-day, Flanagan, I have rebuked you for
talking. You are detained for the rest of the term. Hold out your
hand, Flanagan!"
It was not often the Henniker inflicted corporal punishment herself;
when she did it was pretty smart, as Flanagan found. In the absence of
a cane she had used the ruler, and as Flanagan--who unsuspectingly
supposed she was merely seized with a desire to inspect his nails--held
out his hand knuckles upwards, the ruler descended on his knuckles with
such force that the luckless youth howled for astonishment, and
performed a dance _solo_ in the middle of the floor.
We were sorry for him, yet we inwardly smiled to think how soon the
tables would be turned.
That night, just before we went to bed, as I was in the shoe-room
looking for my slippers, I had the satisfaction of hearing the Henniker
say to the kitchen-maid, "Matilda, we're getting short of bread. Let
the baker know to call on Monday next week."
Things could not have promised better for our desperate scheme!