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[Illustration: BREAKING AWAY
AMERICAN
BOYS
SERIES]
THE STARRY FLAG SERIES,
BY OLIVER OPTIC.
* * * * *
I. THE STARRY FLAG; OR, THE YOUNG FISHERMAN OF CAPE ANN.
II. FREAKS OF FORTUNE; OR, HALF ROUND THE WORLD.
III. BREAKING AWAY; OR, THE FORTUNES OF A STUDENT.
IV. SEEK AND FIND; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A SMART BOY.
V. MAKE OR BREAK; OR, THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER.
VI. DOWN THE RIVER; OR, BUCK BRADFORD AND HIS TYRANTS.
[Illustration: THE REBELLION IN THE PARKVILLE LITERARY
INSTITUTE.--Page 30.]
BREAKING AWAY;
OR,
THE FORTUNES OF A STUDENT.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,"
"THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES,"
"THE RIVERDALE STORIES," ETC.
* * * * *
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
_All rights reserved._
* * * * *
BREAKING AWAY.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND,
_HARLAN H. BALLARD_,
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
"BREAKING AWAY" is the second of the series of stories published in
"OUR BOYS AND GIRLS," and the author had no reason to complain of the
reception accorded to it by his young friends, as it appeared in the
weekly issues of the Magazine; but, on the contrary, he finds renewed
occasion cordially to thank them for their continued appreciation of
his earnest efforts to please them.
After an experience of more than twenty years as a teacher, the writer
did not expect his young friends to sympathize with the schoolmaster
of this story, for doubtless many of them have known and despised a
similar creature in real life. Mr. Parasyte is not a myth; but we are
grateful that an enlightened public sentiment is every year rendering
more and more odious the petty tyrant of the school-room, and we are
too happy to give this retreating personage a parting blow as he
retires from the scene of his fading glories.
Rebellions, either in the school or in the state, are always dangerous
and demoralizing; but while we unequivocally condemn the tyrant in
our story, we cannot always approve the conduct of his pupils. One
evil gives birth to another; but even a righteous end cannot justify
immoral means, and we beg to remind our young and enthusiastic readers
that Ernest Thornton and his friends were compelled to acknowledge
that they had done wrong in many things, and that "Breaking Away" was
deemed a very doubtful expedient for the redress even of a real wrong.
As it was impossible for Ernest to relate the whole of his eventful
history in one volume, Breaking Away will be immediately followed by a
sequel,--"Seek and Find,"--in which the hero will narrate his
adventures in seeking and finding his mother, of whose tender care he
was deprived from his earliest childhood.
HARRISON SQUARE, MASS.,
September 23, 1867.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
IN WHICH ERNEST THORNTON INTRODUCES HIMSELF. 11
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH THERE IS TROUBLE IN THE PARKVILLE LIBERAL
INSTITUTE. 22
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH ERNEST IS EXPELLED FROM THE PARKVILLE LIBERAL
INSTITUTE. 33
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH ERNEST SAILS THE SPLASH, AND TAKES A BATH. 44
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH ERNEST DECLINES A PROPOSITION. 55
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH ERNEST FINDS HIS FELLOW-STUDENTS IN OPEN REBELLION. 66
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH ERNEST ATTENDS THE TRIAL OF BILL POODLES AND DICK
PEARL. 78
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH ERNEST VANQUISHES THE SCHOOLMASTER. 89
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH ERNEST STRIKES A HEAVY BLOW, AND WINS ANOTHER
VICTORY. 100
CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH ERNEST HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH HIS UNCLE. 111
CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH ERNEST IS DISOWNED AND CAST OUT. 122
CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH ERNEST RAISES THE SPLASH, AND THERE IS A GENERAL
BREAKING AWAY AMONG THE STUDENTS. 132
CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH ERNEST IS CHOSEN COMMODORE OF THE FLEET. 144
CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH ERNEST IS WAITED UPON BY A DEPUTY SHERIFF. 155
CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH ERNEST AND THE COMMISSARY VISIT CANNONDALE. 166
CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH ERNEST CONVEYS THE STUDENTS TO PINE ISLAND. 177
CHAPTER XVII.
IN WHICH ERNEST FINDS THERE IS TREASON IN THE CAMP. 188
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN WHICH ERNEST AND HIS COMPANIONS LAND AT CANNONDALE. 199
CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH ERNEST AND HIS FRIENDS ARE DISGUSTED WITH MR.
PARASYTE'S INGRATITUDE. 211
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH ERNEST TAKES THE WHEEL OF THE ADIENO. 222
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH ERNEST CONTINUES TO ACT AS PILOT OF THE STEAMER. 233
CHAPTER XXII.
IN WHICH ERNEST PILOTS THE ADIENO TO "THE SISTERS." 244
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN WHICH ERNEST TAKES COMMAND OF THE EXPEDITION. 255
CHAPTER XXIV.
IN WHICH ERNEST ENGAGES IN AN EXCITING STEAMBOAT RACE. 266
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH ERNEST PILOTS THE ADIENO TO PARKVILLE. 277
CHAPTER XXVI
IN WHICH ERNEST FINDS A CHANGE IN THE MANAGEMENT OF
THE INSTITUTE. 287
BREAKING AWAY;
OR,
THE FORTUNES OF A STUDENT.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH ERNEST THORNTON INTRODUCES HIMSELF.
"Ernest Thornton!" called Mr. Parasyte, the principal of the Parkville
Liberal Institute, in a tone so stern and severe that it was
impossible to mistake his meaning, or not to understand that a tempest
was brewing. "Ernest Thornton!"
As that was my name, I replied to the summons by rising, and
exhibiting my full length to all the boys assembled in the
school-room--about one hundred in number.
"Ernest Thornton!" repeated Mr. Parasyte, not satisfied with the
demonstration I had made.
"Sir!" I replied, in a round, full, square tone, which was intended to
convince the principal that I was ready to "face the music."
"Ernest Thornton, I am informed that you have been engaged in a
fight," he continued, in a tone a little less sharp than that with
which he had pronounced my name; and I had the vanity to believe that
the square tone in which I had uttered the single word I had been
called upon to speak had produced a salutary impression upon him.
"I haven't been engaged in any fight, sir," I replied, with all the
dignity becoming a boy of fourteen.
"Sir! what do you mean by denying it?" added Mr. Parasyte, working
himself up into a magnificent mood, which was intended to crush me by
its very majesty--but it didn't.
"I have not engaged in any fight, sir," I repeated, with as much
decision as the case seemed to require.
"Didn't you strike William Poodles?" demanded he, fiercely.
"Yes, sir, I did. Bill Poodles hit me in the head, and I knocked him
over in self-defence--that was all, sir."
"Don't you call that a fight, sir?" said Mr. Parasyte, knitting his
brows, and looking savage enough to swallow me.
"No, sir; I do not. I couldn't stand still and let him pound me."
"You irritated him in the beginning, and provoked him to strike the
blow. I hold you responsible for the fight."
"I had no intention to irritate him, and I did not wish to provoke
him."
"I hold you responsible for the fight, Thornton," said the principal
again.
I supposed he would, for Poodles was the son of a very wealthy and
aristocratic merchant in the city of New York, while I belonged to
what the principal regarded as an inferior order of society. At least
twenty boys in the Parkville Liberal Institute came upon the
recommendation of Poodle's father, while not a single one had been
lured into these classic shades by the influence of my family--if I
could be said to belong to any family. Besides, I was but a day
scholar, and my uncle paid only tuition bills for me, while most of
the pupils were boarders at the Institute.
I am writing of events which took place years ago, but I have seen no
reason to change the opinion then formed, that Mr. Parasyte, the
principal, was a "toady" of the first water; that he was a
narrow-minded, partial man, in whom the principle of justice had never
been developed. He was a good teacher, an excellent teacher; by which
I mean only to say that he had a rare skill and tact for imparting
knowledge, the mere dry bones of art, science, and philosophy. He was
a capital scholar himself, and a capital teacher; but that is the most
that can be said of him.
I have no hesitation in saying that his influence upon the boys was
bad, as that of every narrow-minded, partial, and unjust man must be;
and if I had any boys to send away to a boarding school, they should
go to a good and true man, even if I knew him to be, intellectually,
an inferior teacher, rather than to such a person as Mr. Parasyte. He
"toadied" to the rich boys, and oppressed the poorer ones. Poodles
was the most important boy in the school, and he was never punished
for his faults, which were not few, nor compelled to learn his
lessons, as other boys were. But I think Poodles hated the magnate of
the Parkville Liberal Institute as much as any other boy.
Parkville is situated on Lake Adieno, a beautiful sheet of water,
twenty miles in length, in the very heart of the State of New York.
The town was a thriving place of four thousand inhabitants, at which a
steamboat stopped twice every day in her trip around the lake. The
academy was located at the western verge of the town, while my home
was about a mile beyond the eastern line of the village.
I lived with my uncle, Amos Thornton. His residence was a vine-clad
cottage, built in the Swiss style, on the border of the lake, the lawn
in front of it extending down to the water's edge. My uncle was a
strange man. He had erected this cottage ten years before the time at
which my story opens, when I was a mere child. He had employed in the
beginning, before the house was completed, a man and his wife as
gardener and housekeeper, and they had been residents in the cottage
ever since.
I said that my uncle was a strange man; and so he was. He hardly ever
spoke a word to any one, and never unless it was absolutely necessary
to do so. He was not one of the talking kind; and old Jerry, the
gardener, and old Betsey, the housekeeper, seemed to have been cast in
the same mould. I never heard them talking to each other, and they
certainly never spoke to me unless I asked them a question, and then
only in the briefest manner.
I never knew what to make of my uncle Amos. He had a little room,
which he called his library, in one corner of the house, which could
be entered only by passing through his bedroom. In this apartment he
spent most of his time, though he went out to walk every day, while I
was at school; but, if he saw me coming, he always retreated to the
house. He was gloomy and misanthropic; he never went to church
himself, though he always compelled me to go, and also to attend the
Sunday school. He did not go into society, and had little or nothing
to do with, or to say to, the people of Parkville. He never troubled
them, and they were content to let him alone.
As may well be supposed, my life at the cottage was not the
pleasantest that could be imagined. It was hardly a home, only a
stopping-place to me. It was gloom and silence there, and my uncle was
the lord of the silent land. Such a life was not to my taste, and I
envied the boys and girls of my acquaintance in Parkville, as I saw
them talking and laughing with their fathers and mothers, their
brothers and sisters, or gathered in the social circle around the
winter fire. It seemed to me that their cup of joy was full, while
mine was empty. I longed for friends and companions to share with me
the cares and the pleasures of life.
Of myself I knew little or nothing. My memory hardly reached farther
back than the advent of my uncle at Lake Adieno, and all my early
associations were connected with the cottage and its surroundings. I
had a glimmering and indistinct idea of something before our coming to
Parkville. It seemed to me that I had once known a motherly lady with
a sweet and lovely expression on her face; and I had a faint
recollection of looking out upon a dreary waste of waters; but I could
not fix the idea distinctly in my mind. I supposed that the lady was
my mother. I made several vain efforts to induce my uncle to tell me
something about her; if he knew anything, he would not tell me.
Old Jerry and his wife evidently had no knowledge whatever in regard
to me before my uncle brought me to Parkville. They could not tell me
anything, and my uncle would not. Though I was a boy of only fourteen,
this concealment of my birth and parentage troubled me. I was told
that my father was dead; and this was all the information I could
obtain. Where he had lived, when and where he died, I was not
permitted to know. If I asked a question, my uncle turned on his heel
and left me, with no reply.
The vision of the motherly lady, distant and indistinct as it was,
haunted me like a familiar melody. If the person was my mother, why
should her very name be kept from me? If she was still living, why
could I not go to her? If she was dead, why might I not water the
green sod above her grave with my tears, and plant the sweetest
flowers by her tombstone? I was dissatisfied with my lot, and I was
determined, at no distant day, to wring from my silent uncle the
particulars of my early history. I was so eager to get this knowledge
that I was almost ready to take him by the throat, if need be, and
force out the truth from between his closed lips.
I never had an opportunity to speak with him; but I could make the
opportunity. He took no notice of me; he avoided me; he seemed hardly
to be conscious of my existence. Yet he was not a hard man, in the
common sense of the word. He clothed me as well as the best boys in
the Institute. If I wanted anything for the table, old Jerry was
ordered to procure it. When I was ten years old a little row-boat was
furnished for me; but before I was fourteen I wanted something better,
and told my uncle so. He made me no reply; but on my next birthday a
splendid sail-boat floated on the lake before the house, which Jerry
said had been built for me. I told my silent lord that I was much
obliged to him for his very acceptable present, when I happened to
catch him on the lawn. He turned on his heel, and fled as though I had
stung him with the sting of ingratitude.
If I wanted anything, I had only to mention it; and no one criticised
my conduct, whatever I did. I was free to go and come when I pleased;
and though in vacation I was absent three days at once in my boat, no
one asked me where I had been, or what I had done. Neither my uncle
nor his silent satellites ever expressed a fear that I might be
drowned in my voyages in night and storm on the lake; and I came to
the conclusion that no one would care if I were lost.
I do not know how, under such a home government, I ever became a
decent fellow. I do not know why I am not now a pirate, a freebooter,
a pickpocket, or a nuisance to myself and the world in some other
capacity. I have come to believe since that my inherited good
qualities saved me under such an utter neglect of all home influences.
It is a marvel to me that I was not ruined before I was twenty-one;
and from the deepest depths of my heart I thank God for his mercy in
sparing me from the fate which generally and naturally overtakes such
a neglected child.
At the age of twelve, after I had passed through the common school of
the town, I was admitted to the Parkville Liberal Institute, which I
wished to attend because a friend of mine in the town was there. My
uncle did not object--he never objected to anything. Without pride or
vanity I may say that I was a good scholar, and I took the highest
rank at the academy. When I was about twelve years old, some
instructions which I received in the Sunday school produced a strong
impression on my mind, and led me to take my stand for life. I tried
to be true to God and myself, to be just and manly in all things.
Whatever the world may sneeringly say of goodness and truth, I am sure
that I owe my popularity among the boys of the Parkville Liberal
Institute to these endeavors--not always successful--to do right.