THE SIEGE OF AUNTIE MERRILL
It was Peter Bailey who organized the siege. We had long ago made
up the quarrel that arose on the day of the Indian raid. He still
maintained that Ed's and my conduct had been contrary to all rules of
warfare, but we noticed that we were not expected, since that day, to
impersonate the under dog in every combat.
Peter's reputation for generalship was a little tarnished, and for that
reason he got up this grand military movement against the property and
person of Auntie Merrill.
That lady had, so Peter said, certain "distressed damsels" closely
immured in dungeons beneath her house.
"Distressed _what_?" asked Ed Mason.
"Damsels," replied Peter.
"What d'ye mean,--_girls_?"
"Well,--yes."
"I don't want 'em," rejoined the practical Ed; "let 'em stay there."
Peter was exasperated.
"Why, we've _got_ to get them out," he asserted, "or they'll starve to
death."
"How'd they get in there?" Ed Mason wished to know.
"What difference does that make? She captured 'em, I s'pose."
I thought I could throw a little light on this dark subject. It was
Monday morning, and I had been looking over the fence into the Merrill
garden only half an hour before.
"There ain't any distressed damsels there, Peter," I said earnestly; "I
saw 'em. One of 'em's Katie Clancy,--an' she lives there all the time,
an' the other is Mrs. Muldoon, an' she's hangin' out the wash."
But I was unmercifully snubbed for my pains.
"You make me perfectly tired," he retorted. "I don't mean Katie, nor
Mrs. Muldoon. I know them. The--er--damsels are in dungeons below the
ground."
I turned to Rob Currier, Jimmy Toppan, and Horace Winslow, who had come
into the Masons' back yard with Peter. But they had been under the
influence of Peter's warlike mind and persuasive tongue for an hour
or more. They seemed to believe in the damsels, and their confidence
tended to shake my doubts.
Ed Mason was not so easily moved from scepticism.
"What are they doin' there?" he inquired.
"Doin'? They ain't doin' anything, you chump! They're chained hand an'
foot to the rock. How could they do anything? They're waitin' for us to
rescue 'em."
"Why don't they call a p'liceman?"
"'Cos they can't! How could they call so he'd hear through the rock?"
"Did Auntie Merrill put 'em in there?"
"Yes; she did,--or some of her mur-murmurdons."
"Her what?"
Horace Winslow broke into the conversation.
"Don't you know what murmidons are? They're big woolly elephants with
long tusks."
"Oh, get out! Auntie Merrill hasn't got any. You think you're stuffin'
me, but you ain't!"
Peter seemed to be willing to change the subject, and get on to the
main issue.
"We'll divide into two regiments,--I'll take command of one, and Rob
of the other. I'll take Horace and Sam, and Rob can take Ed Mason and
Jimmy. We'll stay here, an' you can go down into Sam's yard an' climb
over the fence, an' go up by the path next the Nortons' house. Then
we'll attack the house from two sides at once. Now, go on, Rob."
But this was going altogether too fast for me.
"How'll we get by Mrs. Muldoon? She's out there on the clothes-jack
now."
"That'll be all right," Peter assured me; "if she says anything, just
knock her down!"
But I could not imagine myself knocking Mrs. Muldoon down under any
circumstances. In the first place, she weighed over two hundred pounds.
"An' say," continued Ed Mason, "how are we goin' to attack the house
when we get there? What'll we do?"
Even Jimmy Toppan was wavering.
"Where are the murmidons? What'll we do if we meet them?" he asked.
Such questions were quite appropriate. We had long been accustomed to
scout on Auntie Merrill, as well as other more formidable persons.
We had tracked her up and down her garden many times, peered at her
from behind bushes, and observed her from the tops of trees. But
Peter, filled with a longing for military glory and daring deeds, was
proposing an exploit altogether more hazardous than anything we had
ever attempted. Thirsting for conquest, he overlooked all obstacles. He
had, however, failed to infect us with his enthusiasm.
For one thing, this inhuman treatment of the damsels seemed rather
foreign to Auntie Merrill's character, as I knew it. It was true she
had spoken to me with severity on one occasion,--something about
running across her new grass plot, and she had warned me against
throwing stones at the statue of George Washington near her house. The
latter warning had been totally unnecessary,--I had never dreamed of
doing such a thing. I never had, that is, until she put the idea into
my head,--after that it appealed to me with the fearful fascination of
a deadly crime.
I was somewhat afraid of her, but it was nevertheless hard to think
of her keeping these unfortunate creatures chained up and starving.
Moreover, to make an open attack upon her house by force of arms (Peter
had served out wooden revolvers to us, and had a sword for himself) was
a serious business. It struck me that we might get involved with the
police. In the first place, the attack carried with it the possible
necessity of an assault and battery upon Mrs. Muldoon, a perfectly
respectable and very muscular washerwoman.
Then, supposing that we had overcome that difficulty, there was the
house to enter.
Who could say that the doors might not be locked?
Finally, there were these mysterious and terrible "murmidons." No one,
not even Peter, seemed to be able to say exactly what they were, or
tell at what moment we might be confronted by them.
Altogether, I have seldom engaged in any military enterprise where the
obstacles seemed so overwhelming, and the chances of success so slight.
But Peter would hear of no objections.
If we did not wish to embroil ourselves with Mrs. Muldoon, it would
be a simple matter to keep behind the hedge until we were between her
and the house. Then it would be too late for her to make any effective
resistance.
As for the locked doors,--beat 'em down!
He would take care of the "murmidons" himself,--leave them to him.
We were quite willing to do so.
But even at this last moment, when our general thought he had arranged
everything, and as he was about to issue his orders once more to
Colonel Currier, there came a hitch.
"Well, say, look here. What are we goin' to do with these damsels when
we get 'em?"
It was still Mason, the unconvinced, who spoke.
"Don't be such a jay! We'll send 'em home, of course!"
"Where do they live?"
Peter fairly danced with rage.
"How do I know where they live? We can ask 'em, can't we?"
"I s'pose we can. But how are you goin' to get their chains off? You
said they were chained to the rock."
The general had to assume more responsibility for himself.
"I'll get 'em off all right. Now, I do wish you'd go ahead an' start,
an' shut up your talkin'. Rob, you whistle as soon as you get back of
the quince bush, an' we'll come right over the fence here, an' both
regiments must charge up to the house at the same time. But don't start
till I give the order to charge."
Rob Currier, Ed, and Jimmy disappeared behind Mr. Hawkins's woodshed.
They had scarcely done so when Peter called them back.
"You must be sure to take Auntie Merrill a prisoner," he commanded;
"take her _alive_."
They promised not to let her escape. Then they set out once more. We
climbed upon the fence, and watched for them to appear at the foot of
the Merrill garden. Soon we saw them crossing my yard in Indian file.
Rob mounted the fence, and looked over.
No enemy in sight.
Then all three climbed the fence, crouched behind the hedge, and crept
up the path to the quince bush. Rob whistled.
As soon as he heard this signal, Peter ordered us into the hostile
territory. We dropped silently over the fence, and lay flat on our
stomachs in the grass. Peter raised himself slightly on his arms and
gazed at the stronghold.
Mrs. Muldoon had gone into the house for more clothes-pins.
Now was our chance!
Peter rose, waved his sword, and was just opening his mouth to order
the charge, when an unexpected thing happened.
Auntie Merrill opened a side door of her house, walked out on the
veranda, descended two steps, and proceeded slowly up the side path to
the street. She was dressed in black as usual, with a lavender bonnet,
and she carried a little parasol. She opened the garden gate, crossed
the sidewalk, stepped into a carriage that was standing by the curb,
and drove quietly away.
The enemy had escaped.
We had been baffled without having a chance to strike a blow. But there
were still the house and the damsels. Ought we not continue on our
expedition?
While we were considering this question, Katie Clancy appeared at a
basement door, with a broom in her hand.
"Now, thin, clear outer here, ye little divils, or I'll be takin' the
broom to ye!"
And she started on a frontal attack.
Peter was over the fence again in two seconds. Horace and I, like
well-disciplined troops, did not let him precede us by more than an
inch.
In a few moments the detachment under Rob Currier returned to
headquarters.
Jimmy Toppan said:--
"Let's go down to Plumbush an' go in swimmin'."
"What's the matter with Four Rocks?" suggested Peter.
"Oh, come on to Plumbush," Jimmy insisted,--"my uncle's goin' to drive
down to the farm in the buckboard, an' we can get a ride with him, part
way."
The question was put and carried without dissent, and the meeting stood
adjourned.