A FIGHT, AND OTHER THINGS.
"Are you ready in there? S-sh!"
"Yes, I'll be out in a moment."
"Two o'clock and all's we-ell!"
The first speaker was Harden, the first classman, the second was Mark,
and the third the sentry, calling the hour.
The moonlight, clear and white, shone down on the glistening, snowy
tents; the camp was almost as bright as day. Two figures who stood
crouching in the company street were plainly visible, dressed in old
contraband "cit's clothing" for disguise. And presently two more
appeared, similarly clad, Mark and his old friend, the learned and
pugilistic Parson.
The four said not a word, but stole silently down the street to the park
that bounded the camp on the east, the river side, the beat of sentry
No. 4. One of them gave a low whistle, a signal to the sentry to face
about so that he might not "see any one cross his beat." The four sped
across the line and were lost a moment later in the shadow of the woods.
The sound of their whistle had an echo, though they did not know it. It
came from another tent and was the signal for a strange scene, one that
probably that camp had never before witnessed. In an instant, it seemed,
the white ground was alive with dark figures and black hurrying shadows.
One-third of the whole cadet corps, all the first class, in fact, were
about to engage in the perilous task of dodging camp!
There was no delay, no hesitation; the whole crowd fell in under one
leader, stole down the street, signaled the sentry; and then came a dash
and a tramp of feet that almost shook the ground. The class was gone.
Gone to stop that fight or die!
One hates to tax a reader's credulity. To say that that sleepy moonlit
camp was once more a witness of the same unusual scene not half a minute
later seems beyond the possibility of belief. Yet so it was. There was
no signal this time; they simply met, five of them, all plebes, two from
an A Company and three from a B Company tent just in the rear. They,
too, fell in under a leader, a leader who punctuated his orders with a
whispered "Wow!" And they, too, crossed the sentry post and vanished in
the woods.
There was some one to trail the trailers!
We shall skip forward to those in advance. The four would-be duelists
had no idea of their detection. They thought that their early start had
done the work. They climbed down the bank of the river, passed the
riding hall, and came out on the railroad track below, just at the mouth
of the tunnel.
"The boat is down near Highland Falls," said Harden, briefly; and then
there was silence again. Wright had not said one word since the start.
They set out down the track. They stole by the little station, with its
single light and its half-sleeping telegraph operator. And then--hark!
What was that?
Tramp, tramp! The four turned in amazement. Great heavens, they were
followed! Clearly visible in the moonlight, their white trousers
glittering, the company was marching steadily behind them. They were in
line and had a captain. At concealment there was no attempt; they seemed
to say, every one of them. "Well, here we are. Now what are you going to
do about it?" And the four stared at each other in amazement.
"Shall we resort to flight?" inquired the learned Parson.
"They're too many; they'd catch us," said Harden, emphatically. "I don't
know just what to do. I rather think we're outwitted. I--what's that?"
"Ding! dong! Woow-oo!"
"A train!" exclaimed Mark. "That'll scatter 'em. But it'll do us no
good."
A moment later there was a glare of light in the tunnel, light that
shone upon the figures on the track; and then the heavy train shot out
and came rushing down upon them. The cadets scattered of course; and in
the temporary confusion Mark saw a golden chance. It was a slow train;
he could see. A freight! And a moment later as the engine rushed past
them, he shouted to the other three:
"Catch it! Catch it as it passes!"
It was all done so quickly they had scarcely time to think. They saw the
last car whirl past the cadets; they saw the company reforming to march.
And a moment later all four of them leaped toward the train and flung
themselves aboard the last platform of the way car.
It was going faster than they had thought; the sudden jerk they got
nearly tore their arms from their sockets, and the Parson's loose joints
cracked ominously. But they hung on, all of them, with a grip like
death. And they had the intense satisfaction of hearing a yell of rage
from the cadets in the rear, and of seeing, as they clambered up and
looked behind them, the whole crowd break into a run and set out in
furious, though vain pursuit.
"That settles it," said Mark, joyfully. "We're safe! now then."
But his words were just a trifle premature. The cadets were fast being
left behind, running though they were; but there was a new danger
hitherto unthought of. The car they were on was the caboose. The door
was flung open; a rough figure strode out.
"Hey, there, git off o' that! What the divil are yez doin' there?"
The four stared at each other in consternation. Here was a rub! They
looked for all the world like tramps, to be kicked off unceremoniously
into the hands of the enemy again. But before the man could move Harden
thrust his hand into his pocket.
"Here," he said. "Take that, and shut up."
The man gazed at them dubiously. They might be burglars, robbers--but
then it was good money, and nobody the wiser. That was none of his
business anyhow. He muttered an apology and slammed the door again,
while the four sighed with relief.
"I wonder what next," said Mark.
There was nothing more; the long train rumbled on down the river bank
and the party waited in silence until Harden gave the signal. Then they
made more or less ungraceful and uncomfortable leaps from the platform,
sprang down the bank into the rushes, and a moment or so later were on
their way across the river in a rowboat.
"Which means," whispered the Parson to Mark, "that we'll have our fight
after all."
Mark had thought of that. He was already calculating the chances. Wright
had a great, powerful frame, with massive, bull shoulders and a face
that showed no end of grit. That much Mark could see. He knew, too, that
the man was a gymnast of three years' practice under a master as skilled
as Uncle Sam could find; that every muscle had been worked and trained,
that he was lithe and quick and active, skilled with foil and bayonet
and broadsword, a perfect horseman, and the captain of West Point's
crack eleven besides. Mark thought of all this; and then he clinched his
own broad hands and gritted his teeth and waited.
There was not a word said on the trip; all were too solemn and anxious.
Harden rowed--working silently and swiftly. The waves lapped against the
boat, and the ripples spread out in long, silvery, moonlit trail behind
them. And then the boat sped in under the shadow of the trees on the
eastern bank, and a moment later grated on the pebbly beach.
Harden sprang ashore and drew up the boat. The rest landed and he went
on into the woods. The three followed him a short ways, and then at a
little clearing he stopped.
"Here," said he, "is the spot."
Mark halted and gazed about him. He saw a small turf-covered inclosure
surrounded by the deep black shadows of a wall of trees. The moon
strayed down through the center furnishing the only light. It was not
three o'clock yet, and the sun was far below the horizon. Mark whipped
off his coat.
"I am ready," said he. "Let us lose no time."
Wright and his second were just as prompt and businesslike. The
lieutenant stripped his brawny frame to the waist and bound his
suspenders about him to hold his trousers. Mark was ready then, too.
"It is your choice," said he to the other. "How shall we fight?"
"By rounds," he answered simply. He was a man of few words. "My second
has a watch," he added. "Mr. Stanard may look on if he cares to, though
we shall each have to rely upon the other's honor mostly. We have no
referee."
"I am willing," said Mark. "Let Mr. Harden manage it. And let us be
quick. Will you shake hands?"
They shook. And then the "referee" pronounced the word.
"Go!"
And they went, hammer and tongs.
A man who chanced to be strolling along the river bank in the moonlight
at three o'clock that July morning would have met with a startling
scene. Just picture it to yourself, a quiet glade in the deep shadows of
the trees, and in the center of it two white half-naked figures battling
to the death, landing blows that shook the air. And all in silence and
mystery. The two seconds, kneeling in the shadows watching anxiously,
feverishly, were hidden from view.
Wright had one advantage over Mark. He had seen him fight, and he knew
his method. He knew that in skill and agility Mark was his equal; it was
agility that had beaten Billy Williams, the yearlings' choice. And so
Wright relying on his strength and training pitched right in, for he and
his second had agreed that a "slugging match" was the best way to beat
Mallory.
Mark was willing to have it so; time was short, and they might be
interrupted any moment. The sooner that unpleasant episode were over the
better. And he answered the officer's forward spring by another no less
sudden and fierce.
A fight such as this one could not last very long, for human bodies
cannot stand many blows as crushing as human arms can deal. The two had
leaped in, each bent on forcing the other back; and for a moment they
swayed, as in a deadlock, landing blow after blow with thuds that woke
the stillness of the forest depths. The two seconds sprang forward,
staring anxiously. They could scarcely follow the flying white arms,
they could not see the effects of the crashes they heard; but they
realized that any one of them might end it all, that their man might go
down at any moment.
The end came, however, sooner than either had thought. Harden, glancing
feverishly at the watch, had counted off the first minute, was counting
for the end of the second. He had opened his mouth to call time, when he
heard the Parson give a gasp. He looked up just in time to see one of
the white figures--they had been bounding all about the inclosure and he
knew not which it was--tottering backward from one mighty blow upon the
head.
A moment later the figure was lying gasping upon the ground, and Harden
sprang forward to see who it was. But he had hardly moved before he
heard a shout, and glancing about him, saw a sight that made him start
in alarm. The black woods were fairly alive with flitting white figures.
And the figures with one accord were rushing wildly down upon the group.
"Kill 'em! Soak 'em!" was the cry. "Where's that plebe? Hooray!"
It was the baffled first class.