MAJOR TOMMY UNHORSED.
“What do you stop playing for?” demanded Major Tommy, furiously.
It was a stupid question, after the musicians had been driven out of
the road by the antics of the colt. The head of the column had also
been broken; for, though the Toppleton warriors were brave fellows,
they did not like the idea of being ground under the wheels of the
countryman’s wagon, and they were prepared to make a safe retreat,
without much regard to the order of their going. The major--as the colt
finally stopped and stood impatiently pawing the ground--rode back to
the spot where the head of the column ought to have been.
“You are a set of blockheads!” roared Tommy. “Are you afraid of a
horse? Form in column! Play away, again.”
“I say, cap’n, just hold on half a minute--won’t you, till I get by?”
called the driver of the unbroken colt.
“No, I won’t.”
“Don’t be mean about it,” added the countryman, rather angrily.
“Get out of the road!” cried Tommy.
“See here, you little cock-turkey: if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll
snake you off that horse quicker than you can shut your eyes when it
lightens!”
“Don’t! Don’t! I’m scart almost to death,” gasped pretty girl. “Let me
get out! We shall be killed.”
And suiting the action to the words, pretty girl, as nimbly as a bird,
jumped out of the wagon, and retreated from the scene of danger.
My company was still in good order, with the lieutenants in position
in front of the platoons. I walked forward in season to hear Briscoe
advise the leader of the band not to play. My judgment was, that Tommy
was crazy to insist upon scaring the horse, when the danger was so
great; and I was willing to back up the senior captain.
“Why don’t you play, when I tell you to do so?” roared Tommy, furious
at the disobedience of the band.
They did not say anything, but they did not blow. The colt, no longer
hearing the music, and finding the road comparatively clear before him,
allowed himself to be appeased by his driver. He stood tossing his head
and pawing the ground; but he appeared to be conscious that he had won
the battle, and to be entirely satisfied with himself. The young man in
charge of him, doubtless thinking that discretion was the better part
of valor, or that the battle was not worth fighting after the retreat
of Clarissa, got out of the wagon, and took the colt by the bridle.
Leading him out of the road, he patted his neck.
“Cap’n you’re the meanest pup I’ve met since I was born,” added the
young man, when he had reduced the colt to a tolerable quiet state.
“None of your impudence, you rascal,” replied Tommy.
“If I hadn’t my hands full, I’d give you something besides impudence,
you little snipper-snapper of a cock-turkey!”
“Form your company, Captain Briscoe!” growled Tommy.
The senior captain obeyed the command, and the battalion was again in
marching order, with the scattered musicians reorganized at its head.
“Music!” shouted the commander. “Forward--march!”
The leader of the band was not one of Tommy’s toadies, and, fortified
by the senior captain’s advice, he failed to give the key-note which
was the signal for the musicians to play. The column began to move; but
not a demi-semiquaver came from the band,--only the tap of the drummer.
“Halt!” cried the major, before the battalion had taken three steps.
“Why don’t you play?”
“I’m not going to scare that horse any more,” replied the leader.
“You are not!” foamed Tommy, red with rage, as he pushed his horse up
to the musician, and struck him over the shoulder with his sword.
“No, I’m not! I don’t want to kill anybody.”
It was evident that a victim for the court martial had been found; but
it was certain that, if Fryes, the leader of the band, was “broken,”
we could have no more music, for the players could do nothing without
him. He was the son of a German distinguished in musical circles, and
inherited his skill from his father. He was a splendid fellow, and
would have been an officer if he could have been spared from the band,
so that his present service really involved a great sacrifice on his
part.
“If you don’t play, I’ll march the battalion back to Middleport, and
have you punished as you deserve,” added Tommy.
We were not a little astonished that Fryes did not resent the indignity
of the blow he had received, especially as he was a high-spirited
fellow. I saw the leader glance at Briscoe, who nodded his head.
Perhaps the senior captain was afraid the irate major would march us
back to the Institute, and thus defeat a little plan we had formed to
remedy our grievances. Fryes understood the signal of Briscoe, and gave
the key-note. The musicians were all ready.
“Forward--march!” shouted Tommy.
The first beat of the bass drum, with the accompanying blast of the
brass instruments, waked up the colt again, and in spite of all the
efforts of the countryman, again he stood up upon his hind feet. He was
even more desperate than before, and in his furious struggles shook
off the man. The instant he had freed himself from the control of the
strong arm,--which I think was done by the breaking of the bridle,--he
whirled around in the twinkling of an eye, without regard to the wagon
attached to him. Cutting so short lifted up the body of the vehicle,
and drawing out the snipe-bill, detached it from the forward wheels.
The colt now had it all his own way. The driver sprang forward and
attempted to catch him; but the beast seemed to flash rather than move
in the ordinary way, and dashed off at a furious run in the direction
from which he had come. Pretty girl, on the bank at the side of the
road, screamed again, as the catastrophe was consummated. The musicians
ceased playing, in the excitement of the moment, and the battalion was
thrown into disorder.
“There, do you see what you’ve done!” howled the countryman, doubling
up his fist at Tommy, as the colt disappeared behind a hill in front of
us.
“I didn’t do it,” replied Tommy; and I judged, from his tone, that even
he was not a little startled by the consequences of his folly. “Why
didn’t you take care of your horse?”
“Get off that nag!” said the young man, rushing upon Tommy, and seizing
the pony by the bridle.
“Let me alone! Don’t touch my horse!”
Before we were aware of his purpose, the excited man had dragged Tommy
from his steed, and pitched him into the dirt in the middle of the
road. But it presently appeared that he was not intent upon avenging
the insults of Tommy, for he mounted the pony, and, grinding his heels
into the flanks of the little charger, forced him into a run. He dashed
up the hill, and disappeared beyond its crest.
Briscoe and I rushed forward to the assistance of Tommy, who however,
picked himself up with a facility which indicated that he was not
seriously injured. I took his sword from the ground, where it had
fallen in the sudden onslaught of the major’s agile foe, and handed it
back to him.
“Are you hurt, major?” asked Briscoe.
“No, I believe not,” replied Tommy, feeling of his injured leg, and
assuring himself that it had sustained no damage.
“Is your leg all right?”
“Yes; but I should like to get hold of that fellow,” answered Tommy,
who had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment to begin to be
angry at the savage treatment he had received.
“I don’t think you would make much if you did get hold of him,” I
ventured to remark.
“Why not?” demanded the discomfited major, who did not appear to see
the point of my observation.
“He is too heavy for you.”
“Do you think I will stand such usage as that?”
“I don’t exactly see how you can help yourself, now that it is all
over.”
“I’ll teach that fellow who I am.”
“It seems to me that you will have to catch him before you teach him
anything.”
“The rascal has stolen my horse!”
“I don’t think he meant to steal him,” suggested Captain Briscoe. “He
has only gone to find his own horse.”
“He stole him, anyhow; and it will cost him a penny for knocking me
off in that style,” continued Tommy, shaking his head, as the extent of
his defeat seemed to crowd upon him. “That fellow don’t know who I am.”
“Perhaps he don’t,” I replied; and I couldn’t help winking at Briscoe,
though I am opposed to winking in any other than the natural way, in
theory, if not in practice.
“What shall we do, Major Toppleton?” asked the senior captain, when
Tommy had informed us what he intended to do, if he caught the
countryman.
“Well, I don’t know. I’m not going on this tramp without any horse.”
“You will get your pony again, major,” suggested Captain Briscoe.
“I want that man taken up and punished as he ought to be for knocking
me off, and for taking my horse,” added Tommy, savagely. “Why didn’t
you pitch into him, some of you, when he came at me?”
Neither of us ventured to make any reply to this reproachful question,
for our sympathies were certainly with the young man--at least up to
the point when he pulled Tommy off his horse.
“I don’t think you had the pluck of a mosquito, or you would have
punched him with your swords.”
“Why didn’t you do it yourself? You were nearer to him than we were,” I
replied.
“He didn’t give me time!”
“He didn’t give us time, either.”
“I didn’t know what he was going to do till he had done it.”
“Neither did we.”
“No matter for that now; when we catch him we will give him fits. If
the whole battalion can’t handle that man, I think we had better take
lessons in fighting. I’m going to capture him, and give him a thrashing
for his impudence, if we see him again.”
Briscoe looked at me with a meaning smile. We were not disposed
to quarrel with our superior officer; but both of us believed the
countryman had served him just right. It was a simple thing to stop the
music for a few moments; but Tommy’s stupid obstinacy always made him
grossly unreasonable.