THE BATTLE AT THE FARM-HOUSE.
The female companion of the countryman had already left the spot, and
was hastening up the hill, probably very anxious to ascertain the
fate of the colt. Major Tommy had made up his mind to do something
desperate. He intended to find his assailant, and then charge upon him
with the whole battalion; at any rate this was the interpretation which
we gave to his words, looks, and gestures. If he ever fancied that he
was insulted, or if he ever got the worst of it in any encounter in
which he was himself the aggressor, he was not satisfied till he had
obtained full satisfaction.
He was spiteful and revengeful. Because, during the military campaign
of the preceding year, Wolf had gently declined to obey an order
which involved the danger of killing or drowning a portion of the
Wimpletonians, he had followed him up with his spite until our friend
was discharged from the employ of the Lake Shore Railroad. It was not
in his nature, therefore, to permit his present assailant to escape
without inflicting upon him the full penalty of his wrath.
Fryes, too, had incurred his displeasure by disobeying the major’s
unreasonable order. But Briscoe had counselled him to disregard this
command; and our senior captain was not one who would disavow his
act when the hour of reckoning came. He would stand by the leader of
the band; and I intended to do so myself. The prospect, therefore,
of a “jolly row” was very promising. I was only sorry that Briscoe
had finally given the signal for Fryes to play, for this had caused
all the real mischief. He told me he did so because the colt seemed
to be quiet, and his driver held him by the head, so that he did not
apprehend any more danger.
The battalion was in order in the road; and, after the major had
sufficiently vented his indignation, he gave the command to march. The
band played, and we ascended the hill. On the summit of it we obtained
a view of the road for a mile. In the valley there was a farm-house,
with a drive-way leading up to the barn in the rear. When we were
near enough, we saw Tommy’s pony fastened to the fence in front of
the house. The colt, with the truck of the wagon, was in the yard. It
was evident that this was the home of the countryman, and the fiery
animal had sought the friendly shelter of the stable to save him from
the terrors of the trumpet and bass drum. So far as we could judge, no
injury had been done to man or beast.
When the head of the battalion arrived at the farm-house, the major
gave the order to halt. His first movement was to mount his pony; and
no opposition to this act was made by the occupants of the house. The
man in charge of the colt detached him from the truck, and put him in
the barn, probably to prevent him from being further demoralized by
the martial array, and perhaps to enable him to meet the major on a
better footing. While Tommy was mounting his horse, the man came out of
the barn, and marched boldly up to the one hundred and twenty bayonets
which our force presented.
“It’s lucky for you that our colt wasn’t hurt; if he had been, I would
have taken it out of your hide,” the countryman began, when he was
within hailing distance of the major.
“What do you mean by knocking me off my horse?” responded Tommy.
“What do I mean? If you say much more, I’ll duck you in that mud-hole
over there. You could see that the music was scaring my colt; and I
asked you in a civil way, to stop it for half a minute, till I got by.
If you hadn’t been a hog, you would have done so,” growled the rural
gentleman.
“I’m not going to stop the music for every clown that comes along. You
insulted me.”
“Insulted you! I’m letting you off dog cheap! Now go along about your
business, before I’m tempted to put my claws upon you.”
“Not yet,” replied Tommy, shaking his head fiercely. “Do you know who I
am?”
“I don’t care who you are. If you were the Grand Mogul himself, I
should speak my mind. I suppose you are that young pup of a Toppleton,
that has it all his own way over to Middleport; but we don’t train in
that company, and when you come out here, you must behave yourself.
I reckon you haven’t any right to go tooting over our roads, and
frightening horses with your racket. I’ll let you off this time, as the
colt isn’t hurt, and nobody else isn’t hurt.”
“But I don’t mean to let you off,” retorted Tommy, irritated by this
plain speech, and especially by the contempt manifested towards the
house of Toppleton.
“O, don’t you!” exclaimed the young man, with a broad grin.
“No, I don’t. I’ll pay you off for insulting me.”
“Well, when you get ready, I want you to begin,” chuckled the man.
“But, if I have to take hold of you, I shall flop you over two or three
times in that mud-hole, just enough to take the starch out of them fine
clothes you wear.”
“Get down on your knees and beg my pardon, and I will let you off,”
said Tommy, who evidently, after the expressive speech of the
countryman, did not exactly relish the job he had undertaken.
“Well, that’s a good one! Get down on my knees? I guess not! I never
get down on my knees, not even when I weed the onions. It wears out a
fellow’s trousers. If you are not in a hurry, cap’n, I wish you would
wait just half a minute; I’ve got some medicine in the barn that will
just fit your case.”
This specimen of the high-spirited farmer rushed into the barn, and
presently returned with a cowhide in one hand and a pitchfork in the
other.
“If I’m going to stand up against the crowd, I want this,” he added,
sticking the tines into the sod. “If I’m going to deal with you alone,
cap’n, I only want this--and the mudhole,” he continued, flourishing
the green hide. “You can go ahead any way you like when you are ready,
cap’n.”
By this time the “women folks” from the house, including Clarissa, and
an elderly man, who appeared to be the father of the belligerent young
man, had assembled in the yard. The old gentleman had a hoe in his
hand, and had come forward to a point within supporting distance of his
son. He looked like a Bunker Hill veteran and regarded the threatening
conflict with imperturbable coolness. Probably he had already learned
the merits of the case, for he asked no questions, though he gave the
major some sage advice, to the effect that he had done mischief enough,
and had better go along about his business.
“Tom’s a fool!” said Briscoe, impatiently, as we stood watching the
issue of the controversy. “What does he mean to do?”
“I don’t know,” I replied; “but one stupid thing leads him into
another.”
But we were not left long in doubt in regard to what Tommy intended to
do.
“Captain Scotchley!” called the major, in his imperative tone.
I walked up to him and saluted with my sword.
“March your company to the rear of that rascal, and don’t let him get
away.”
“I don’t think he wants to get away,” I replied.
“Then punch him with the bayonets, and we will take him in front. Make
him a prisoner.”
“Don’t you do it, Ned,” said Briscoe, in a low tone.
“I must respectfully decline to obey the order,” I answered, firmly.
“You refuse?” gasped the major.
“I do.”
“What do you mean?” howled Tommy, so mad that he could hardly help
crying.
“Major Toppleton. I think you are all wrong in this business,” I added.
“We have no right to attack that man.”
“Do you obey the orders of your commanding officer, or not?” demanded
Tommy.
“I obey all reasonable orders,” I replied.
“We will settle this with you another time,” said the major, riding
over to my company, whither I followed him.
I had given him another victim for the court martial, and I wondered
what he would do next.
“Captain Scotchley is suspended from duty,” continued the major. “He
refuses to obey orders. Lieutenant Faxon will take command of the
second company.”
He repeated the order to the first lieutenant as he had given it to me.
“I must ask to be excused,” replied Faxon.
“What! Is there a mutiny in the battalion? Then Lieutenant Barnscott
will command the company.”
The second lieutenant had been brought up by the major, and was a
willing tool. The privates had heard all these proceedings, and
understood the merits of the question. When Barnscott undertook to
march the company to the spot assigned to it, the majority refused to
go.
“Mutiny!” shouted Tommy. “But I’ll bring you to your senses!”
Twenty or twenty-five of the company followed Barnscott; the rest
remained leaning on their guns in the road. Briscoe, when the order
was given him to attack in front, followed my example; but his first
lieutenant was one of the major’s adherents, and obeyed the order with
not more than thirty of his command. However, the attacking force was
composed of about fifty, and Tommy was determined to be revenged.
The little major’s military calculations were never very brilliant, and
the old man and his son--the latter of whom seemed to regard the whole
affair as a pleasant joke--obstinately refused to be flanked by Company
B, and with the hoe and pitchfork kept the brave soldiers at bay. Tommy
moved up himself with the first company, and ordered them to charge
upon the young man and capture him. Before this could be done, however,
the “women folks” appeared with a large tin wash-boiler, filled with
hot water.
“Here, Jed!” called Clarissa, as she presented the young fellow with an
immense syringe, used for showering plants with soap suds to destroy
insects, “You can fix ’em in two minutes!”
Jed took the instrument and filled it with water from the boiler, just
as Company A charged bayonets, and began to move forward. Directing it
at the advancing line, his ruddy face overspread with a jolly grin, he
let fly the contents of the barrel. The old lady and Clarissa, with a
couple of dippers, at the same time began to operate independently,
dashing the hot water upon the column. The effect was decisive. The
portions of the two companies engaged did not include the best fellows
in the battalion, though, if they had, it is doubtful whether they
could have stood up before a charge of hot water. The assailants broke
and retreated in disorder. The contents of Clarissa’s tin cup, aimed at
Tommy, drove him from the field, and he lost the battle.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE AT THE FARM-HOUSE.]