LET US HAVE PEACE.
The battalion was encamped in a field on the outskirts of the village.
During my absence the evening before, Major Briscoe had drilled the
companies, and put them through all their evolutions to the intense
admiration of the Priamites. I learned that our fellows had been
treated with great kindness and hospitality by the people, and a
portion of the officers had spent the evening with some of “the first
families.”
When I reached the camp, the battalion was preparing for the march. As
soon as I appeared, the officers gathered around me, and wanted to know
what had become of Tommy. I found myself placed in a difficult position
after the instructions the sufferer had given me. I simply told them
we had found Tommy; that he was sick, and had just taken the steamer
for home. They asked me a great many questions which I did not answer.
I succeeded in turning their attention from Tommy to Christy Holgate,
whose narrative I related in part, so as to enable my companions to
understand the character of the Trottwoods.
They listened with excited attention when I told them of the fate of
Jed’s colt; and if they were sorry for the animal, I do not think they
sympathized very deeply with the owner in the loss he had incurred.
Having told all I had to say, I was anxious to learn the condition of
the battalion, and whether there was likely to be a mutiny against the
new order of things.
“Barnscott and two or three others are a little grouty, but every
officer and man does his duty faithfully,” replied Briscoe, in answer
to my questions. “I don’t think we shall have any trouble.”
“I hope not.”
“I never saw the fellows drill so well as they did last night,” added
the major. “The crowd that looked on frequently applauded them. The
dress parade was absolutely perfect.”
“Then you expect to win the banner on Friday.”
“Of course I do,” laughed Briscoe.
“They say the Wimpleton Battalion has been increasing in numbers
lately. There are over two hundred students on the other side of the
lake, and they turn out three companies.”
“Their numbers won’t help them in a drill. On the contrary, they have
so many new recruits that our chances are improved.”
“But the drill comes off to-morrow, Major Briscoe. Of course you don’t
expect to march round to Centreport now.”
“No; certainly not; but I intend to go to Hitaca to-day. We shall take
it easy, and arrive by five o’clock this afternoon. We can show off a
little there to-night, and take the steamer in the morning down the
lake. We will land at Gulfport, and march the rest of the way. This was
what we agreed upon last night.”
“I don’t think we can do any better,” I replied. “Tommy told me he
wished you to use his pony. You are a field officer, and are entitled
to be mounted.”
“I am very much obliged to him, though I can’t help thinking the
message is a very strange one to come from him to me.”
“I don’t think so. Tommy has switched off.”
“Switched off?”
“Precisely so. That’s a railroad phrase, and means that he has turned
over a new leaf. Tommy did not say much, but he accepts the situation,
and means to make the best of it.”
“I hope it is true.”
“I think it is, but time alone can prove it. I am afraid he is going to
be sick.”
“I should think he would be, if he has switched off. It will be a great
change of diet for him.”
“Tommy was never a bad fellow. If you could only get the conceit out of
him, he would be a good fellow. Being the biggest toad in the puddle
did not agree with his constitution.”
“Well, I don’t know but that is enough to spoil almost any fellow.
Did Jed thrash him, or anything of that sort,” inquired the major,
curiously.
“I promised Tommy that I would not say any thing about it. Don’t ask
me, Briscoe.”
“I won’t.”
“He feels very sore.”
“In his bones?”
“In spirit; and in his bones, too. I think he must have taken a severe
cold, for I cannot account for his condition in any other way.”
The battalion had formed in column, and the march to Hitaca was
commenced. It was a magnificent day, and our fellows had rested enough
to make them fresh and vigorous. The band played its choicest airs,
and I never saw soldiers march better than those of the battalion. The
applause bestowed upon them by the Priamites stimulated them to do
their best. We were followed for some distance by the juvenile portion
of the people of the town, but they soon left us; the “route step” was
ordered, and we went along as happily as though we had not just passed
through the “war of the students.”
The scenery in this locality was magnificent. There are half a dozen
cataracts in the vicinity of Hitaca, one of which is fifty feet higher
than Niagara, though, of course, its volume of water is vastly less.
Our march, therefore, was full of interest, and, with the sublime and
beautiful around us, we knew no such thing as fatigue. Halting for an
hour for dinner, we entered Hitaca in the middle of the afternoon,
almost as fresh as when we started, for we had made frequent stops to
rest and view the scenery.
We were handsomely received by some of the principal citizens, who had
been apprised of our approach. A field, near the head of the lake, was
appropriated to our reception, and we were invited to a collation in
the evening. We pitched our tents, brushed the dust from our uniforms,
and soon looked as spruce and tidy as when we started.
“We shall be full of soldiers to-night,” said one of the gentlemen who
visited us to me.
“We are only a hundred and fifty,” I replied.
“But the others will be here to-night.”
“What others, sir?” I inquired.
“Why, the battalion from the other side of the lake--the Wimpleton
students,” laughed the gentleman, as though he were familiar with the
quarrel which had so long existed between the two institutions.
“Indeed! Are they coming too?” I exclaimed, astonished at the
information; though I need not have been, for one side never did
anything in which the other did not immediately follow suit.
“We heard of them at Port Gunga this morning, and they must be here
very soon,” answered the citizen.
I did not exactly like the idea of meeting the Wimpletonians at first.
I dreaded a collision of any kind, which the rivalry between the two
Institutes was likely to produce. I went to Major Briscoe at once with
the information.
“Good!” replied he. “I am glad we arrived first.”
“We must keep our men close to-night, or there may be a row, which
would be very mortifying to all of us.”
“We will not have any row, or anything of the kind. Colonel Wimpleton
and Major Toppleton may quarrel, if they are so minded, but I will
have nothing to do with their feud. We will do the handsome thing,
Skotchley.”
“What’s that?” I asked with deep interest.
“Let us have peace,” said the major, impressively; and I am not sure he
was not the original author of this celebrated expression. “It takes
two to quarrel. We will be the first to hold out the olive-branch.
I propose to march out and escort the Wimpletonians into town with
all the honors. We will treat them with the utmost respect and
consideration; and I am sure there will be nothing but the best of
feeling.”
“I like that,” I replied, with emphasis.
“If we are cross and sullen, they will also be so; and then it won’t
take much to get up a quarrel.”
I was delighted with this proposition. It was exactly in accordance
with my own feelings. Major Briscoe ordered the lines to be formed, and
then resolved the battalion into a hollow square. He stated briefly
that the Wimpletonians were on the march for Hitaca, and would soon
arrive. He was in favor of conciliation and good feeling, especially as
we were to drill with them the next day. He meant to be courteous to
them, and should, therefore, tender them an escort. The fellows clapped
their hands, perhaps with a few exceptions. Briscoe then cautioned
his officers and men to treat our rivals as though they were our best
friends.
The speech concluded, the battalion broke into column, and we marched
out on the Southport road. We halted just outside of the town, and
Briscoe appointed me to go forward and meet the Wimpletonians. I was to
“do the pleasant” in the most agreeable manner, to tender the escort,
and arrange the formalities according to the instructions given me by
the major. I walked about half a mile, and stopped to view a beautiful
cascade. While I was appreciating its beauties, I heard the drum-beat
of the Wimpleton column. I waited until it came up.
Magnanimous as I was disposed to be on my errand of peace, I could not
help feeling that our rivals did not quite come up to our standard.
Their uniforms were not so new and bright, and they had only a drum
corps. I stepped up to Major Ben Pinkerton, who was in command, and,
saluting him with my sword, delivered my message.
“That’s handsome, and I’m very much obliged to you,” replied the major.
“I’ll speak to our fellows, and give you an answer in a few moments.”
He halted his column, and, after consulting his officers and men,
informed me that the polite offer of Major Briscoe was gratefully
accepted. I had delicacy enough to retire, after I had stated the
programme suggested by my commander, in order to enable Major Pinkerton
to give such instructions to his force as the unexpected meeting might
require. I did not hear what he said to them, but I have no doubt they
were substantially the same as those to which I had listened in our own
battalion.
The march was resumed, and in due time, the Wimpletonians reached our
battalion, which was drawn up in a line at the side of the road.
“Present--arms!” shouted Major Briscoe; and the band played the
appropriate air.
The Centreport battalion marched by the other, and, in turn, forming
at the side of the road, presented arms, while we marched in front
of it. We then took the head of the column, and escorted our guests
into Hitaca, where we were received with applause. On the ground
appropriated to the Wimpletonians we presented arms again. The two
majors met, shook hands, and appeared to be the best of friends. In
fact it was a jolly time. We helped the Wimps pitch their tents, and
did all we could to assist them. Such a fraternizing of ancient
enemies was never seen, and I began to think we should get to hugging
one another before the scene was finished.
At seven o’clock we formed again. More courtesies followed. The majors
each reviewed the battalion of the other, and we marched in one column
to the festivities of the evening. We had a grand time,--all the better
for the sudden and unexpected meeting with the Wimpletonians. At ten we
went to our camps.