A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S FEAST.
“Eleven o’clock and all’s we-ell!”
It was the call of the sentry ringing through the silent woods and
still more silent camp.
The sentries that night were marching under very different
circumstances from the usual ones. No broad paths and moonlit,
tree-shaded avenues; no gas lamps and spacious tents; but, instead of
these, a small clearing, with the smallest of small shelter tents lit
only by smoldering camp-fires, and beyond these a dark wood with
sentry beats that ran uphill and down, over fallen logs and brush.
Guard duty in the woods was a far less pleasant business than at Camp
McPherson.
It was easier, too, for a person to pass one of the sentries here, for
the latter could not see from one end of his beat to the other, small
though it was; “the orders of the night” had accordingly called for
extra watchfulness.
However, as we know, cadets have ways of getting the better of
official orders. A certain merry crowd of yearlings who were just then
stealing silently about the grounds were not the least alarmed for
fear the sentry might challenge them; they had it all arranged
beforehand and they vanished silently into the woods without their
comrade on duty even “seeing” them. The reader scarcely needs to be
told that it was Bull and his friends.
There were fully a dozen in that party. A very few moments later
another party, seven in number, were creeping about the camp just as
the yearlings had. They did one thing, however, which the yearlings
did not do. That one thing we must notice before we follow them into
the woods.
Two of them crept down the main “street” of the camp to one tent, a
rather large tent at its head. The two were trembling quite a little
as they went. Why shouldn’t they tremble?
“I guess this is the most daring thing we ever did,” one of them
whispered. “If we should be found out there’d be a war for fair. ’Sh!
I wonder if he’s asleep.”
It seemed that he was――for as the two paused and listened at the door
of the tent they could distinctly hear a loud breathing. Considering
the rank of the personage it would scarcely seem right to call it a
“snore.”
However that may be, let us go on with the story. It is not the
writer’s intention to have anybody shivering in suspense at this
critical moment, dreading lest the hero’s wild prank should arouse the
sleeping ogre.
Suffice it to say that after a brief space of time devoted to
whispering and hesitating, one of the two figures knelt down and
gently, very gently, slid one arm in under the canvas. Then gently,
still more gently, he drew it out again. No disciple of the genuine
Fagin himself could have done the act more silently, or gotten up and
stolen away more swiftly than did those conspirators two.
Half a minute later the Seven were flying past the sentry beat and
into the woods beyond. The sentry did not “see” this party either;
he’d have jumped with surprise if he had. For while six of the party
wore the regular plebe gray one of them was clad in a uniform that was
blue!
We must leave them now to the guidance of the merry “B’gee!” and
hasten on ahead to the scene of that long-delayed “Bull Harris’
banquet.” The conversation of the plebes would not interest us anyway,
for all they did was to chuckle in wild delight over the “success” of
their plot; if those lads could only have foreseen the result of their
foolhardy act it is safe to say that they would have been considerably
less hilarious and considerably more alarmed.
The yearlings were no less merry. By this time they had reached their
destination, which was only a very short ways off from the camp――just
far enough for safety. Here they found the drum orderly awaiting them.
That youngster was seated on a box, mounting guard; the contents of
the box we are sure the reader will agree were enough to justify the
cadets in all their happiness.
The first thing to do was to light a camp-fire; everybody pitched in
to help gather wood under the direction of the officious Bull, who, as
host, naturally felt duty bound to boss everything. Pretty soon there
was a merry blaze that lit up the little open space in the woods and
the jolly party of lads who were gathered within it. The latter had by
this time seated themselves about on the ground, chatting and joking,
while they watched the all-important operation of opening that box.
In order to appreciate what follows it may be well for us to take a
glance at the faces of that crowd and see how many we can recognize.
It is safe to hazard a guess in the first place that a crowd whom Bull
selected to aid him in his festivities would not include very many of
the better element of the class. Bull was not very popular among such,
as anybody might guess by a glance at his decidedly coarse features;
his particular cronies, who had aided him in all his efforts to
torment Mark, were a very unpleasant crowd of persons indeed.
They were all there to-night. There was the brutal Gus Murray, the
sallow and sarcastic Vance, the amiable Baby Edwards, and Rogers, the
big chap whom Mark had made a fool of a few days previously. In fact,
there was scarcely one member of that crowd of twelve who had not some
grudge against our plebe friends. And so it is not to be wondered that
the conversation turned upon them before very long.
By this time the cover had been pried off of that box, and Bull
proceeded to spread out its contents, amid general interest and
excitement. The crowd moved up closer instinctively and conversation
was unanimously suspended.
Bull’s parents, or whoever had arranged the contents of that highly
interesting package, had evidently “known their business.” They had
wasted no room on ham sandwiches and such nuisances, which nobody
wanted, but had filled the case to the brim with every kind of pie and
cake that a hungry cadet could wish for. The _pièce de résistance_, a
huge fruit cake, which came out last, would most certainly have called
for three cheers if it had not been for the proximity of the camp. As
it was, there was a murmur of pleasure; and then Bull gave the signal.
“Pitch in,” said he, “and help yourselves.”
Nobody waited to be asked twice. Every one in the crowd soon had a
handful of something, and the conversation, which had been hushed in
mock suspense, broke forth merrily again. The momentous banquet had
started at last; people who have been to picnics and similar affairs
may imagine how the cadets were enjoying it.
“Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.” It was perhaps just
as well that the cadets were ignorant in this case――ignorant of
certain malignant villains who were wandering about the vicinity,
bent, like Sir Hudibras, on interrupting all the fun they saw.
For the seven wicked plebes were flitting about in the woods by this
time, only waiting for a favorable opportunity to spring their _coup
d’état_.
They didn’t mean to wait very long. Any one could see that after the
yearlings were once let loose at the provisions it was the matter of
only five or ten minutes before there would be nothing at all in
sight. But something happened just then which made Mark very loath to
interrupt the proceedings.
That something has already been hinted at before; it was simply that
the conversation had turned upon Mark and his friends. And it did seem
to be too good a chance to waste, to hide in the woods and listen to a
dozen of your enemies discuss you.
The subject was brought up by way of our old acquaintance, Rogers.
Rogers had had a dispute with Mallory a day or two ago which he had
never yet told his classmates about; they urged him to, then, but he
only shook his head. That, however, turned the talk to the Banded
Seven. Parson Stanard had the pleasure of hearing himself referred to
as a crane, a goggle-eyed pile of bones, etc. Baby Edwards cheerfully
remarked that he thought Texas was a bluff from start to finish, and
that he――Baby――could lick him in a minute. It took all six of the
plebes to choke Texas and prevent his giving a yell of indignation at
that insult.
Cheerful though these remarks were, nobody was touched up in quite
such style as Mark, the chief offender. The whole twelve vied with
each other in thinking up epithets to apply to him; in this Bull
Harris, the host, set the lead.
“I’ll tell you what, fellows,” he said, after Gus Murray, amid great
applause, had announced his intention of thrashing Mark in a few days.
“I tell you, we’ve got to subdue that fellow some way. He’s succeeded
in spoiling our fun all this summer. He’s ruined every bit of hazing!
And if we don’t get rid of him somehow he’ll keep up his tricks
through the winter. There’s nothing we attempt that he don’t spoil.
It’s a wonder that he hasn’t found out about this affair to-night and
tried to drive us off――――”
“I wish he would!” put in Merry Vance. “By Heaven! he’d regret it!”
“You bet he would!” roared the crowd. “There are enough of us here to
handle him,” Bull went on. “That’s the reason he don’t dare try it,
for he’s nothing but a blamed coward. He wouldn’t dare show his
face――――”
It was just here that Bull Harris stopped. Do you ask why?
Perhaps you remember the story of Belshazzar’s feast and the
proverbial handwriting on the wall. There is a very famous painting of
that scene, which it will do no harm to describe. It represents the
banquet hall of the king; there is a magnificent room and a table
loaded with every conceivable delicacy. A rollicking, feasting crowd
is grouped about it, with the king in state at the head. And on the
wall behind them is the dreadful hand and its warning of destruction.
The king is like a man who has seen a ghost. His trembling finger is
pointing, and his eyes are glazed with terror. And that is the best
description that can be said of the boastful yearling, Bull Harris, at
that moment.
The laughter had ceased in one instant, as if every man in the crowd
had been struck dead. They were all of them staring, panting with
horror no less than Bull’s. Standing in the shadow of the trees was a
figure that seemed fairly to have paralyzed them.
In the darkness they could not see his face, but his uniform and
figure they knew. It was Lieutenant Allen! And in his hand he held a
notebook, upon which he was calmly jotting down the names of the
cadets he saw!
It was all over a moment or two later. The horrified lads realized
their ruin, and one idea flashed over every one of them. Perhaps he
hasn’t recognized me yet! And then as one man they leaped to their
feet and made a dash for the darkness of the trees. Their feast they
left half finished behind them.
And a minute later six chuckling plebes came forth and joined “Allen”
in capturing the spoils.