ABOUT VARIOUS THINGS.
Don’s first care was to ascertain which way Huggins would come from when
he returned from the mill with his wood, and his second to keep behind
the depot out of sight. He paced up and down the platform in front of the
door of the waiting-room, so that he could be at hand to lend assistance
in case the tramp showed a disposition to make trouble for Mack and Egan,
but that worthy had no more fight in him. He was a coward and afraid of
Don, and he wisely concluded that the best thing he could do was to keep
quiet.
At the end of twenty minutes the station-agent came in. He had heard
from the professor and the rest of the squad, who had left the train at
Munson. At Captain Mack’s request he sent off the following despatch:
“Have captured the tramp who robbed Huggins, and expect to have Huggins
himself inside of an hour.”
In due time the answer came back:
“Remain at the station until I come.”
“And when he comes, which will be about four o’clock this afternoon, we
shall have to go back to our books and duties,” said the young officer,
stretching his arms and yawning. “I haven’t seen a bit of fun during this
scout, have you, Egan? I hope the next fellow who makes up his mind to
desert the academy, will lead us a good long chase and give us some work
to do.”
The captain had his wish. The next time he was sent in pursuit of a
runaway, he did not come back in one day nor two; and even at the end
of a week he had not completed his work. We shall tell all about it
presently.
The minutes wore away, and presently Don Gordon, who stood where he could
command a view of the road for a long distance, saw a load of wood coming
out of the timber. There was somebody walking beside it and driving
the horses, but Don would not have known it was Huggins had not the
station-agent, who was also on the watch, at that moment opened his door
and called out:
“There he is.”
“Much obliged,” replied Don, who straightway pulled off his overcoat and
dropped it upon the platform. He knew nothing whatever of Huggins. The
latter might be a good runner or a good fighter, and if he concluded to
make a race of it or to resist arrest, Don intended to be ready for him.
Huggins approached the depot with fear and trembling. He stopped very
frequently to reconnoiter the building and its surroundings, and when he
drew up to the wood-pile, he threw the blankets over his steaming horses,
and jumped upon the platform. He wanted to make sure that the coast was
clear before he began throwing off his load. Don could not see him now,
but the sound of his footsteps told him that the deserter was approaching
his place of concealment. When he came around the corner of the building,
Don stepped into view and greeted him with the greatest cordiality.
“Your name is Huggins, I believe,” said he; and without giving the
runaway time to recover from his surprise and bewilderment, Don took him
by the arm and led him toward the door of the waiting-room. “I am glad
to see you,” he continued, “and you will be glad to know that the tramp
who robbed you last night has surrendered Lester Brigham’s money, and
that your clothes—— Hallo! What’s the matter?”
Huggins had been brought to his senses by Don’s words. He saw that he
had run right into a trap that had been prepared for him, and he made a
desperate attempt to escape. Throwing all his strength, which was by no
means insignificant, into the effort, he tried to wrench his arm loose
from Don’s grasp, and to trip him up at the same time; but the vicious
kick he aimed at Don’s leg expended its force in the empty air, and
Huggins turned part way around and sat down on the platform very suddenly.
“What are you doing down there?” said Don, taking the runaway by the
collar and lifting him to his feet. “Come into the waiting-room if you
want to sit down. I was about to say, when you interrupted me, that
you can get your clothes back now. Mack’s got the money, and all your
property. Here we are. Walk right in and make yourself at home.”
Captain Mack and Egan, who had kept a watchful eye on Don and his
captive, but who dared not go out to assist him for fear that the
tramp would improve the opportunity to escape, opened the door of the
waiting-room, and Huggins walked in without saying a word. In obedience
to Captain Mack’s command an exchange of hats and coats was made between
the new prisoner and the man who had robbed him, and after that another
despatch was sent to Professor Odenheimer. The answer that came back was
the same as the first.
The fun, as well as the work, was all over now, and the students had
nothing to do but walk about the room and wait as patiently as they
could for the train that was to take them back to Bridgeport. It came at
last, and in due time the tramp was handed over to the authorities to be
tried for highway robbery, while Huggins was marched to his room to be
kept there under guard until his father came to take him away. He was
expelled from the school in general orders. Lester Brigham was punished
for keeping so large an amount of money by him in violation of the
regulations, and Don Gordon was looked upon as a hero. This hurt Lester
more than anything else. He had come there with the fixed determination
to supplant Don and Bert in the estimation of both teachers and
students—to build himself up by pulling them down—and he was not a little
disappointed as well as enraged, when he discovered that it was not in
his power to work them any injury. He wrote a doleful letter to his
father, complaining of the indignities that were constantly heaped upon
him, and begging to be allowed to go home; but for once in his life Mr.
Brigham was firm, and Lester was given to understand that he must make up
his mind to stay at Bridgeport until the four years’ course was completed.
“I’ll show him whether I will or not,” said Lester, who was almost beside
himself with fury. “He’ll _have_ to let me go home. If Jones and the rest
will stand by me, I will kick up a row here that will be talked of as
long as the academy stands. I’ll show the fellows that Don Gordon isn’t
the only boy in the world who has any pluck.”
In process of time Mr. Huggins came to the academy to look into the
charges that had been made against his son, and when he went away, the
deserter went with him. It was a long time before the boys knew what had
become of him, for he left not a single friend at the academy, and there
was no one who corresponded with him.
Things went smoothly after that. Of course there was some grand running,
and a good deal of extra sentry and police duty to be performed by the
idle and disobedient ones; but there were no flagrant violations of
the rules—no more thefts or desertions. The malcontents were plucky
enough to do almost anything, but they lacked a leader. There were no
Don Gordons or Tom Fishers or Clarence Duncans among them. They had
expected great things of Lester Brigham, but when they became better
acquainted with him, they found that he was a boy of no spirit whatever.
He talked loudly and spent his money freely, and his liberality brought
him plenty of followers who were quick to discover all the weak points
in his character. His insufferable vanity and self-conceit, his hatred
of Don Gordon, his fondness for telling of the imaginary exploits he had
performed both afloat and ashore—all these were seized upon by a certain
class of boys who flattered him to his face, ate unlimited quantities of
pancakes and pies at his expense and laughed at him behind his back. But
the idea he had suggested to them—that of stealing a yacht and going off
somewhere and having a picnic—was not forgotten. They talked about it at
every opportunity; numerous plans for their amusement were proposed and
discussed, and they had even selected the yacht in which they intended to
make their cruise. Lester was, of course, the nominal leader, but Jones
and Enoch Williams did all the work and laid all the plans.
The winter months passed quietly away, spring with its trout-fishing and
pickerel-spearing came and went, and summer was upon them almost before
they knew it. Now the students went to work in earnest, for the season
of the annual camp and the examination that followed it, was close at
hand. Even the lazy boys began to show some signs of life now, for they
had heard much of the pleasures that were to be enjoyed during their
month under canvas, and they were as anxious as the others to make a good
showing in the presence of the strangers and friends who would be sure to
visit them.
Lester Brigham would have looked forward to the camping frolic with
the greatest eagerness and impatience if he had only had a corporal’s
_chevrons_ to wear; but he hadn’t, and if we might judge by his standing
in his class, he was not likely to wear them, either.
“I’ll have to stand guard and be bossed around by that little whiffet
of a Bert Gordon, who will throw on more airs than he deserves,” Lester
often said to himself. “But I’ll not go to camp, if I can help it. If I
do, I’ll not stay there long, for I will do something that will send me
back to the academy under arrest.”
This was a part of Jones’s programme. The boys who were to steal the
yacht and go to sea in her—there were twenty-eight of them in all—were
to fall so far behind their classes that they would be ordered to remain
at the academy to make up for lost time. If they did not succeed in
accomplishing their object and were sent to camp against their will, they
were to commit some offence that would cause them to be marched back
under arrest. The boys growled lustily when this programme was marked out
for them, and some of them flatly refused to follow it.
“As this is my first year at the academy I have never been in camp, and I
should like to see what they do there,” said one. “Suppose those Mount
Pleasant Indians should come in again? I shouldn’t like to miss that.”
“I don’t see any sense in waiting so long,” said another. “Why can’t we
go now?”
“Where’s the yacht?” asked Jones, in reply. “There isn’t one in the
harbor. They have all gone off on a cruise. The first thing is to make
sure that we can get a boat. As soon as that matter is settled, I will
tell you what to do next. If you will hold yourselves in readiness to
move when I say the word, I will guarantee that we will see more fun than
those who stay in camp.”
“What will they do with us after they capture us?”
“They will court-martial and expel the last one of us. That’s a foregone
conclusion. If there are any among us who desire to stay in this school,
they had better back down at once, so that we may know who they are. But
we’ll lead them a lively race before we are caught; you may depend upon
that.”
Whenever Jones talked in this way there were a few of his adherents—and
they were the ones who had exhibited the most enthusiasm when Lester’s
plan was first proposed—who felt their courage oozing out at the end of
their fingers. It was easy enough to talk about capturing and running off
with a private yacht, but as the time for action drew nearer they began
to show signs of wavering. Unfortunately, however, an incident happened
during the latter part of June, which did more to unite them, and to
bring their runaway scheme to a head, than almost anything else could
have done.
Among those who kept a watchful eye over the interests of the academy,
and who took the greatest pride in its success, were the rank and file
of the 61st regiment of infantry, National Guards, which was located at
Hamilton, a thriving little city about fifty miles north of Bridgeport.
This regiment was composed almost entirely of veterans, and a few of
them were the fathers, uncles and older brothers of some of the boys who
were now wearing the academy uniform. Their colonel and some of their
field and line officers were graduated there, and in the ranks were
many bearded fellows who, in the days gone by, had run the guards to
eat pancakes at Cony Ryan’s, and who had paid for their fun by spending
the next Saturday afternoon in walking extras with muskets on their
shoulders and packed knapsacks on their backs.
The regiment had once spent a week in camp with the academy boys, and
this year was the twenty-fifth anniversary of its organization. The
members intended to celebrate it by giving the citizens of Hamilton the
finest parade they had witnessed for many a day. Regiments from Rhode
Island, New York and Ohio had given favorable replies to the invitations
that had been sent to them, others from Virginia and North Carolina,
which had seen service under General Lee at Richmond, had promised to be
present, the firemen and civic societies were to join in the parade, and
the academy boys were expected to be there in full force. The line was to
be formed after dinner had been served in a big tent, and the festivities
were to conclude with a grand ball in the evening.
When the superintendent read the invitation before the school and asked
the students what they thought about it, they arose as one boy and raised
such a tumult of “Union cheers” and “rebel yells” (remember there were
a good many Southern boys among them), that the superintendent, after
trying in vain to make his signal bell heard, raised his hand to enforce
silence.
“Young gentlemen, you know that such a demonstration as this is a
direct violation of our rules and regulations,” said he, when the boys
had resumed their seats; but still he did not seem to be very much
annoyed. He judged that they were unanimously in favor of accepting the
invitation, and the adjutant would be instructed to reply accordingly.
He hoped that every member of the academy would be able to join in the
parade, _but_ there were two things that must be distinctly understood:
The first was, that they could not remain to take part in the festivities
of the evening—they must start for home at six o’clock. The boys, he
said, had all they could do to prepare themselves for the examination,
and pleasure must not be allowed to interfere with business. If they
deserved it they would have plenty of recreation when they went into
camp. Just then a boy in the back part of the room raised his hand. The
superintendent nodded to him, and the boy arose and said:
“Could we not march to and from the city, camping out on the way, instead
of going by rail?”
The flutter of excitement which this proposition caused in every part of
the school-room indicated that the students were all in favor of it; but
it seems that the superintendent wasn’t. There would be no objection, he
said, if the parade were to come off immediately; but the 24th of July
was the day that had been set for the celebration; it would take three
days to march there, as many more to return, and seven days of study
taken from the end of the term would certainly show in the examination.
They were too valuable to be wasted. One day was all he could allow them.
The second thing he wished them to understand was this: The parade would
be an event of some consequence. It would afford them as much pleasure as
the fight with the Mount Pleasant Indians. They would be surrounded by
well-drilled men who would watch all their movements with critical eyes,
and note and comment upon their slightest errors or indiscretions. He had
no fears for the majority of the students, for he knew beforehand that
they would act like soldiers while they were in the ranks, and like young
gentlemen when they were out of them; but there were some among them,
he was sorry to say, whose presence would reflect no honor upon their
companies—boys who could not keep their eyes directed to the front while
they were marching, or hold their heads still on dress-parade, and whose
conduct, when they were on the streets and out of sight of their teachers
and officers, would not be calculated to win the respect of the citizens
of Hamilton. He did not want those boys to accompany them, but still he
would give them the same chance he gave the others.
They had nearly five weeks of hard study and drill before them, during
which time it was possible for any studious and attentive boy to run his
standing up to a hundred. Those who did that, might be sure of a holiday
and a general good time on the 24th of July; but those who allowed
themselves to fall below seventy-five, would be required to remain at the
academy. He left the matter in their own hands.
“I say, Don,” whispered Egan, as the students marched out of the
school-room, “if this thing had happened last year, you and I would have
gone to the hop, wouldn’t we?”
“I believe we would,” answered Don.
“Well, what do you say to——”
“I’ll not do it,” was the emphatic response. “If any of the other fellows
have a mind to desert and stay to the roll, they may do it and take the
consequences; but I won’t. I haven’t received a single reprimand this
term, not even from that old martinet Odenheimer, and what’s more, I
don’t intend to put myself in the way of getting one.”
“Good for you, Gordon,” said Egan, approvingly. “Stick to it, and the day
that sees you a first-class cadet, will see you lieutenant-colonel of the
academy battalion. You hear me?”
“I hope it will,” replied Don. “It certainly will not see me a private;
you may depend upon that.”
That night Lester Brigham and his friend Jones met in the gymnasium.
Their followers came up, one after the other, and in a few minutes there
was quite a crowd of boys gathered about them. Some of them spoke with
great enthusiasm regarding the proposed excursion to Hamilton, while
others were sullen, and had but little to say. Among the latter was
Lester Brigham, who, having wasted his time and fallen behind his class
in everything, saw very plainly that his chances for participating in
the celebration were slim indeed. He grew angry whenever he thought that
he would have to remain a prisoner at the academy while the other boys in
his company were seeing no end of fun, and when he got that way, he was
ready for almost anything. He saw how his enforced sojourn at Bridgeport
could be turned to account; but the next thing was to make the rest of
the fellows see it.
“Things couldn’t have been planned to suit us better, could they?” said
Lester, as the boys crowded about him.
“They might have been planned to suit _me_ better—a good deal better,”
growled one, in reply. “I wish that invitation had been sent a month ago.
Then I should have gone to work in earnest, and perhaps I would stand
some chance of going to Hamilton with my company.”
“Why, do you want to go?” exclaimed Lester.
“Of course I do, and I will, too, if there is anything to be gained by
faithful effort. If you catch me in any mischief before the result of the
next five weeks’ study is announced, you may shoot me.”
“And me; and me,” chorused several of the boys.
“Look here, Brigham,” said Jones. “That celebration will be the grandest
thing you ever saw, outside of a big city, and we mustn’t miss it.”
“I was going to suggest that it would be a good time to start off on our
cruise,” said Lester. “The boys who will be left here to stand guard will
be fellows after our own hearts, and we can easily induce them to pass us
or to join in with us.”
“That’s my idea,” said another.
“Well, it isn’t mine,” said Jones, in very decided tones.
“Don’t you know what the understanding was?” began Lester.
“I know all about it,” replied Jones. “I ought to, for I proposed it. The
bargain was, that we were to be left out of camp, if we could, so that we
could desert the academy when it was not strongly guarded. Failing that,
we were to leave the camp in a body, capture our boat and go to sea in
her. Wasn’t that the agreement, boys?”
The students all said it was.
“I am ready to live up to that agreement,” continued Jones; “but I
wouldn’t miss that parade for any money. I am going to the ball in the
evening, too.”
“You can’t,” said Lester. “The superintendent said you would come home on
the six o’clock train.”
“Some will and some won’t,” said a boy who had not spoken before. “It
will be an easy matter for those of us who want to stay, to slip away and
hide until the rest of the boys are gone. If I go to Hamilton I shall go
to the dance.”
“And I’ll stay here,” said Lester, who was disappointed as well as
enraged. “But when you return, you will not find me. I am going off on a
cruise if I have to steal a skiff and go alone.”
“You needn’t go alone,” said one of the boys. “I will go with you.”
“Wait until August and we will all go with you,” said Jones.
“I can’t and I shan’t. I have waited long enough already. I have seen
quite enough of this school.”
These were the sentiments of a good many of the students, who gradually
drew over to Lester’s side, and when the latter had run his eye over
them, he found that there were an even dozen who were willing to stand by
him.
“Whose side are you on, Enoch?” inquired Lester.
He waited with considerable anxiety for the reply, for he knew that a
good deal depended upon Enoch Williams. He was to be first officer of
the yacht, when they got her (the real commander, in fact, for Lester,
who was to be the captain, didn’t know the starboard rail from the main
truck) and if Lester could induce him to come over to his side, the rest
of the boys would probably come with him.
“I go with the majority,” answered Enoch. “The most of the fellows have
declared against your plan, and if they are going to the celebration, I
am going too.”
“By dividing in this way, you act as if you desire to read us out of
your good books,” said Jones. “If that is the case, all right. If you
will keep still about us and our plans, we will not blow on you. If you
succeed in reaching the bay, and in eluding the tugs that are sent after
you, we may join you some time during the second week in August, if you
will tell us where you are going.”
“They are a pack of cowards,” observed Lester, as Jones and Williams
walked away, followed by their friends. “You fellows did well to side
with me. They had no intention of helping us capture that yacht, and this
is the way they take to get out of it.”
“I don’t know whether we have done well or not,” said one of Lester’s
friends, when he saw the others moving away. “Now that Enoch has deserted
us, who is there to command the boat?”
“Why, I am to have charge of her,” said Lester, with a look of surprise.
“That was understood from the very first.”
“But you are a fresh-water sailor and don’t know anything about the
coast,” said the boy.
“I know I don’t, and neither does Enoch. But I never yet got a vessel
into a place that I couldn’t get her out of, and if you will trust to me
I will look out for your safety and insure you lots of fun besides,” said
Lester, confidently; and then he wondered what he should do if the boys
took him at his word.
“I must see if I can’t induce Enoch to stand by me,” said he to himself.
“If he refuses, the whole thing is up stump, for I can’t command the
yacht, and I am not foolish enough to try it. I will wait a few days, and
perhaps something will turn up in my favor.”
Lester was not disappointed. When each scholar’s standing for the week
was announced on Friday night, Jones had only fifty marks to his credit,
while Enoch Williams was obliged to be satisfied with thirty.
“I’ve done my level best,” said the former, in a discouraged tone, “and
now I believe I’ll give it up.”
“Never say die,” said Enoch, hopefully. “I have better reason for being
discouraged than you have. I shall try harder than ever from this time
on, and if I can get up as high as ninety next week, and stay there, that
will make my average standing seventy-eight. You _must_ try, old boy, for
I don’t want to go to Hamilton unless you do. Give me your promise.”
Jones gave it, but said he didn’t think anything would come of it.