THE FIGHT AS REPORTED.
“It means that if the authorities at Hamilton need help in putting down
that mob, we third company boys will have to give it,” said Egan, in
reply to a question propounded to him by Captain Mack.
“What do you mean by _we_?” inquired the captain. “You don’t belong to my
company.”
“Yes, I do, and so do Hop and Curtis,” answered Egan. “We intend to
report for duty in the morning; and as long as this strike lasts, we are
to stand post and do duty like the rest of the boys. We asked permission
of the superintendent to-day, and he granted it.”
Of course he granted it. Faithful students, like these three boys, were
allowed to do pretty nearly as they pleased. It was the idle and unruly
who were denied privileges.
“I am glad to welcome such fellows as you are into my family,” said
Captain Mack. “But why didn’t you go into the first company where you
belong?”
“We belong wherever it suits us to go,” said Egan, in reply. “And it
suits us to be with you and Don Gordon. Look here, Mack: If worst comes
to worst, and the superintendent calls for volunteers, you be the first
to jump. Do you hear? Good night and pleasant dreams.”
The students hastened back to their rooms, and feeling secure from an
attack by the mob, the most of them slept; but their dreams, like Captain
Mack’s, were none of the pleasantest. More than one of them started up in
alarm, believing that he heard the order to fall in. They all expected
it, and it came the next day about eleven o’clock, but the majority of
the boys did not know it until dinner time; and then Don Gordon, who
had been acting as the superintendent’s orderly that morning, rushed
frantically about the building looking for Egan and the rest.
“The time has come, fellows,” said he, when he found them. “Some of us
will have to face the music now.”
“How do you know?” asked Egan and his friends, in a breath.
“The superintendent received a despatch from the city a short time ago.”
“Do you know what was in it?”
“I do, for I heard him read it to one of the teachers. It ran: ‘Hold
a company, provided with ten rounds per man, ready to move at short
notice.’ The answer that went back was: ‘The company is ready.’”
“Whew!” whistled Curtis, while the others looked at one another in blank
amazement.
“But I don’t see how that company is to get to Hamilton,” said Hopkins,
at length. “There are no trains running to-day. Everything is as quiet as
it is on Sunday.”
“They will go by special train,” said Don. “There are a good many
passengers and a big mail that were left at Munson last night when the
engineer of the lightning express was taken by force from his cab, and
the mob has agreed to let them come on to Hamilton. It was all talked
over in my hearing.”
“And our boys are to go on that train, are they?”
“Yes; if they get marching orders in time.”
“Then there’ll be trouble. Remember what I tell you; there will be the
biggest kind of a fuss down there,” said Curtis, earnestly. “The rioters
didn’t agree to let soldiers into the city, and they won’t do it, either.”
“Did it ever occur to you, that very possibly the wishes of the rabble
will not be consulted?” inquired Hopkins. “I hope that company will go in
if it is needed there, and that the very first man who fires a stone into
its ranks will get hurt.”
Just then the enlivening notes of the dinner-call sounded through the
building, and the students made all haste to respond to it. The different
companies formed in their respective halls, but when they had been
aligned and brought to a right face by their quartermaster-sergeants, the
captains took command, ordered the sergeants to their posts, and marched
their men to the armory instead of to the dining-hall. They all wondered
what was going to happen now, and they were not kept long in suspense.
“Young gentlemen,” said the superintendent, when all the companies had
come into line, “our friends in Hamilton are in need of assistance, and
we, being law-loving and law-abiding men and boys, and utterly opposed to
mob rule, can not refuse to give it to them. It may be—nay, I am sure,
from what I have heard, that it is a mission of danger; and therefore I
shall not ask any of you to go to the city against your will. Those of
you who are in favor of the law, and who have the courage to enforce it
if you are called upon to do so, will step three paces to the front.”
These words, which were spoken so rapidly that those who heard them did
not have time to think twice, fairly stunned the boys. Egan, who stood
next the first sergeant of the third company, was the first to recover
himself. Reaching around behind the sergeant he gave Captain Mack a prod
in the ribs with his fist that fairly knocked him out of his place in the
ranks; but it brought him to his senses, and raising his hand to his cap
the captain said:
“I speak for my company, sir.”
“Your services are accepted,” said the superintendent. “You are too late,
young gentlemen,” he added, addressing himself to the boys in the first
and second companies who moved forward in a body, together with the
majority of the members of Bert’s company. “You ought to have had an old
first-sergeant in your ranks to wake you up.”
This was Greek to some of the students, but Mack understood it and so did
Egan. So did the boys directly behind them, who had seen Egan strike the
captain in the ribs to “wake him up.”
“If your conduct last night is any criterion, I shall have reason to be
proud of you when you return,” continued the superintendent, turning to
the third company boys. “I shall expect you to do your duty regardless
of consequences; and in order that you may work to the best advantage, I
shall make some changes in your _personnel_.”
Here the superintendent paused and looked at the adjutant, who stepped
forward and drew his note-book from his pocket.
“Mack, you’re a brick,” said Egan, in an audible whisper.
“He’s a born fool,” said Jones to the boy who stood next him. “I didn’t
give him authority to speak for me, and I’ll not stir one step. If he
wants to go down there and be pounded to death by that mob, he can go and
welcome; but he shall not drag me along with him.”
“It is not expected that boys who take refuge in the attic or hide in
coal-bins, or who are seized with the pangs of sickness at the very
first notes of a false alarm, would be of any use to you if you should
get into trouble,” added the superintendent. “Consequently those boys
will be permitted to remain at the academy. As fast as their names are
called they will fall out of the ranks and form a squad by themselves
under command of Sergeant Elmer, who will have charge of them until their
company returns.”
Some of those who had behaved with so much timidity the night before,
thought this the severest punishment that could be inflicted upon them.
They were virtually branded as cowards in the presence of the whole
school, and they felt it most keenly; but the others, those who had
determined to be sent down since their parents would not allow them to
leave the academy, as they wanted to do, did not seem to mind it at all.
They were perfectly willing to be disgraced. They fell out of the ranks
as their names were called, and after their places had been supplied by
boys from the first and second companies whom the superintendent knew he
could trust, they were all marched down to the dining-hall.
There was little dinner eaten that day, for their excitement took away
all their appetites. The hum of animated conversation arose above the
clatter of knives and forks from all except the third company boys,
who were already looked upon as heroes by some of their companions.
They were going down to the city to face an infuriated mob, and who can
tell what the result might be? These boys talked only in whispers, and
the all-absorbing question with them was: What teacher would be sent
in command of them? Everybody seemed to think it would be Professor
Odenheimer, who, by his fiery lectures, had now the appellation of
“Fighting Jacob,” which the students transformed into “Viting Yawcop.”
Everybody seemed to think, too, that if he were sent in command, they
would stand a fine chance of getting into a fight, whether the mob forced
it upon them or not.
The study-call was not sounded that afternoon, because the teachers knew
that there would be no studying done. The students gathered in little
groups in the building and about the grounds, and there was an abundance
of talk, argument and speculation. They were all anxious for news, and
it did not take long to raise a crowd. If a teacher, an officer or an
orderly stopped for a moment to exchange a word or two with one of the
students, they were very soon joined by a third, the number was rapidly
augmented, and a large assembly was quickly gathered. The wildest rumors
were freely circulated as facts, and if the third company boys had
believed half they heard, it is hard to tell whether or not their courage
would have stood the test. The excitement arose to fever-heat when a
messenger-boy, who had been passed by the sentry at the gate, ran up the
walk with a brown envelope in his hand.
“What is it? What is it?” cried the students, as he dashed through their
ranks.
“It’s for the superintendent,” was the boy’s reply.
“But what does it say?”
“Don’t know; only there’s the very mischief to pay down at Hamilton. The
special is due in fifteen minutes.”
“Then we’re off, boys,” said Egan; and so it proved. A few minutes after
the messenger-boy vanished through the door, a sergeant appeared on the
steps and cried out: “Fall in, third company!” whereupon all the boys
made a rush for the armory. Don and his comrades made all haste to put on
their belts and epaulets and take their muskets from the racks, while the
rest of the students drew themselves up in line behind the teachers so
that they could see all that was going on.
“Fall in!” commanded the first sergeant. “Left face! Support arms! Listen
to roll-call!”
Each boy in the ranks brought his piece to a “carry” and then to “order
arms,” as his name was called, and when this ceremony was completed the
company was again brought to a “carry,” and ordered to “count fours”;
after which the sergeant proceeded to divide it into platoons. Then he
faced about, saluted his commander and said, with a ring of triumph in
his tones:
“All present, sir.”
There was no one hiding in the attic or coal-bins this time.
“Fix bayonets,” said the captain.
The sergeant gave the order and moved to his place on the right of the
company, leaving the captain in command. His first move was to open
the ranks, and his next to order the quartermaster-sergeant to supply
each man with ten rounds of ammunition. Candor compels us to say that
the sergeant did not strictly obey this order. He was careful to put ten
cartridges, and no more, into each box, but he did not scruple to put
three or four extra ones into the hand that was holding the box open.
By this time the boys had found out who was to be their real commander.
It was Mr. Kellogg, the most popular instructor at the academy. He was
a modest, unassuming gentleman, but he was a soldier all over. He had
served in the army of the Potomac, and had twice been carried to the rear
and laid among the dead. The boys knew he was going with them, for he was
dressed in fatigue uniform and wore a sword by his side.
The cartridges having been distributed and the company brought to close
order, it was marched out of the armory and down the stairs. When the
other students saw it preparing to move, they rushed out in a body, ran
to the gate, and drawing themselves up in line on each side of the walk,
stood ready to give their friends a good “send off.” When the company
marched through their ranks, led by the band which was to accompany it
to the depot, they broke out into deafening cheers, which Captain Mack
and his men answered with a will. Don caught just one glimpse of his
brother’s face as he passed. It was whiter than his own.
The students followed the company as far as the gate, and then ran along
the fence to keep it in view as long as they could; but all they could
see of it were the bayonets, the young soldiers themselves being wholly
concealed by the crowd of citizens who had assembled to see them off. The
men cheered them lustily, the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the
girls threw flowers at them until a bend in the road hid them from sight.
Then the boys who were left behind turned away from the fence, and walked
slowly toward the academy.
“I’d much rather be here than with them,” said Jones to his friend
Lester, and the latter did not doubt it, for Jones was one of the boys
who had been found in the cellar. Lester had hidden his head under the
bed-clothes when he heard the bugle, and pleaded sickness when Bert
Gordon and his squad came to pull him out. “I suppose the teachers think
I feel very much disgraced because I was left behind, but I don’t. I
didn’t come here to fight, and when my father hears of this, he will tell
me to start for home at once. But I shan’t go until I get a good ready,
and then I am going in my own way. I am going to do something that will
make these fellows remember me. I said it long ago, and I mean it.”
“It is my opinion that this day’s work will break up this school,”
observed Enoch Williams. “I know my father will not allow me to stay here
after he hears of it.”
“Wouldn’t this be a good time to go off on our cruise?” inquired Lester.
“I am afraid not,” answered Jones. “I should like to go this very night;
but as things look now, I am of the opinion that we shall have to wait
until next month. We don’t want to fail when we make the attempt, for if
we do, we shall be watched closer than we are now.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” said Lester. “Suppose they should need more
help in the city, and that my company should be ordered down there?”
“You need not waste any time in worrying over that,” was the encouraging
reply. “Your company is composed of nothing but raw recruits; and even if
it should be ordered there, _you_ wouldn’t go. You would be told to stay
behind, as I was.”
Lester found some satisfaction in this assurance, but he found
none whatever in being snubbed as he was. Even the boys in his own
company—those who had promptly responded when ordered to fall in the
night before—would not look at him. If two of them were talking and
Lester came up to hear what they were saying, they would turn their backs
upon him without ceremony and walk away. All the boys who had concealed
themselves or played off sick when the false alarm was sounded, were
treated in the same way by their fellows, and all the companionship they
could find was in the society of students who were as timid as they
were. This had at least one good effect, so Lester thought. It brought
many friends to the boys who intended to desert the academy and run away
in the yacht, and before the day was over Lester, Jones and Enoch had
revealed their scheme to half a dozen or more new fellows, who heartily
approved of it and promised to aid them by every means in their power.
But after all they did not take as much interest in, or show as much
enthusiasm for, the scheme, as Lester and the rest thought they ought to.
The strike was the all-absorbing topic of conversation, and the possible
fate of the boys who had gone down to the city to confront the mob, made
many an anxious face.
Although all study was over for the day, everything else was done as
usual, but nothing was done well. The students were thinking of something
beside their duties, and made blunders and received reprimands without
number. As the hours wore on, the excitement gave place to alarm. The
third company ought to have reached Hamilton at eight o’clock, if
everything had gone well with them, and now it was long after ten and not
a despatch had been received.
“I am really afraid something has happened to them, Sam,” said Sergeant
Gordon, as he and Corporal Arkwright paced up and down the walk in front
of the guard-room in which sat the German professor, who was deeply
interested in his paper. These two boys were on duty until midnight, and
they wished they were going to stay on until morning, for they knew they
could not sleep if they tried. “My brother promised to telegraph me just
as soon as he reached the city,” continued Bert, “and he would surely
have done so, if something had not occurred to——”
“Corporal of the guard, No. 1,” shouted the sentry at the gate.
“Zetz auber!” exclaimed the professor, throwing down his paper. “Go out
dere, gorporal. Mebbe dot ish somedings from Meester Gellock.”
The corporal went, and Bert went with him. If there were a messenger-boy
at the gate, his despatch might be from Don instead of Professor Kellogg;
but there was no messenger-boy to be seen. On the opposite side of
the tall, iron gate were a couple of men who peered through the bars
occasionally, and then looked behind and on both sides of them as if to
make sure that there was no one watching their movements.
“These fellows affirm that they are just from the city,” said the sentry,
in a husky and trembling voice. “They have brought bad news. They say
that our boys were cut all to pieces by the rioters.”
Bert’s heart seemed to stop beating. Without waiting to ask the sentry
any questions, he passed on to the gate and waited for the men to speak
to him. He could not have said a word to them to save his life.
“We thought we had better come up here and let you know about it,” said
one of the visitors, at length. “The strikers are awful mad, and declare
they are going to burn the academy.”
“Who are you?” demanded Bert, after he had taken time to recover his
breath.
“We’re strikers, but we’re friends,” was the answer. “We live here in
Bridgeport and had to strike with the rest to escape getting our heads
broken. We saw the fight to-night, but we didn’t take any part in it.”
“The fight?” gasped Bert.
“Yes; and it was a lively one, I tell you. I didn’t know the boys had
so much pluck. But there were three thousand of the mob and only about
eighty of them, and so they had no show.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Bert. “What became of our boys?”
“We don’t know, for we lost no time in getting out of that when we found
that there were bullets flying through the air; but some of the strikers
told us that they whipped the cadets, and that those of them who could
get away ran like sheep.”
“Corporal, go into the sentry’s box and get the key,” said Bert. “I shall
have to ask you to make your report to the officer of the guard.”
“All right,” said the man who did the talking. “That’s what we came here
for; but we want to be as sly as we can in getting in and out, for if
we should be seen here, we’d have trouble directly. Bridgeport is in a
tumult of excitement, and there are lots of spies here. We came up from
Town Line on a hand-car with a lot of them. The lads must have got in
some pretty good work before they were whipped, or else the strikers
would not be so mad at them.”
“Was there a fight, sure enough?” said Bert, as the corporal came up with
the key and opened the gate. He was so astounded and terrified that,
although he heard all the man said to him, he did not seem to comprehend
it.
“Well, I should say there was a fight. I tell you, it must have been hot
in that car, and I don’t see how a single boy in it could possibly come
out alive!”
“Then some of our friends must have been hurt?” faltered Bert.
“Of course. I don’t believe a dozen of the whole company came out
uninjured.”
Bert wanted to ask if his informant had heard the names of any of the
wounded, but the words he would have uttered stuck in his throat. While
he was trying to get them out he reached the guard-room, and ushered the
visitors into the presence of Professor Odenheimer.
“These men, sir, desire to make report concerning a fight that took place
between our boys and the mob at Hamilton,” said the sergeant; and then he
backed off and stood ready to hear what they had to say in addition to
what they had already told him.
The excitable Prussian started as if he had been shot. “Our poys did have
a pattle?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, sir, they did,” answered one of the men.
“Donder and blixen! I don’t can pelieve dot.”
“They say they have just come from there, sir,” interposed Bert.
The professor jumped to his feet, dashed his spectacles upon the table,
and broke into a torrent of German ejaculations indicative of the
greatest wonder and excitement. His next question was, not “Were any of
the boys injured?” but—
“Did dem gadets make good fighting? Dot’s vot I vant to know.”
The men replied that they had done wonders.
“Dot’s all right! Dot’s _all_ right,” exclaimed Mr. Odenheimer, rubbing
his hands gleefully together. “Zargeant, you and de gorporal vait oudside
and I will hear de rebort of dese men. So dem gadets make good fighting!
I been glad to hear dot. Seet down in dem chairs and told me all apout
it.”
The non-commissioned officers reluctantly withdrew, and the professor was
left alone with the visitors.