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,[109] 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:
[110]
“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[111] 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[112] 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[113] 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[114] 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[115] 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[116] 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[117] 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[118] 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[119] 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,[120] 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?”
[121]
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[122] 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——”
[123]
“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[124] 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.”
[125]
“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.
[126]
“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[127] 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[128] 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[129] 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.