Castlemon Harry
Don Gordon's Shooting-Box

CHAPTER X
BREAKING UP THE “SET.”

It was an eager and anxious lot of boys who answered to roll-call the next morning. Of course they knew that a party of their fellows had been challenged while they were attempting to run the guard, and they were impatient to learn who they were, and what the superintendent was going to do about it. Two things astonished and bewildered them: They could not imagine how the culprits had managed to leave the building and get back again so easily, and neither could they understand why the officer of the day had neglected to question the floor-guards. They believed, with Tom Fisher, that something new was to be “sprung” on them; and as soon as breakfast was over, they found out what it was. On ordinary occasions the quartermaster-sergeants marched their respective companies to and from the dining-hall; but on this particular morning the captains took command and led them to the drill-room, where they were drawn up in line as they were when preparing for dress-parade. The teachers were all there, and many a sly and inquiring glance was cast toward them; but their countenances revealed nothing.

“Right dress! – Front!” commanded the captains, as the companies came into line; and when these orders had been obeyed, the superintendent, who stood in the place that is occupied by the battalion commander during dress-parade, thus addressed them:

“Young gentlemen,” said he, and his tones were not near as stern and severe as the boys expected they would be, “I am sorry to hear that some of you attempted to run the guard last night. Heretofore, when such offences have been committed, it has been our rule to examine the floor-guards and sentries who were on duty at the time, but we have seldom succeeded in drawing from them any information that would lead to the detection of the guilty parties. A student who will prove false to his duty, and violate the confidence reposed in him, will not scruple to tell any number of falsehoods to conceal his wrong-doing. Now I intend, before these ranks are broken, to learn the names of all those who tried to run by post No. 8 last night, as well as the name of the floor-guard who permitted them to pass. The first sergeants will now call the roll, and you can answer ‘guilty,’ or ‘not guilty,’ just as your sense of honor may seem to dictate. If innocent, simply answer ‘here’ and keep your place in the ranks; if you are guilty, step three paces to the front. I put you all upon your honor.”

When the superintendent ceased speaking, the first sergeants moved to the front and centre of their respective companies, and the roll-call began. As it proceeded, more than one boy standing in the ranks of the third company tried to twist himself around so that he could catch a glimpse of Don Gordon’s face, hoping to see something there that would give him a hint of the course Don intended to pursue when his turn came to answer to his name.

“He certainly will not – he dare not – confess,” were the thoughts that passed through their minds. “If he does, he will be sent down, sure. If some one could only get a chance to whisper a word or two in his ear, we would come out all right yet, in spite of this honor business.”

The anxiety and alarm experienced by these boys showed very plainly in their countenances, and before the roll-call had been going on for two minutes, the superintendent could have stepped forward and picked out every one of the guard-runners.

The names of the boys belonging to the first and second companies were called in quick succession, and as yet nobody had stepped to the front. The culprits, in this instance, all belonged to the third class, with the single exception of Don Gordon, who, having long ago made up his mind what he would do, waited with some impatience to see how his companions in guilt would stand the test. The result was just what he might have expected.

“Clarence Duncan,” said the third company sergeant.

“Here,” answered the owner of that name, making a desperate but unsuccessful effort to appear at his ease.

“George W. Brown.”

“Here.”

“Richard Henderson.”

“Here.”

“Thomas Fisher.”

“Here.”

“They’re a pack of cowards,” was Don’s mental comment. “Such fellows always are, and I ought to have known better than to take up with them. My last act in this school will be to show them and everybody else that I am just as willing to pay the fiddler as I am to dance.”

At last the sergeant of the fourth company began, and near the top of his list was the name – “Donald Gordon.”

There was no response to it; but to the intense amazement of everybody present, and the almost overwhelming consternation of some, Don stepped quickly and firmly to the front. No one outside the “set” would have thought of picking him out as a guard-runner. The sergeant hesitated and stammered over the next name, and there was a perceptible flutter among all except the first-class boys. They showed their three years’ drill and discipline by standing as stiff as so many posts and holding their eyes straight to the front; but they could not control their countenances, and surprise and sorrow were depicted upon every one of them. When the roll-call was ended the sergeants went back to their places, and Don was left standing alone. He had passed through one ordeal, and now came another.

“Gordon,” said the superintendent, “I am glad to see that you have too much manhood to take refuge behind a lie. I should have been very much surprised and grieved if you had showed me that I had formed a wrong opinion of you.”

These words made some of the guilty ones in the third class open their eyes. Duncan’s face grew whiter than ever, while Tom Fisher said to himself:

“I really believe the old fellow knows right where to look to find every boy who was outside the building last night after taps. If I had had the faintest suspicion that Don intended to confess, I should have been ahead of him. He’ll get off easy by giving the names of the rest of us, and Duncan and I and a few others, who kicked up such a row last term, will be sent down.”

“You had charge of the third floor between the hours of eight and twelve last evening,” continued the superintendent, addressing himself to Don.

“Yes, sir,” was the reply.

“And while you were on duty several boys, who you knew intended to run the guard, left their dormitories, and you permitted them to pass out of the building?”

“Yes, sir,” said Don, again.

“Give me the names of those boys,” said the superintendent, nodding to the adjutant, who pulled out his note-book and pencil; but he did not use them – at least just then. While he held his pencil in the air and looked at Don, and the culprits were trembling with apprehension, and the others were listening with all their ears to catch the first name that fell from Don’s lips, the answer came clear and distinct:

“I hope you will not insist upon that, sir, for it is something I do not like to do.”

The superintendent stared, the teachers looked astonished, and another flutter of excitement ran along the line. This time it did not even miss the first-class boys, some of whom so far forgot themselves as to turn their heads and look at the boy who dared stand in the presence of the head of the school and say that he did not like to obey an order that had been given him point-blank. Such a thing had never happened before in the Bridgeport academy. Don’s companions in guilt began to breathe easier.

“If he will only stick to that I am all right; but he will have to go down,” soliloquized Clarence Duncan, whose every thought was a selfish one, and who did not care the snap of his finger what became of Don or anybody else, so long as he escaped punishment himself.

“That bangs me,” thought Tom Fisher, who was not altogether bad at heart, even though he did have faults almost without number. He knew a brave boy when he saw one, and Don’s conduct excited his unbounded admiration. “He’s the pluckiest fellow I ever saw, and he shall not be sent down if I can help it.”

“Do you refuse to give me the names of those boys?” asked the superintendent, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his surprise.

“I would rather not, sir,” replied Don. He did not like to use so strong a word as “refuse,” but still his answer was given in a tone which showed that he had no intention of wavering.

“You know the alternative?” said the superintendent, quietly but firmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are willing to submit to it?”

“Yes, sir”

“But I am not willing that he should, sir,” exclaimed Tom Fisher, stepping three paces to the front and raising his hand to his cap. “If he won’t tell who the guard-runners are, I will.”

“Attention!” shouted the superintendent, who was utterly confounded by this breach of discipline; but Tom, having made a resolution, was determined to stick to it, regardless of the consequences.

“No boy in this academy shall ever again suffer for my misdeeds if I can help it,” said he, speaking as rapidly as he could in order that he might get everything off his mind before he was interrupted. “I was one of the guard-runners, and if the others have the least particle of pluck in them – ”

“Attention!” shouted the superintendent again. “Captain Morgan” he added, addressing the commander of the first company, “detail a corporal’s guard to take private Fisher to his room under arrest.”

“I don’t care,” thought Tom, as he was marched off by the guard that was quickly detailed to take charge of him. “I did my best to save Don, and I shall go down with something like a clear conscience. But I really wish the superintendent would give me another chance. I would make an honest and earnest effort to do better.”

This was the unexpected act on the part of Tom Fisher to which we referred a short time ago, and which, taken in connection with Don’s bold acknowledgment of his guilt, did more to break up guard-running at that academy than all the locks and bolts that could have been put upon the doors. These two incidents upset everybody, teachers included; but the latter were quick to see how to take advantage of it.

“Sergeant Clayton, call the roll of your company again,” said the superintendent.

The sergeant obeyed, and this time all the guard-runners stepped to the front with the exception of Clarence Duncan. He had good reasons for fearing exposure, as we shall presently see, and believing that his companions would follow Don Gordon’s example and refuse to bear witness against him, he was resolved to keep up a bold front, and to deny his guilt to the very last.

“It is a pity that some of these weak-kneed fellows didn’t come to the same determination,” said he to himself. “There was not a scrap of evidence against any of us, and if they had only stood by me – ”

“Sergeant, call private Duncan’s name again,” said the superintendent, breaking in upon his soliloquy.

“Clarence Duncan,” said the sergeant.

“Here,” came the response.

“Clarence Duncan!” repeated Clayton.

“Here!” replied the culprit; adding to himself, “You can’t make me own up, and you might as well give up trying.”

“Private Duncan, three paces to the front,” commanded the superintendent. “Break ranks.”

Duncan was taken to his room under guard, and when he got there he found an armed sentry pacing back and forth in front of the door. Tom Fisher was seated at the table with an open book before him, but he was not studying. He was thinking over the incidents that had just transpired.

“Well, Clarence,” said he, cheerfully, “we’re in for it.”

“Yes,” replied Clarence, angrily. “Thanks to you and Don Gordon, we are in for it. I never knew before that you were such a coward. What made you side with Gordon?”

“Well, I had two reasons for it: In the first place, he showed himself to be a good fellow, and as true as steel; and I couldn’t stand by and see him punished. If I hadn’t spoken up, he would have been sent down for refusing to give our names.”

“That’s just what ought to have been done with him,” said Clarence.

“As the case now stands,” continued Tom, “he will, most likely, be let off easy, this being the first time that anything serious has been charged against him.”

“And what is to become of you and me?”

“You know what they told us the last time we were court-martialed, don’t you?”

“I should think I ought, for I have been reminded of it often enough. Don’t you know that by befriending Don you have got me into a terrible scrape? Don’t you remember that my father told me that he would put me on board the school-ship if I were sent down?”

It would have been strange if Tom had forgotten it, for Duncan had such a horror of that same school-ship that he talked about it every day. He had seen and conversed with boys who had been sent there because they would not behave themselves at home, and he had noticed that they all agreed on these two points – that the officers were very stern and severe, and that the life of a hod-carrier was easier and more respectable than that of a foremast hand. Clarence had a deep-rooted horror of the sea and every thing connected with it, and he looked forward to five years on the school-ship with feelings very near akin to those with which he would have looked forward to a term in the penitentiary.

“You went back on me, an old-time friend, for the sake of a boy you never saw or heard of until last winter,” continued Clarence. “I didn’t act the craven, I tell you. I stuck it out as long as I could.”

“Did they find you out?” asked Tom.

“I am under arrest, the same as you are; but they can’t prove anything against me.”

“Then how does it come that you are in arrest?”

“That’s just what beats me. They called the roll of our company again after you were sent off under guard, and, to my intense disgust, every fellow who was with us last night stepped to the front. They tried to bully a confession out of me, but I didn’t leave the ranks until I was ordered to do so.”

“That brings me to the second reason I had for doing as I did,” said Tom. “They’ve got evidence against every one of us.”

“I don’t see where they got it.”

If Clarence had taken the trouble to look in the mirror he would have seen at a glance where the evidence that convicted him came from. He carried it in his face.

We need not dwell upon the incidents that happened during the next few days, for they have nothing to do with our story, and no one except the boys who attended the Bridgeport academy at this particular time would be interested in them. It will be enough to say that the culprits were confined to their rooms and given ample leisure in which to think over their folly and make good resolutions for the future. The repentant ones devoted the most of their time to their books; but there were some among them who did nothing but bemoan their hard luck and rail at Don Gordon for being such a “fluke.”

The court-martial came off in due time, and Clarence Duncan, who denied his guilt to the very last, and even denounced the others for bearing false witness against him, was sent down; and it was not long before reports came to the academy that he had been placed on board the school-ship. Tom Fisher was given a new lease of life. He evidently knew just what he was doing when he took sides with Don, for that one act was all that saved him from going home too. Next to Duncan he and Don received the heaviest sentences, both being gated for two months, during which time they were required to walk eight extras with packed knapsacks on their backs. The others were punished in nearly the same way, only they were not gated for so long a period, nor were they called upon to perform as much extra duty. Strange as it may appear, no one suspected that the guard-runners had made use of the fire-escape. All the blame was laid upon the floor-guard, who suffered accordingly.

These stirring events, as we said before, broke up the “set” completely, and made fast friends of Don Gordon and Tom Fisher, who, holding firmly to their determination to do better, gradually broke off their intimate relations with the lazy, mischievous, and discontented members of their classes, and began to have more to do with fellows who were worth knowing. The manly stand they had taken during the investigation (it was a manly act on Don’s part, but largely prudential on the part of Tom Fisher) excited the wonder and admiration of all the students, and the boys in the upper classes, who had never taken any notice of them except to return their salutes, now sought them out and became intimate with them. It was certainly a great relief to Don to associate with fellows who were not all the while grumbling about something or discussing plans for getting by the guard. One day he was surprised by a visit from Egan, the first sergeant of his company, who entered his room holding an open letter in his hand.

“Say, Gordon,” he exclaimed, taking no notice of Don’s salute, “why didn’t you let the fellows know that your father used to go to this school?”

“Some of them do know it,” replied Don.

“Well, I didn’t know it until I received this letter,” said the sergeant, helping himself to a chair and throwing his cap on Bert’s bed. “I spoke of you in a letter I wrote home a short time ago, and am surprised to learn that your father and mine used to be room-mates and chums when they belonged to this academy. Let’s shake.”

Don took the sergeant’s proffered hand, and this was the beginning of another friendship that has never been broken. The sergeant was just the kind of associate that Don needed. He was a faithful soldier, a close student, a favorite with both teachers and scholars, and his example and influence did wonders for Don Gordon. It is true that during his first year at the academy he had been rather restive under the strict discipline to which he was subjected. He had even run the guard – if he hadn’t he would not have known as much as he did about Cony Ryan’s pancakes and maple syrup – and he had paid for his fun by walking extras and being gated; but that was all over now, and he was one of the last boys in school who would have been suspected of any violation of the rules.

Egan introduced his new friend to the fellows in the first class, and first-class fellows Don found them to be. Some of them were fond of shooting and fishing, knew a good dog and gun when they saw them, and could tell hunting stories without number. Others among them – and they were Southern boys, like Don – thought more of their horses than they did of almost anything else. They were at home in the saddle, and delighted to talk of the fine times they had enjoyed while riding to the hounds. Courtland Hopkins, who was the Falstaff of the academy, always grew enthusiastic when the subject of fox-hunting was introduced.

“Ah! Gordon,” he said one day, “that is the sport par excellence. Come down into Maryland with me next vacation, and I’ll show you some fun. A lot of the fellows have been promising to go for a long time, but that’s all it has amounted to.”

“I’d like to see you in the saddle, Hop,” said Egan, taking his friend by the arm and turning him around so that he could give him a good looking over. “You’ve almost too much avoirdupois for a rider, according to my way of thinking. In other words, you’re a great deal too fat.”

“Just give me a good horse, and see if I can’t take a ten-rail fence as cleverly as anybody,” returned Hopkins, quickly. “I am good for a plate of soup at the International if there is a colt in Bridgeport that can throw me.”

“If you will all go home with me, I will give you some of the best duck-shooting you ever saw,” said Don.

“Yes; but that would require a scatter-gun, and that is something I never did like,” said Walter Curtis. “If you want to see fun, combined with skill, take a Thanksgiving dinner with me, and watch the members of our club break glass balls with rifles.”

These words were spoken carelessly, but they were not forgotten. If they had been, this series of books would never have been written.

CHAPTER XI
THE STUDENTS IN CAMP

Time flew on, the school term drew to a close, and at last the “day of all days” – the day to which all the students in the Bridgeport Military Academy looked forward with the liveliest anticipations of pleasure – arrived. Of late there had been a perceptible bustle among the boys. Those of their number who had hitherto thought of nothing but mischief, and whose highest ambition was to shirk their duty in every way they could, began to show some interest in the daily school routine, and tried by the hardest kind of study and strict attention to business, to make up for the time they had lost. There was no idleness, and consequently no rules were broken, and there was no extra duty to be done. There was less time wasted in loitering about the grounds, the hours of recreation being devoted to the discussion of various plans for amusement, and to the overhauling of fly-books and trolling-lines. Their studies were soon to be thrown aside for a whole month; their pleasant dormitories were to be exchanged for shelter-tents; fly-rods, oars, and geologists’ hammers were to take the place of the pens, pencils, and mathematical instruments that had so long been their daily companions; and their tiresome drills were to give way to moonlight boat-rides and to – well, to some other sports that would not have been permitted while the students were living at the academy, but which were winked at during the time they were in camp. What these sports were shall be told presently.

As the eventful day drew near, the excitement and impatience, and, we may add, anxiety, of the students increased to such a degree that it was all they could do to study. The reason for this state of affairs was found in the fact that it had somehow leaked out – through what source no one seemed able to tell – that an event of unusual interest was to take place during this particular encampment; something that had never occurred before, and might never occur again. Some of the first-class boys who were in the secret, had said just enough to put their companions on nettles, but not enough to give them even the faintest idea of what they might expect.

“I know that boat-riding, and trolling for pickerel, and spearing eels by torch-light, are fine sports,” Egan said to Don, one day, “and they are exciting, too, when you have no better way of passing the time; but you very soon forget all about the pleasure you have in that way, don’t you? Well, there’s something going to happen very shortly that you’ll not forget so easily, I tell you. You will remember it as long as you live.”

“Now, sergeant, what is it?” exclaimed Don, after Egan had talked to him a few times in this way. “Can’t you give me a hint?”

“No. Couldn’t possibly think of it.”

“Well, then, if you were told to keep it to yourself, why don’t you do it? What’s the use of aggravating a fellow in this way?”

“I assure you, my dear boy, that no aggravation is intended,” replied Egan, in his blandest tones. “I only meant to prepare you for something you never dreamed of. If your eyes don’t open and your hair stand on end, I – whew! I can’t think of it without a little thrill of excitement.”

Meanwhile the question as to where and how the coming vacation should be spent, had been repeatedly referred to and talked over by Don and his three friends in the first class – Egan, Hopkins and Curtis. The latter was anxious to go home and join his friends in the club-shoot that always came off on Thanksgiving day; Hopkins wanted Don to see him add another “brush” to the numerous trophies of the chase that adorned the walls of his room; and Don held out strongly in favor of his own shooting-grounds about Diamond Lake. The matter was finally settled by the assistance of General Gordon, who sent each of the boys a cordial invitation to spend at least a small portion of their next vacation at Don’s shooting-box, and made sure of its acceptance by communicating with the fathers of these students, all of whom he had known in the days of his boyhood. This point having been decided to his entire satisfaction, Don could have settled down to good hard work, had it not been for the fact that he was continually looking forward to that “unusual and interesting event” that was to transpire when the boys went into camp. His curiosity had been aroused to the highest pitch, and he could scarcely think about anything else.

The sun rose clear and cloudless on the morning of the first day of August, and before the echoes awakened by the roar of the field-piece had fairly died away, the boys were crowding into the drill-room. Breakfast was served immediately after roll-call, and two hours later three hundred students, led by the band and marching with the precision of veteran soldiers, moved through the wide gateway, and down the principal street of the village toward their camping-ground. Everybody turned out to see them. Flags and handkerchiefs were waved all along their line of march, flowers were showered into their ranks, and when, in obedience to the command: “Platoons, right front into line, double time, march!” they broke from column of fours into column of platoons, the cheers that greeted their prompt and soldier-like execution of the manœuvre, which is always an awkward one unless it is well done, were always deafening.

The camp was always pitched upon a little rise of ground about three miles from the village. In front of it was the river, on its left arose a range of hills which were almost high enough to be called mountains, and among these hills were located the streams and ponds in which the speckled trout, pickerel, sunfish and bass abounded. Here too, were found the thieving raccoons that ravaged the farmers’ corn-fields, the hawks that caught their chickens, and the black and gray squirrels which afforded the boys many an exciting hunt and excellent dinner. Between these hills and the camp ran a wide and deep creek, whose rapid current often baffled the skill of the young engineers who tried to throw a pontoon-bridge across it.

On reaching the camping ground the arms were stacked, and the tents, which had already arrived, were distributed among the different companies and pitched at the tap of the drum. Then working-parties were detailed to grade and ditch the streets, provide fire-wood for the kitchens and to perform various other duties, and when they were relieved at four o’clock in the afternoon, the little camp presented a scene of neatness and order with which the most exacting officer could not have found a word of fault.

There were several orders read that night on dress-parade, and among them was one that expressly prohibited “foraging.” Don could not see the necessity for such an order, so he waited for an opportunity to speak to Egan about it.

“It means,” said the latter, in response to Don’s inquiries, “that we mustn’t steal anything from the farmers hereabouts.”

“So I supposed. But who is there among us who would be mean enough to do such a thing?”

“I don’t know about it’s being mean,” replied the sergeant, in a tone of voice that made Don open his eyes. “We want something good to eat, don’t we?”

“Of course we do; but why can’t we buy what we want? We’ve all got a little pocket-money.”

“That’s very likely; but it is cheaper to forage.”

“But suppose you are caught at it?”

“That’s your lookout. You must be sharp enough to get away with your plunder after you have secured it.”

“I’ll not try it,” said Don, decidedly. “I’ve had trouble enough this term, and I am not going to have any more black marks placed against my name if I can help it. Besides, I don’t see what there is to steal.”

“O, there are lots of things. The farmers hardly ever lock their spring-houses, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to slip into one of them and take a good swig out of a pan of milk that has cream on it an inch thick. Ah!” said the sergeant, smacking his lips. “That’s the way Hop got himself into a snarl last camp.”

“Not Court Hopkins!” exclaimed Don.

“Yes, Courtland Hopkins. He and a party of fellows went down to Hudson’s one day after some eggs and butter – by the way, that same farmer Hudson always has a splendid melon patch, and the melons will begin to ripen pretty soon – and while some of the boys were occupying the attention of the farmer’s wife, Hop slipped around to the spring-house, and there he found a five-gallon jar full of fresh buttermilk. That was too much for Hop, who can make way with more buttermilk than any boy I ever saw. He grabbed the jar and made off with it; but just as he was leaving the spring-house, Hudson, who was at work in a field close by, caught sight of him and started in pursuit. Hop heard him coming, and knowing that he could not escape with his burden, he put it down, never spilling a drop of the milk, and took to his heels. Fat as he is, he led Hudson a good long chase, but he was collared at last and taken to camp.”

Don was utterly amazed. Here was Hopkins, who was looked upon by all his companions as a model of perfection, and yet he had been caught in the act of stealing; and here was Egan, another good scholar and a non-commissioned officer besides, who told the story of his friend’s guilt as though it were something well worth relating. Don could not understand it.

“What did they do with him?” he asked, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his surprise.

“Well, the superintendent thought that that was carrying matters a little too far, and so he refused Hop a pass for a week,” was the sergeant’s reply. “But he didn’t gain any black marks by it.”

“How was that?” inquired Don.

“Why, you see, your record for the term is all made up, and the hooks are closed; and any mischief you may do here in camp will not count against you in the examination. We come out here to have fun, and the teachers are willing we should have it, so long as we keep within bounds. The farmers around here make lots of money out of us every year, and if we want to go into their orchards and melon-patches and help ourselves to what we find there, we are welcome to do it, if we go about it openly and above board; but if we try to forage on them, they enter into the spirit of the matter as fully as we do, and make every effort to capture us. If they succeed, they march us to camp, and all the boys laugh at us, and we have to fork over money enough to pay for the articles we took, whatever they are. But after all one don’t lose anything by it, for very likely that same farmer will meet you the next day and give you a peck of peaches, or an armful of green-corn or a water-melon as big as you can carry.”