Chapter Nine.
How my master and I had quite as much excitement in one afternoon as was good for us.
Just as they were turning to go, a sudden shout and rush of people arrested them. The crowd on the course had been immense, and of the roughest and lowest description: sharpers, thieves, and roughs were there by the hundred, attracted from the neighbouring villages by the opportunity of plunder and riot which Gurley races always afforded. As soon as the serious business of the racing was over, this low mob naturally sought excitement of their own making, and increasing in disorder and intemperance as the day wore on, had become beyond control just about the time when Mr Belsham, junior, took it into his muddled head to make a start in the direction of home. The shout which kept him where he was, was occasioned by that spectacle dear to the eyes of all blackguards, a fight. Round the two blood and dust-stained combatants, the mob surged and yelled. Every moment it grew denser and wilder; and every moment it swayed nearer and nearer to the spot where the Randlebury boys stood in their waggonette; and before they could move or get clear, they found themselves in the very centre of the mob. Shouts, shrieks, and wild laughter rose on every side of them; some of the crowd scrambled up onto their wheels to get a glimpse of the pugilists; some abused and swore at them for getting in the way; some tried to invade their waggonette, and struck at them when they resisted.
In the midst of all, Belsham’s horse took fright. There was a wild plunge, a shriek from the crowd in front, and next moment the five boys were thrown down among the crowd, while the horse, with the shattered and overturned vehicle behind him, forced for himself a ghastly lane through the mob.
Of Gus and his three friends, Charlie, whom the shock roused to sudden consciousness, could see nothing. He tried to rise, but the crowd pressed too wildly to give him the chance. For some moments he lay among a host of crowding, struggling feet, expecting every moment to be stunned, if not killed. But by a wonderful providence he escaped the peril. The crowd gave a sudden swing in a new direction, and he was left unhurt, though stupefied and almost unable to stir.
Presently he was conscious of a man standing in front of him.
“Oh, help me!” gasped my poor master.
The man seized him roughly by the arm and raised him to his feet.
“That’s worth a tip,” he growled; “come, hand over.”
Charlie put his hand in his pocket and drew out a shilling.
The man scowled.
“Do you suppose I’ll take a dirty shilling? Come, young swell, empty out them pockets. Look sharp, I’ve no time to waste on the like of you.”
Tremblingly Charlie obeyed, and gave the man all the little stock of money he possessed.
But he was not yet to escape. From under his jacket the greedy eye of the thief had caught a glimpse of a chain. With a rough hand he tore open the coat. “What, a ticker? Here’s luck; out with it, come.”
“Oh,” cried Charlie, “take anything but that! Take my chain and my knife, but not my watch?”
Hardly and brutally laughed the man as he snatched me out of the poor boy’s hand, and administering a parting cuff on the head of his victim, turned to walk off with me in the recesses of one of his filthy pockets.
Scarcely, however, had he turned, when three men appeared in front of him, coming in the direction of Charlie. The boy saw them, and imagine his joy when in one of the party he recognised his old acquaintance, the cabman Jim! With a sudden bound and cry of delight he rushed towards him, shouting and pointing to the robber. “Oh, Jim, he’s taken my watch; get my watch back, Jim.”
Jim took in the state of affairs in an instant, and calling on his two companions to follow him, rushed upon and secured the thief before the latter was even aware of their intention. It was vain for one man to resist three. He was forced to disgorge first me, then the knife, and then the money. Charlie indeed pleaded that they should leave him the money, or some of it, but this proposal Jim scouted, and in his zeal relieved the robber of a good deal more than he had stolen from Charlie. Then with kicks and blows they drove the wretch away as fast as his legs could carry him.
This done, Jim the cabman had an opportunity of renewing his acquaintance with my master.
“Well,” said he, “who’d have thought of seeing you here? And what a nice mess you’re in. You look as if—”
“Oh, don’t,” cried Charlie, holding him by the arm; “it’s bad enough as it is, without you thinking ill of me.”
And then he told him as well as he could how he had been decoyed to these vile races; how he had been kept there by main force; how he had been made senseless by their rough treatment, and how, but for Jim’s timely help, he would now have been robbed and helpless.
Jim listened in astonishment, not unmingled with many an ejaculation of indignation at the poor boy’s persecutors.
“And where are they now?” he asked, when Charlie had done.
“I don’t know. We were all thrown out, you know, among the crowd. I only hope they’ve not been killed.”
“Well, if I was you,” said the downright cabman, “I wouldn’t break my heart over them. I know I’d like to have a chance of a quiet talk with the young swells; I’d give them something to take home with them, I would.”
Charlie said nothing, but gratefully put himself under the protection of his deliverer, who, making a considerable round to avoid the crush, led him safely to Gurley.
“There’s no trap to be got for love or money, so you’ll just have to walk if you want to get back to Randlebury to-night.”
Anything to get away from that odious crowd. If the distance had been twice as far, Charlie would have undertaken it.
It was long enough, however, before they got away from the crowd. The road from Gurley to Sharle Bridge was alive for a mile and more with vehicles, drunken men and women, beggars and pickpockets. On either side of the road were jugglers, and thimble-riggers, and card-sharpers, who each attracted their crowd of simpletons. Many were the fights and riots that attended these eager assemblages. As they passed one booth, the headquarters of a blustering card-sharper, a sudden disturbance arose which threatened to block the entire road. The man had offered a sovereign to any one of his audience who could tell which of three cards he held uppermost in his hand. One voice called out a number. The man shuffled his cards, and by some slip on his part the guess of the speculator turned out correct. Instantly that youth demanded his sovereign, which the man refused, vowing and calling others to witness that another number had been guessed.
“I’ll bring the police,” cried the voice, and instantly there was a movement in the group as of some one endeavouring to force his way out.
“Knock him over!” some one cried; “he’s only one of them donkey schoolboys. What business have they here at all?” And at the signal two or three of the juggler’s accomplices made a dash at the retreating youth and seized him.
“Souse him in the river!” cried somebody else.
“Sit on him!” shouted a third.
In the midst of these contradictory advices the roughs lifted their struggling victim from his feet, and proceeded to carry him in the direction of the bridge.
In the momentary glimpse which Charlie got of the wretched object of this persecution, he recognised, to his horror and astonishment, Tom Drift, livid with terror, frantic with rage, and yelling with pain.
“Jim,” cried Charlie, “that’s Tom Drift! Oh! can’t we help him? Will you try, Jim! Poor Tom!”
“Is he one of them four as brought you here?” asked Jim, not offering to move.
“Yes; but never mind that; they will drown him; see how furious they are! Will you help him, Jim?”
“Not a bit of me,” replied the stubborn Jim, who was well content to see the tables turned on one who had so brutally ill-treated his young companion.
“Then I must try myself;” and so saying, the boy of thirteen rushed in among the crowd, and wildly tried to make his way to where his schoolfellow was being dragged by his persecutors.
Of course Jim had nothing for it but to back him up, and in a moment he was beside my young master.
“Let the boy be!” he shouted to those who carried Drift, in a voice so loud that for a moment the rabble stood quiet to hear.
In the midst of this silence Charlie shouted,—
“Hold on, Tom Drift, we’ll help you if we can.”
Instantly the crowd took up the name.
“Tom Drift! Yah! Souse Tom Drift! Roll Tom Drift in the mud! Yah! Tom Drift!”
And sure enough Tom Drift would have suffered the penalty prepared for him, despite Charlie’s attempt at rescue, had not help come at that moment from a most unexpected quarter.
It will be remembered that Joe Halliday and his friend Walcot had planned a long walk on this holiday to Whitstone Woods, some ten miles beyond Gurley.
This plan they had duly carried out, and were now making the best of their way back to Randlebury along the crowded highway, when the sudden cry of a schoolfellow’s name startled them.
“Tom Drift! Yah! Beggarly schoolboy!”
“I say, Joe, that’s one of our fellows! What’s happening?”
Joe accosted a passer-by.
“What’s going on?” he inquired.
“They’re only going to souse a young chap in the river.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know; ’cause he don’t think the same as old Shuffle, the three-card chap.”
“We must do something, Joe,” said Walcot.
“I wish it were any other chap; but come on, we’re in for it now,” said Joe.
And with that these two broad-shouldered, tall fellows dashed into the thick of the fray.
Tom’s bearers were now at the bridge, which was a low one, and were turning down towards the water’s edge, when a new cry arrested them.
“Now, Randlebury! Put it on, Randlebury! Who backs up Randlebury?”
It was the old familiar cry of the football field, and at the sound of the well-known voices, Charlie’s heart leapt for joy.
“I do!” he shouted, with all his might. “Here you are, Randlebury!”
And Jim’s gruff voice took up the cry too.
A panic set in among the blackguards. To them it seemed that the school was come in force to rescue their comrade, for on either side the cry rose, and fighting towards them they could, see at any rate two stalwart figures, who, they concluded, were but the leaders of following force. One of the men was hardy enough to turn at bay at the moment Walcot had cleared his way at last up to the front. Big bully though he was, he was no match for the well-conditioned, active athlete who faced him, and Walcot punished him in a manner that made him glad enough to take to his heels as fast as he could.
This exploit turned the day. Dropping Tom—how and where they did not stay to consider—they followed their retreating companion with all the speed they were capable of, and left the enemy without another blow masters of the situation.
But if, as a victory, this charge of the Randlebury boys had been successful, as a rescue it had failed; for Tom Drift, being literally dropped from the shoulders of his executioners, had fallen first on to the parapet of the bridge, and then with a heavy shock into the stony stream beneath. When Walcot, Joe, Charlie, and Jim among them, went to pull him out, he was senseless. At first they thought him merely stunned by the fall (the stream was only a few inches deep), but presently when they began to lift him, they found that his right arm, on which he had fallen, was broken.
Bandaging the limb as well as they could, and bathing his forehead with water, they succeeded in restoring Tom to consciousness, and then, between them, carried him as gently as possible to the nearest house, when they managed, with some difficulty, to get a vehicle to convey them the rest of their journey. It was a sad, silent journey. To Tom, the pain caused by every jolt was excruciating. They did their best to ease him, holding him lying across their knees, while Jim drove along the level footpath; but by the time the school was reached the sufferer was again insensible, and so he remained till the surgeon had set his arm.
Thus ended the eventful holiday.
Before Charlie went to bed, the doctor sent for him to his study, and there required to know the true history of that day’s doings. And Charlie told him all. I need hardly say that, according to his version, the case against the four culprits was far lighter than had their impeachment been in other hands. He took to himself whatever blame he could, and dwelt as little as possible on the plot that had been laid to get him to Gurley, and on the means which had been used to keep him when once there. He finished up with a very warm and pathetic appeal for Tom Drift.
“Don’t, please, expel Tom Drift,” he said, in all the boldness of generosity; “he was led on by the others, sir, and he’s punished badly enough as it is. Oh! sir, if you’d seen his mother cry, when she only spoke of him, you couldn’t do it.”
“You must leave that to me,” said the doctor sternly, “I hope I shall do nothing that is unjust or unkind. And now go to bed, and thank God for the care He has taken of you to-day.”
And Charlie went.
Tom Drift was not expelled. For weeks he lay ill, and during that time no nurse was more devoted, and no companion more constant, than Charlie Newcome. A friendship sprang up between the two, strangely in contrast with the old footing on which they had stood. No longer was Tom the vain, hectoring patron, but the docile penitent, over whose spirit Charlie’s character began from that time to exercise an influence which, if in the time to come it could always have worked as it did now, would have gone far to save Tom Drift from many a bitter fall and experience.
When Tom, a week before the Christmas holidays, left the sick-room and took his place once more in his class, Gus, Margetson, and Shadbolt were no longer inmates of Randlebury School.