Chapter Fifteen.
Foul Play.
Willoughby reassembled after the eventful boat-race in a state of fever. The great event which was to settle everything had settled nothing, and the suspense and excitement which was to have been set at rest remained still as unsatisfied as ever, and intensified by a feeling of rage and disappointment.
As boys dropped in in groups from the course, and clustered round the school gate, one might have supposed by their troubled faces that instead of a rudder-line having broken both crews had been capsized and drowned.
The Parrett’s partisans particularly were loud in their clamour for a new race, and many of them freely insinuated foul play as the cause of the accident.
The schoolhouse, on the other hand, indignantly repelled the charge, and dared their opponents defiantly to meet them again. And amidst all this wrangling and bickering, the Welchers dispensed their taunts and invectives with even-handed impartiality, and filled in just what was wanted to make the scene one of utter confusion and Babel.
“I tell you we’d have beaten them hollow,” shouted Wibberly to the company in general.
“No you wouldn’t!” retorted Wyndham; “we were ahead and our men were as fresh as yours, every bit!”
“Ya—boo—cheats! Told you there’d be no fair play with such a pack,” shouted the Welchers.
“Look here, who are you calling a cheat?” said Wyndham, very red in the face, edging up to the speaker.
“You, if you like,” shouted Pilbury and Cusack.
“I’ll knock your heads together when I catch you,” said Wyndham, with lofty disgust, not intending to put himself out for two juniors.
A loud laugh greeted the threat.
Meanwhile, fellows were running up every moment. Some who had been waiting for the boats at the winning-post had only just heard the news, and came in red-hot with excitement to learn particulars.
“It’s all a vile dodge,” howled Wibberly, “to get their boat to the head of the river.”
“I’ll bet anything the precious captain’s at the bottom of it,” shouted another. “He’d stick at nothing, I know.”
“Yes, and you’ll see, now they’ll funk another race!”
“Who’ll funk another race?” roared the hot-headed Wyndham. “I’ll row you myself, you asses, the lot of you.”
Another derisive laugh followed at the speaker’s expense.
“It’s not our fault if your line broke,” cried a schoolhouse boy. “It’s your lookout. You should have seen it was right before you started.”
“Yes. You wouldn’t have been so anxious for a new race if it was our line had broken,” said Wyndham.
“Yes, we would. We’re not afraid of you!”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, we aren’t. You’re a set of cheats. Couldn’t win by fair means, so you’ve tried foul.”
“I’ll fight any one who says so,” retorted Wyndham.
How long the wrangle might have gone on, and to what riot it might have led, cannot be told. It was at its hottest, and a general fight seemed imminent, when a diversion was caused by the sudden appearance of Parson running at full speed up the path from the river.
There was something unusual in the looks and manner of the Parretts’ coxswain, which even his misadventure that afternoon was not sufficient to account for. He bore tidings of some sort, it was evident, and by common consent the clamour of the crowd was suspended as he approached.
Among the first to hail him at shouting distance was Telson.
“What’s up, old man?” he cried.
Parson rushed on a dozen yards or so before he answered. Then he yelled, in a voice half-choked with excitement, “The line was cut! It’s foul play!”
The howl which arose from the agitated crowd at this amazing piece of news—amazing even to those who had most freely raised the cry of foul play—was one the like of which Willoughby never heard before or since. Mingled rage, scorn, incredulity, derision, all found vent in that one shout—and then suddenly died into silence as Parson began again.
“They’ve looked at the place where it broke,” he gasped. “It’s a clean cut half-way through. I knew it was foul play!”
Once again the shout drowned his voice.
“Who did it?” shrieked a voice, before Parson could resume.
Parson glared round wrathfully for the speaker.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Sorry for him if I did!”
This valiant invective from the honest little fag failed even to appear ludicrous in the midst of the general excitement. Further words were now interrupted by the appearance of the Parretts’ crew coming slowly up the walk.
This was the signal for a general cheer and rush in their direction, in the midst of which the defeated heroes with difficulty struggled up to the school. Wrath and indignation were on all their faces. In reply to the hundred inquiries showered upon them they said nothing, but forced their way through the press sullenly, heedless of the cheers of their sympathisers or the silence of their opponents.
The crowd slowly fell back to let them pass, and watched them disappear into the school. Then they turned again towards the path from the river, and waited with grim purpose.
The news announced by Parson and confirmed by the black looks of the injured crew had fallen like a thunderbolt, and for the moment Willoughby was stunned. The boys could not—would not—believe that one of their number could be guilty of such an act. And yet, how could they disbelieve it?
In a few minutes there was a cry of “Here they are!” and at the same moment the schoolhouse crew appeared on the walk. They, victors though they were, looked troubled and dispirited as they approached, talking eagerly among themselves, and unconcerned apparently about the crowd which in ominous silence awaited them.
They certainly did not look like guilty persons, and it is most probable not even the wildest libeller in Willoughby would have cared positively to charge any one of them with the dishonourable deed.
But for all that, they had won in consequence of that deed, and that was quite sufficient to set three-fourths of the crowd against them.
As they came up a loud groan and cries of “Cheats! Foul play!” suddenly arose. Startled by the unexpected demonstration, the five heroes looked up with flushed faces.
“Cheats! Cowards!” reiterated the hostile section, beginning at the same time to surge towards them.
Foremost among these was Tucker of Welch’s house and Wibberly of Parrett’s, who, as the crowd behind pressed forward, were carried with their abusive taunts on their lips into the midst of the schoolhouse group. The latter, as may be imagined, were in anything but the humour for an assault of this sort, and their leaders instantly resented it in a very practical manner.
“Where are you coming to?” demanded Fairbairn, flinging Wibberly from him into the arms of his followers.
Before Wibberly could recover his balance the crowd had closed in by a sudden impulse, and with a loud shout had set upon the crew.
“Have them over, Parrett’s!” shouted a voice, as Wibberly staggered back a second time before Fairbairn’s stalwart arm, while at the same moment Tucker received a similar rebuff from Crossfield.
The summons was promptly answered, and a dash was made on the five schoolhouse boys with a view to carrying out the threat literally, when Wyndham’s voice shouted, “Rescue here! schoolhouse, come on!”
Instantly the whole crowd seemed to resolve itself by magic into two parties, and a short but desperate battle ensued.
The fire had been waiting for weeks for a match, and now the flare-up had come. Nobody knew whom he hit out at or by whom he was attacked that forenoon. The pent-up irritation of half a term found vent in that famous battle in which the schoolhouse boys fought their way inch by inch up to the door of their house.
Luckily for them, the most formidable of their rivals were not upon the field of action, and in due time the compact phalanx of seniors, aided by Wyndham and his band of recruits, forced their way through superior numbers, and finally burst triumphantly through and gained their stronghold.
But the victory was hardly bought, for the slaughter had been great.
Coates had a black eye, and Porter’s jacket was torn from his back. Riddell had twice been knocked down and trodden on, while Wyndham, Telson, and others of the rescuing party were barely recognisable through dust and bruises. On the other side the loss had been even greater. Tucker and Wibberly, the only two monitors engaged, were completely doubled up, while the number of maimed and disabled Limpets and juniors was nearly beyond counting.
So ended the great battle at the school gate, and it ended only just in time, for as the schoolhouse boys finally gained their quarters, and the enemy picked itself up and turned surlily schoolwards, the doctor and his party arrived on the scene and gave a finishing touch to the rout.
That evening was a sore one for Willoughby. Sore not only in respect of bruised bodies and swollen faces, but still more in the sense of disappointment, suspicion, and foul play.
Among the most violent of the Parrett’s the whole mystery of the thing was perfectly clear. These philosophers could see it all from beginning to end, and were astonished any one else should be so dull as not to see it too.
“Of course, it’s a regularly arranged thing,” said Wibberly, whose face was enveloped in a handkerchief and whose lips were unusually thick. “They’ve vowed all along to keep their boat at the head of the river, and they’ve managed it.”
“Yes,” said another. “They knew what they had to expect if Bloomfield got there. I can see it all.”
“But you don’t mean to say,” said Strutter, “the Premier,” “that you think any one of those fellows would do such a thing as cut our rope?”
“I don’t know,” said Wibberly. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t. I don’t fancy they’d stick at a trifle, the cads!”
“If Gilks had been in the boat,” said another, “I could have believed it of him, but he was as anxious for us to win as we were ourselves.”
“No wonder; he and his friend Silk have been betting right and left on us, I hear.”
“Well, I suppose there’s bound to be a new race,” said Strutter.
“I don’t know,” replied Wibberly. “I’d be just as well pleased if Bloomfield refused. The vile cheats!”
Bloomfield, be it said to his credit, was no party to these reckless accusations. Mortified as he was beyond description, and disappointed by the collapse of his ambition, he yet scouted the idea of any one of his five rivals being guilty of so dirty a trick as the cutting of his boat’s rudder-line. At the same time he was as convinced as any one that foul play had been at the bottom of the accident, and the perpetrator of the mean act was undoubtedly a schoolhouse boy. What mortified him most was that he did not feel as positive by any means as others that his boat, without the accident, would have won the race. He had been astonished and even disheartened by the performance of the rival crew, who had stuck to him in a manner he had not looked for, and which had boded seriously for the final result.
It was this reflection, more even than the thought of the broken line, which troubled him that evening. Could it be possible that his luck was deserting him?
His companions were troubled by no such suggestion. Indignation was the uppermost feeling in their breasts. Whoever had done the deed, it was a vile action, and till the culprit was brought to justice the whole schoolhouse was responsible in their eyes.
“I wonder a single one of them can hold up his head,” exclaimed Game.
“I hope to goodness Bloomfield won’t demand a fresh race. I won’t row if he does,” said Ashley.
“And the worst of it is they’ll try to make out now they would have won in any case. I heard one of them say so myself this very afternoon.”
“Let them say what they like,” said Ashley. “Nobody will believe them.”
Perhaps these hot-headed heroes, had they been able to overhear a conversation that was going on at that very time in the captain’s study, would have discovered that at any rate it was not the immediate intention of the schoolhouse to insist that the victory was theirs.
Riddell had recovered somewhat from his rough handling that afternoon, but he looked pale and dejected as, along with his friend Fairbairn, he sat and discussed for the twentieth time the event of the day.
“It’s quite evident we must offer them a fresh race,” said he.
“Yes, I think so,” said Fairbairn. “It’s hard lines, for I expect it won’t be easy to get our men up to the mark again after they are once run down.”
“We can’t help that,” said Riddell. “It’s the least we can do.”
“Of course. But I don’t see, Riddell, old man, that we are bound to hang down our heads over this business. Whoever did it did as mean a trick to us as ever he did to them. I’d like to have him a minute or two, even if he was my own brother.”
“Well,” said Riddell, “to my mind it seems like a disgrace to the whole house, and the least we can do is to offer to row again.”
“Oh, rather; that’s settled. I say,” added Fairbairn, “I’d give anything to get at the bottom of it. I saw the boats locked up last night, and I was there when they were taken out this morning. I can’t imagine how it was done.”
“It seemed a clean cut, didn’t it?”
“Yes; about three-quarters of the way through. Whoever did it must have been up to his business, for he only touched the right cord on which all the strain comes at the corner.”
“It must have been done between five o’clock yesterday and this morning,” said Riddell. “If the cut had been there yesterday the line would have given at the corner to a certainty.”
“Oh, yes; it must have been done in the night.”
“Doesn’t the boatman know anything about it?”
“No; I asked him. He says no one opened the door after the boats had gone in except himself and the boat-boy.”
“It’s horribly mysterious,” said Riddell. “But, I say, hadn’t we better offer the new race at once?”
“All serene.”
“Had we better write?” asked Riddell.
“No; why? What’s the use of looking ashamed?” said Fairbairn; “let’s go to them. Bloomfield’s sure to be in his study.”
The two boys went accordingly, and found the Parrett’s captain in his study along with Game and Ashley. It was rarely indeed that the schoolhouse seniors penetrated uninvited into the headquarters of their rivals. But on this occasion they had a right cause at heart and honest consciences to back them.
But it was evident at a glance they had fallen on unfriendly society. Game, quite apart from his state of mind with regard to the accident, had not forgotten his repulse at the hands of the new captain a week or two ago, nor had Bloomfield quite got over the indirect snub he had received on the same occasion.
Riddell himself had almost forgotten the circumstance, and attributed the unencouraging aspect of the rival seniors entirely to the day’s misadventure.
“Excuse us coming over,” said he, feeling that a beginning must be made to the interview, “but we wanted to tell you how sorry our fellows are about the race.”
“Have you found out who did it?” asked Bloomfield.
“No,” said Riddell, “and we can’t even guess.”
“But what we came for specially,” broke in Fairbairn at this point, “was to say we are quite ready to row you again any day you like.”
There was a touch of defiance in the tone of the schoolhouse stroke which was particularly irritating to the Parrett’s boys.
“Of course, we would row you—” began Bloomfield.
“But we don’t mean to,” broke in Game, “till this ugly business is cleared up.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fairbairn.
“You know what we mean,” said Game, warmly. “As soon as you find out who cut our line we’ll go out on the river again.”
“Yes; we don’t mean to row you till that’s done,” said Ashley.
“How on earth are we to find out who cut your line any more than you?” said Fairbairn, losing his temper.
“There’s no doubt he must be a schoolhouse fellow,” said Bloomfield, who but for his friends would have been disposed to accept the challenge.
“I’m afraid he is,” said Riddell.
“Well, I won’t row again till we know who he is,” repeated Ashley.
“Do you suppose we know who he is?” demanded Fairbairn.
“You’re the proper people to find out, that’s all I know,” said Ashley.
“Then you mean to say you won’t row again?” asked Fairbairn.
“No, if it comes to that,” said Bloomfield.
“Why,” said Game, “the same thing might happen again.”
“If you’d looked to your lines before you started,” said Fairbairn, hotly, “it wouldn’t have happened.”
“We shall certainly make a point of looking at them again when next we row you,” said Ashley, with a sneer.
Fairbairn seemed inclined to retort, but a look from Riddell deterred him.
“Then you won’t row again?” he repeated once more.
“No.”
“Then we claim to-day’s race,” said Fairbairn.
“You can claim what you like,” said Game.
“And our boat remains at the head of the river.”
“It doesn’t matter to us where it remains,” replied Ashley. “You may think what you like and we’ll think what we like.”
It was evidently useless to attempt further parley, and the two schoolhouse boys accordingly retired, bitterly disappointed to be thwarted of their only chance of righting themselves and their house in the eyes of Willoughby.
It soon got to be known there was to be no second race, and, as usual, all sorts of stories accompanied the rumour. The enemies of the schoolhouse said openly that they had refused Bloomfield’s demand for a new race, and intended to stick to their ill-gotten laurels in spite of everybody. On the other side it was as freely asserted that Parrett’s had funked it; and some went even so far to hint that the snapping of the rope happened fortunately for the boat, and saved it under cover of an accident from the disgrace of a defeat. The few who knew the real story considered Bloomfield was quite right in refusing another race till the culprit of the first should be brought to justice.
But the two fellows on whom the announcement fell most severely were Gilks and Silk. For if the race of that day was to stand, the schoolhouse boat had definitely won the race, and consequently they were both losers to a considerable extent.
They had counted almost certainly on a second race, but now that this had been decided against, their wrath and dismay knew no bounds. They spent the evening in vituperations and angry discussion, and ended it in what was very little short of a downright quarrel. Indeed, if young Wyndham had not opportunely arrived on the scene shortly before bedtime and created a diversion, the quarrel might have come to blows.
Wyndham burst into the room suddenly.
“Has either of you seen my knife?” he enquired; “I’ve lost it.”
“Have you?” inquired Silk.
“Yes; I fancy I left it here last night. I say, have you heard Parrett’s won’t accept a new race?”
“I wonder why?” asked Silk.
“Because they say they won’t have out their boat again till the fellow’s found who cut the lines.”
“Well, I don’t blame them—do you, Gilks?” said Silk. “I suppose there’s no idea who he is?”
“Not a bit,” said Wyndham; “I wish to goodness there was. Some fool, I expect, who’s been betting against Parrett’s.”
“I could show you a fool who’s been betting on Parrett’s,” said Silk, “and who’s decidedly up a tree now! I say, young ’un, I suppose you couldn’t lend me a sov. till the end of the term?”
“I’ve only got half-a-sov. in the world,” said Wyndham.
“Well, I’ll try and make that do, thanks,” said Silk.
Wyndham pulled out his purse rather ruefully and handed him the coin.
“Mind you let me have it back, please,” he said, “as I’m saving up for a racket. And I say,” added he, leaving, “if you do come across my knife, let’s have it, will you?”