Chapter Eighteen.
Going Down Stream.
If any one supposed that Low Heath had heard the last of Mr Jarman’s guy they little knew Mr Jarman, or Tempest, or the Philosophers. The ghost of that unhappy effigy was hardly likely to be laid by a simple magisterial decision.
Mr Jarman, it was rumoured, had a bad quarter of an hour with the doctor that evening, and went about his ordinary work for the next few days with a scowl which boded no good to any one who chanced to cross him, least of all to those of us who had contributed to his defeat.
Tempest, on the other hand, took his victory coolly. He talked it over with his chums, and came to the conclusion that they were quits with the enemy and could afford to leave him alone. But it was plain to see that he had suffered a jar, which found expression in his reckless unconcern for the duties of his position as head of his house, and an increased disinclination to make any exertion for the credit of a school which, he considered, had treated him ill. What troubled me most was to notice that his spirits had flagged, and that he was dropping slowly into the listless indifference which had made Pridgin only a term ago shirk his responsibilities to the school.
Towards us juniors he was utterly easy-going, perhaps in token of his gratitude for the assistance we had rendered him at a critical time; but chiefly, I fear, because he was slack to check anything which seemed to defy constituted authority or promised to give an uneasy time to the representatives of law and order.
To do us credit, we availed ourselves of his licence to the uttermost. Sharpe’s rapidly became known as the “rowdy” house at Low Heath, and we grew almost proud of the distinction. Mr Sharpe, an amiable bookworm, made periodical mild expostulations, which were always most deferentially received, and most invariably neglected.
If any reader thinks (as we flattered ourselves at the time) that Mr Jarman was the cause of all this state of things, let me tell him he is as stupid as we young fools then were.
It’s all very well to stand up for your rights, but the way to do it is not by letting everything go wrong. If poor old Tempest had taken a bigger view of things, he would have seen that the way to pay Jarman out was by making Sharpe’s house the crack house of Low Heath in spite of him. But how hard it is to see just what the right thing is at the time! So I do not propose to throw stones at anybody, whatever the reader may do.
The Philosophers of course duly entered a record of the transactions just related in their minutes, the reading of which occupied the whole of one of the extraordinary general meetings of their club.
One could never say what line Langrish would take up; and I as president always had my qualms in calling upon him to read the minutes of the previous meeting.
On the present occasion our meeting was held one half-holiday late in the term, in mid-stream, on a barge which, in the course of a “scientific” ramble, we found in a forlorn condition, about a mile above Low Heath. It was empty, and neither horse nor man nor boy was there to betoken that it had an owner.
Being capacious, though dirty—for it was evidently in the habit of carrying coal—it struck us generally that in the interests of philosophy we should explore it. The result being satisfactory, it was moved and seconded and carried that the club hereby hold an extraordinary meeting.
Objection was taken to the proximity of our meeting-place to the bank—“in case some of the day louts should be fooling about,” as Warminster explained. Thereupon, with herculean efforts, we shoved out the stern across stream, the prow being still tethered; and catching on to a stake, we had the satisfaction not only of feeling ourselves in an unassailable position, but of knowing that we were effectually blocking the river for any presumptuous wayfarer who wanted to go either up stream or down.
After exploring the bunks and lockers and hold of the unsavoury vessel, Trimble proposed that it would be best for the club to occupy seats on the floor of the barge, where, quite invisible to any one on shore or stream, we could hold our meeting undisturbed.
In a few introductory remarks, which were listened to with some impatience, I explained that things had reached a critical state at Low Heath. It was the duty of everybody to back up Tempest and make it hot for Jarman. (Cries of “Why don’t you?” “What’s the use of you?”) We didn’t intend to be interfered with by anybody, and if Coxhead didn’t shut up shying bits of coal he’d get one for himself. (Derisive cheers from Coxhead, and more coal.)
Coxhead and I were both warm when, a quarter of an hour later, I resumed the chair and called upon our excellent secretary to read the minutes, which he accordingly did.
“Owing to the asinine mulishness of Sarah—” Here an interruption occurred.
“Look here,” said I, “you’ve got to drop that, Langrish. I’ve told you already I’m not going to stand it.”
“Stand what? Being called Sarah or an asinine mule?”
I explained that I was particularly referring to Sarah.
“Oh, all serene,” said the secretary. “We’ll start again.”
“Owing to the asinine mulishness of S—H, and three between—”
“No—that won’t do,” said I, fiercely.
“Owing to the asinine mulishness of—” here the speaker pointed at me with his thumb—“of the asinine mule in the chair—”
I was weak enough to let this pass, and the applause with which it was received quite carried the secretary off his feet. When he got on them again he resumed,—
“Jarman’s guy was mulled all through. Even Trimble couldn’t have made a bigger mess of it.”
Here Trimble mildly interposed, but Langrish, who had hooked one arm through a ring in the side of the vessel, and had a firm grip with his feet up against a rib in front of him, was inflexible.
“A bigger mess of it,” he repeated, when at last he was free to proceed. “It was stuck just under the grating of the gym., and was neatly blown up by Jarman at 8:15 on November 2. The cost of the fireworks was four-and-six, which the asinine mule, as it was his fault, is going to hand over to the club, or know the reason why.”
I said I would know the reason why. Whereupon a long Socratic argument ensued.
“Do you mean to say it wasn’t your fault?” demanded Langrish.
“I couldn’t tell Jarman would drop his cigar down.”
“But if you’d tried you couldn’t have stuck him in a better place.”
“That’s what I thought. What have you got to growl at?”
“You offered to put it in a safe place.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to have it at all.”
“But you did have it; you can’t deny that.”
“No—but—”
“Hold on. And you stuck it there under the grating.”
“Well, and if I did—”
“And that’s how Jarman’s cigar got on to it.”
“Yes—but—”
“And that’s how it blew up, wasn’t it? You haven’t the cheek to say that wasn’t the way it blew up?”
“Of course it was; only—”
“Therefore, if you hadn’t stuck it there it wouldn’t have blown up. You can’t deny that?”
“I don’t say that. What I say—”
“Therefore, it was you who blew it up; and it’s you’ve got to pay for the fireworks, Q.E.D.; and if you don’t shut up, young Sarah, you’ll get your face washed.”
I felt I was the victim of a very one-sided argument, but the popular verdict was so manifestly in favour of the secretary, that I was constrained to allow the point to pass.
”—reason why,” resumed Langrish. “There was a bit of a row, and the doctor and some of the chaps were had up before the beak. We got on all serene till a howling chimpanzee whose name is Sarah—”
“There you are again,” said I. “I’ll pay you now.”
“What are you talking about? I never mentioned you—did I, you chaps?”
“Rather not,” chimed in the Philosophers assembled.
“Of course,” said Langrish, “if whenever you hear of a howling chimpanzee you think you’re being referred to, we can’t help it, can we?”
The cheers which greeted this unanswerable proposition convinced me I had given myself away for once.
”—howling chimpanzee, whose name’s Sarah, put in his oar and spoilt the whole thing.”
“If it hadn’t been for me,” protested I, “you’d none of you have been there at all.”
“The magistrate,” proceeded Langrish, not heeding the interruption, “treated him with the contempt he deserved, and gave him a caution which he’ll remember to the end of his days.”
“I don’t remember it now,” I growled.
“Turn him out for interrupting,” shouted the secretary.
“You’d better not try,” snarled I, preparing to contest my seat. But Langrish, eager to continue, went on,—
“The rest of us pulled Tempest through easy. If Trim hadn’t dropped his ‘h’s,’ and—”
Here there was a real row. Trim rose majestic and outraged, and hurled himself on the secretary; and for a quarter of an hour at least, any casual passer-by glancing at the apparently empty barge in mid-stream, would have come to the conclusion that it was swaying from side to side rather more violently than the force of the current seemed to warrant.
Trimble’s “h’s” took a long time to avenge, and by the time it was done most of us were pretty much the colour of the coal-dust in which we had searched for them.
Langrish was about to proceed with his luckless minutes when Warminster, who had happened to peep above board for the sake of fresh air, exclaimed,—
“Hullo, we’re adrift!”
Instantly all hands were on board, and we discovered that our gallant barge, probably during the last argument, had slipped her boathook at the stern, and that the rope which held our prow had evidently been slipped for us by a couple of youths wearing the town-boy ribbon, whom we could descry at that moment strolling innocently up the towing-path, apparently heedless of our existence.
The great lumbering barge was going down stream side on, about half-way between either bank, at the breakneck speed of a mile an hour. We had lost our boathook, and had nothing whatever to navigate our craft with. Worst of all, at the end of the long reach, coming to meet us, we could see another barge, towed by a horse, which could certainly never pass up in safety.
We were in for it, and had evidently nothing to do but peer, with our grimy faces over the gunwale, at our impending doom. About a hundred yards off the men in charge of the opposition barge became aware of our presence, and a hurried interchange of polite observations took place between the skipper at the helm and the driver on the tow-path, the result of which was that their tow-rope was cast off and hauled ashore; and man and horse, accompanied by a dangerous-looking dog, advanced at a quick pace to meet us.
The rope was hurriedly gathered up in a coil and thrown across our bows, and we were invited to hitch the loop at the end over the hook on our front thwart. The horse was then put in motion, and the downward career of our ark suffered an abrupt check, as we found ourselves rudely lugged in towards the bank.
The situation was an awkward one, for not only was the skipper of the opposition barge landed, and awaiting us with an uncomplimentary eagerness on the bank, but the driver, whip in hand, was standing beside him, and the dog, showing his teeth, beside him.
“Kotched yer, are we?” said the former, with a deplorable profuseness of unnecessary verbiage, as he jumped on board. “We tho’t as much. Lend me that there whip, Bill.”
“You tip ’em over, Tom; I’ll make ’em jump.”
Escape was impossible. Our exits were in the hands of the enemy. We made one feeble attempt to temporise.
“We’re sorry,” said I, in my capacity as spokesman. “We didn’t know it was your boat, really.”
“You knows it now,” said the proprietor. “Over you go, or I’ll ’elp yer.”
What! was it a case of being pitched overboard? We looked round desperately for hope, but there was none. We might by a concerted action have tackled one man, but the other on the bank, with the whip and the dog, was a formidable second line to carry. It needed all our philosophy to sustain us in the emergency.
“Come, wake up,” shouted the man. “’Ere, Tike, come!”
Whereupon, to our terror, the dog leapt up on to the barge, and jumped yapping in our midst.
“T’other side, if you please,” said the bargee, as I prepared dismally to take my header on the near side. “Wake ’im up, Tike!”
I needed no waking up; and giving myself up for lost, bounded to the other side of the barge, and made a floundering jump overboard. Luckily for us the Low Heathens could swim to a man, and if all that we were in for was to swim round that hideous barge and get ashore, we should have been easily out of it. But we had yet to reckon with the man and the whip, who in his turn made every preparation to reckon with us.
I was the first to taste his mettle. He had me twice before I could get clear, and I seem to feel it as I write. One by one the luckless and dripping Philosophers ran the gauntlet of that fatal debarkation, which was by no means alleviated by the opprobrious hilarity of our two castigators and the delighted yappings of Tike.
At last it was all over, and, dripping and smarting, we collected our shattered forces a quarter of a mile down the towing-path, and hastily agreed that as a meeting-place for Philosophers a barge was not a desirable place. It was further agreed, that if we could catch the day boys who were the source of all our woes (for if our barge had not been let adrift, we could have sheered off in time), we would do to them as we had been done by.
By good or ill luck, we had scarcely arrived at this important decision when a defiant shout from a little hill among the trees close by apprised us that we were not the only occupants of the river bank; and worse still, that whoever the strangers were, they must have been witnesses of our recent misfortunes—a certainty which made us feel anything but friendly.
“Who are they?” said Langrish.
“Suppose it’s those Urbans,” said Coxhead. “I heard they were going to excavate somewhere this way.”
“I vote we go and see,” said Trimble, who was evidently smarting not a little.
So we went and saw, and it was even as Coxhead had surmised; for as we approached, shouts of—
“Who got licked with a whip?”
“What’s the price of beauty?”
“Why don’t you dry your clothes?” fell on our ears.
“Yah—we dare you to come down and have your noses pulled!” shouted we.
“We dare you to come up and have your hair curled!” shouted they.
We accepted the invitation, and stormed the hill. The battle was short and sharp. We were fifteen to ten, and had a grievance. I found myself engaged with Dicky Brown, who, though he did himself credit, was hampered by a satchelful of stones, which he fondly hoped might turn out to be fossils, on his back. I grieve to say I made mincemeat of Dicky on this occasion. In a few minutes the hill was ours, and the enemy in full retreat.
We remained a short time to celebrate our victory, and then adjourned to the school, a little solaced in our spirits.
The day’s troubles, however, were not over, for at the door of Sharpe’s house, reinforced by half a dozen recruits, stalked the Urbans, thirsting for reprisals, and longing to wipe out scores.
Then ensued a notable battle. We failed to dislodge the enemy by a forward attack, and for some time it seemed as if our flank movements would be equally unsuccessful. At length, by a great effort, we succeeded in cutting off a few of them from the main body, and were applying ourselves to the task of annihilating the rest when Tempest appeared on the scene.
He looked fagged and harassed, and was evidently not much interested in our battle. A row was now too common a thing in Sharpe’s to be an event, and he allowed it to proceed with complete unconcern.
Just, however, as he was turning to enter the house, Mr Jarman came up.
It was almost the first time we had met officially since our encounter in the magistrate’s room, and as with one accord we ceased hostilities and stared at him, one or two of the more audacious of our party indulged in a low hiss.
“Come in, you fellows, at once,” said Tempest, turning on his heel.
“Wait, you boys,” said Mr Jarman, taking out his pencil. “Wait, Tempest.”
But Tempest did not wait, nor did we, but made a deliberate rush into our house, and in less than a minute were safely stowed away in our several studies, secure from all immediate arrest.
It was an act of open rebellion such as Sharpe’s had not yet ventured on. There was no excuse that any of us had not heard the order. We had, and had disobeyed it. And in the present instance Tempest had headed us. What would be the consequence?
We were not destined to know till next morning, when a notice appeared on the board stating that Mr Sharpe’s house having been reported for riotous conduct and disobedience to orders, the head master would meet the boys in the hall at eleven o’clock.