“PLUNDER.”
Noble and exciting was the work of that dreary night. The wind blew, and the rain came; but, nothing daunted, the little heroes went long distances for their “plunder;” and, like bees in search of honey and wax, went and returned with all the delight and joy imaginable. Young Nelson was here and there, and everywhere; now guiding, now directing, now cautioning, and now cheering his little army. At last, by the time morning dawned—which was not very early at that time of the year—such a tremendous lot of matters were brought together as had never been known on any former occasion. It filled all the back avenue of the shrubbery, and there seemed almost enough of material to set a town on fire. Nelson, who beheld this accumulation of igneous matter, felt his heart beat with joy; and a thought suddenly seized him of bringing the whole into the play-ground, and of setting fire to it, to begin the day. This idea was no sooner communicated to his playmates than it was eagerly adopted; and, in less than half-an-hour, bushes, straw, branches of trees, blocks of wood, tarred palings, and a variety of odd things, such as it would be puzzling to describe, were piled up in the centre of the play-ground to the height of twenty feet, and with a base equal to it, so as to form a most noble pyramid.
The day was breaking; and, just as the full light broke upon the pile, worthy of a Sardanapalus, all the merry workers felt proud of their labours. Some capered, some danced, some almost shrieked with joy; and Nelson, beholding the excitement, could not refrain, in the true spirit of a sailor that was to be, from crying out, at the top of his voice—
“Three cheers for an old Guy! Hurrah for a bonfire!”
Three cheers were immediately given, shrill and loud as the wild war-whoops of so many ferocious Indians. Again, and again—for, once begun, the youngsters seemed as if they could never leave off, and the welkin rang with the noise.
Its effects had not been anticipated; and the cheering had scarcely subsided, when up flew a window, and in the centre of it appeared the head of the Reverend Doctor. In a moment the boys vanished, as if by instinct; and, rushing round the gable end of the premises, regained their bed-chamber by the same means they had escaped from it. Not so, however, with their leader. He only hid himself behind the laurels and evergreens; feeling it a point of honor not to leave the post of danger till the very last. At the same time, the Dominie kept vociferously shouting from his chamber-window—
“You wicked boys! you shall all of you smart for this! I will flog every one of you who have dared to disobey my orders; and, as to a bonfire, you shall never have one as long as I live.” So saying, he disappeared from the window, with the intention of coming down to the court-yard; and ringing furiously at the bell to awaken the servants, and calling loudly for John and Richard, the groom and gardener, he made the best of his way down stairs.
In the interim, Nelson, who had heard the threat, fearing that after all he and his companions would be deprived of the fun, frolic, and glory of a bonfire, determined to be beforehand with the Magister,—crept slyly into the stable, where he knew a tinder-box and matches were always kept, speedily struck a light and, as quick as light itself, ran to the immense pile, and set fire to it. In a few seconds all was in a blaze; and as the flames rose up, and thick volumes of smoke on every side, and the whole atmosphere became illuminated, the Dominie appeared with his servants, male and female, at the back-door. He, indeed, wore a look of most odd consternation, while a sly laugh peeped from the peering eyes of the groom and gardener, and twinkled out of the corners of the mouths of the cook and housemaid. Nelson had mounted a fine old Scotch fir-tree a short distance off, to observe the fun—and rare fun it was—for the Reverend Doctor took to pulling the fire to pieces; and in so doing set fire to the thatched roof of the cow-house, which required the united aid of John and Richard to extinguish. All was hubbub and confusion; no one knew exactly what to do—and one ran one way and one another. The stable-boy, a sly rogue, thought he could not do better than run for the parish-engine; but the flames rose so high and furiously, that they threatened, long before the parish-engine arrived, to make up their minds to burn themselves out, with “all the honors.” By this time the boys had all dressed themselves, and came to the scene of conflagration as meek and astonished as if they knew nothing whatever about it. The Master was in a furious fever, and had under his arm his very best strapping-cane, determined to use it woefully so soon as the fire was got under. At last, the great blaze slackened; sundry crackings and bangings were heard. Now the upper parts fell in, and made a great dust and smoke—then again it blazed out for a few brief moments with redoubled fury, at which the young gentlemen could not refrain from testifying their infinite approbation, to the extreme mortification of their Master. The engine at last arrived to play on the expiring embers; and, in the language of that part of the country, the fire was “douted.”
But “after pleasure cometh pain,” as the old round-hand copy used to preach. The period of retribution walked quietly forth. It was not yet the hour of breakfast, and the first thing the enraged Dominie did was to issue a mandate for the stoppage of the breakfast supplies, till the bold, daring, impudent, disobedient authors of the freak were discovered, and brought to condign punishment. The whole of the boys were speedily mustered, (to be soon peppered) and brought into the school-room, where they stood trembling for their fate. Fierce with rage—his pig-tail bristling with indignation—the Master, with cane under arm, and with a frown on his face, appeared at his desk. Forty boys stood before him, uncertain of their coming tortures, and Nelson foremost among them. “I demand,” said the Master, in a voice of thunder, “who it is that has dared to brave my authority; and I promise free pardon and a holiday to those who will——”