Don Gordon's Shooting-Box, Harry Castlemon [first ebook reader .TXT] 📗

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,” 181but 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 182the 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 183reasons 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 184before 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 185reminded 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.

186“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 187confined 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 188that 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.

189“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 190over 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 191him 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