The Boys of Grand Pré School / Illustrated

VIII.

Bart and Solomon fall into an Ambush, and after a desperate Resistance are made Prisoners.—Bonds and Imprisonment.—Bruce and the Gaspereau-gians.—A Challenge, a Conflict, and a Victory.—Immense Sensation among the Spectators.—The Prisoners burst their Bonds.—Their Flight.—Recovery of the Spoils of War.

MEANWHILE Bart and Solomon had been having their own little adventure. They had left the Academy at half past three, so as to have everything ready for the boys by four o’clock. For this purpose Solomon carried a basket of provisions, filled with those multiform and very attractive dishes which his rare culinary genius never failed to create whenever a fitting occasion demanded it.

So they ascended the hill, and crossed the old French orchard, and descended into the gully, and went up the other side into the woods, and then walked along the path towards the camp.

Suddenly, as they came to a place where the path turned to the left, there was a loud shout; and in an instant they were surrounded by some twenty or thirty boys. The boys were rough and wild. They were dressed in homespun. They were strong-limbed, red-cheeked, horny-handed, burly fellows; and they threw themselves violently upon Bart and Solomon.

Bart struggled bravely; but what could he do against so many? In his desperate struggles he managed to knock down one or two of them; but before long he was lying down, first on his back, and then on his face, and his hands were tied behind him. Then he was allowed to get up. He did so, and found himself none the worse for the rough-and-tumble fight which he had been indulging in. A pang, however, came to his generous heart as he saw Solomon with his hands tied; and another pang, also, as he saw two of the Gaspereaugians carrying off the basket with all its precious store of provisions.

But in spite of his situation, Bart did not for a moment lose heart.

“Couldn’t you have managed it with less than thirty?” he said, quietly, to the Gaspereaugians. “Wouldn’t twenty have done to attack me and old Solomon?”

The Gaspereaugians looked sulky at this.

“Ten, I should say,” resumed Bart. “Ten Gaspereaugians ought to be enough for one of us; and if so, why bring thirty? Answer me that. You won’t? Very well. All the same.”

“Here, young chap,—you dry up!” growled a big Gaspereaugian, who was near him. “Ten of us? I’ll show you that I’m a match fur any ten o’ youns. That wull I jist. So dry up!”

“It’s quite right to keep me tied up,” resumed Bart, cheerily. “I might do you harm, and I only wonder you don’t tie my feet too. You wouldn’t be safe if my hands were loose,—of course. But, my Gaspereaugian friends, why bind the hands of my aged companion? He won’t hurt you. He’s one of your own people. His home is in your own charming valley. You all know old Solomon. I guarantee that he shall not harm one of you. So, my friends, unbind his aged hands.”

“You shut your mouth,” growled the big Gaspereaugian, “or I’ll precious soon make you. I know you,—young f’ler,—no humbug! You’re the chap that blacked my eye with a snowball last winter.”

“Was it you?” said Bart, with a laugh. “That is capital! If I wasn’t tied up, I’d insist on shaking hands with you. And did I black your eye? Ha, ha, ha! I never knew that before. It was a capital shot. I remember, now that you mention it. But look here—you gave me something back. You gave me a snowball that set my nose bleeding for half an hour; and that, I think, was about the only blood that was shed in all our battles.”

Bart spoke with such jolly carelessness, and such good humor, that his fun was contagious, and the Gaspereaugians burst into a roar of laughter. Even the big fellow who had threatened him joined in the laugh, and a murmur went round among them to the effect that this prisoner wasn’t a bad fellow.

“Solomon,” said Bart, “Solomon, my sable friend, how do you feel?”

“Tip top,” said Solomon, with a grin. “Solomon?”

“Yes, s’r.”

“They’re going to tie us up tighter. They’re so afraid of us! Do you think you can stand it?”

“Stan it? Yes, s’r. ’Tain’t nuffin. All same to an ole niggar like me. I knows ebery one ob dem. I’m Gasperojum myself.”

“Fellow-citizens,” said Bart, “and gentlemen of the Gaspereaux Valley, I appeal to your chivalry! Is it generous, or noble, or chivalrous, to bind the hands of my aged friend? I’ll give my word that he shan’t knock down more than a dozen of you, if you let him loose. Come now, aren’t there a dozen of you that will be willing to be knocked down for the sake of alleviating the woes of an aged, a virtuous, and an occasionally rheumatic African? Besides, you don’t know what he is. He’s not a common person. He’s a Grand Panjandrum.”

“O, you Panjer danjer yerself, an see how you like it!” growled the big Gaspereaugian, who felt some slight fear that Bart was making fun of him.

“See here,” said Bart; “since you’ve tied us up, hadn’t you better tie up that basket of provisions, too? If you haven’t got any cord, you may take what I have.”

This was received with roars of laughter, to which Bart listened with unaltered placidity.

Meanwhile, as Bart had been speaking, he had been trying his fetters, and found them not so tight but that he could work his hands free. His jests about their tying his hands made the Gaspereaugians ashamed to secure them more tightly. Some of them, indeed, were in favor even of untying him. But Bart had been hurriedly bound, and his hands were small, so that to slip them through the bonds was not a work of difficulty. He soon found out this, but kept his own counsel, and held his hands rigidly behind him, as though they were bound too tightly to be moved. As he spoke he looked all around watchfully, so as to see his chances of escape. To slip his hands was easy whenever he chose. Had it been himself alone that was concerned, he would have made a dash into the woods, and could have easily eluded pursuit. But he could not leave Solomon; and so he waited in the hope that some favorable juncture might arrive when he could free his companion also.

The Gaspereaugians now led them away across the brook that ran by the camp and took up their station on the other side, on that smooth, grass-grown slope which has already been mentioned. Bart and Solomon were put inside of a half-finished hut of spruce, which some of the boys had been building. Through the interstices of the branches they could see the camp of the “B. O. W. C.” perfectly well. It was not far away, and the Gaspereaugians were debating whether to go and pull it down now, or to wait until some more boys might come.

In the midst of this debate, Bruce came upon the scene, with his companions; and they, after looking hastily around, had found themselves in the presence of the invading host. There stood Bruce in full view of Bart and Solomon; his brows lowering darkly and menacingly, and a stern interrogation in his face, before which the Gaspereaugians as first seemed to quail.

“What do you want here, you fellows?” said Bruce, at last.

There was no reply for nearly a minute. The eyes of all the Gaspereaugians were fixed upon the speaker, but no one answered.

At this moment, Bart, finding himself unobserved, slipped his hands out of their bonds, and quickly untied those of Solomon.

“Now, Sol,” he said, “there’s going to be a row. This is our chance. When I start, you follow. But don’t start till I do. Mind, now!”

“Yes, s’r,” said Solomon, with his usual grin. “I’m yours till def,—slave or free,—live or dead,—sure’s a gun,—an ebber faitful!”

And now Bart looked all around, waiting for a chance to start.

The Gaspereaugians had forgotten all about their prisoners. Other things far more exciting presented themselves. There stood Bruce; and once more his lordly and imperious voice rang out,—

“What are you fellows doing here? Away with you all—every one of you!”

Bruce was tall, and broad-shouldered, and stout, and muscular. His hat sat loosely on his head, and his hair clustered in careless curls about his broad forehead. His eyes seemed to flash, and his thin nostrils quivered with disdain. He looked like a statue of Apollo, as he stood there, in the glow of his youthful strength and beauty, and faced down his enemies. Their very numbers, instead of overawing him, only served to rouse to the utmost the whole vigor of his soul, and stirred up his proud, bold spirit to a scornful self-assertion.

A movement now took place among the Gaspereaugians, and murmurs passed through them. At length the big fellow who had been so fierce with Bart went forward from out the crowd of his companions, to the place where Bruce was standing by the pool of the camp. He was a big, hulking, clumsy, low-browed fellow, with a heavy gait and sullen face. He was taller and stouter than Bruce, and evidently considered himself the champion of his party. As he approached, Bruce stood, with folded arms, regarding him, while his lips curled into a smile.

“Well,” he said, in a gay and careless tone, “what can I do for you?”

The big fellow clambered up the dam, and stood in front of Bruce.

“Whar’s Bruce Rawdon?” he said, looking round, and pretending not to know that he was there before him. “Whar’s this Bruce Rawdon that youns brag on? Put him down here, fur I want to hev a trial with him—I want to wrastle.”

“My good fellow,” said Bruce, “I’m Bruce Rawdon, and I’m quite at your service. Only you are mistaken if you think that we brag on any one. We’re not a bragging camp.”

The Gaspereaugian looked at him, and made a ridiculous grimace.

“So this is Bruce Rawdon!” said he—“this here! Wal, Rawdon, let’s wrastle. We’ll decide who’s the best man. On’y take care of your close, my fine feller. I’m generally considered rough. Yes, rough as a bar,—that’s what I be.”

“All right,” said Bruce, quietly, and in a minute he had flung off his hat, coat, and waistcoat.

“I’ll keep my duds on,” said the Gaspereaugian; “on’y that—that’s by way of defyin’.”

And saying this he flung his hat on the ground.

Upon this the two champions prepared to grapple.

The place where they stood was a grass plot on one side of the pool. The pool was full to the brim. The “B. O. W. C.” stood on the dam. The Gaspereaugians stood about twenty paces off. It was a moment of intense excitement.

For a few seconds they stood with extended arms, warily regarding one another. Then Bruce made a plunge forward, and before the other could guard against it, he had caught him around the waist, under his arms.

Bruce had got the “underhold.”

The two were now locked in a close embrace, and for a few moments the big Gaspereaugian made tremendous efforts to throw his antagonist. But the efforts were unsuccessful. Bruce did not exert himself much, but quietly evaded the efforts of the other, and still held his adversary in an unrelaxing grasp.

The Gaspereaugians now began to look anxious. Bruce’s face was so calm, his action was so quiet, he seemed to make so little effort in spite of the immense exertions of his antagonist, that he appeared to show some vast reserve of strength in store, ready to be put forth at some sudden moment.

The Gaspereaugian was, in truth, a big, burly fellow, whose muscles had been developed by a life of hard labor on a farm; but he was slow, and clumsy, and ignorant of all skill in wrestling. Now, Bruce was an adept in almost every active sport; while his limbs were so admirably knit, and his muscular development was so splendid, that even on the score of brute strength he soon gave evidence that he overmatched the other; at the same time, he made it apparent that his strength was only half put forth. The Gaspereaugians grew more anxious every moment, while Arthur, Tom, and Phil, who had never for an instant doubted the result, felt their excitement increasing to an unendurable degree.

Bruce soon showed what his idea had been in these manoeuvres. He had now worked himself around, so that his back was towards the pool, and the Gaspereaugian had made one violent effort to push him in backwards. It was in vain. Bruce stood like a rock. Then suddenly, as the Gaspereaugian’s efforts slackened somewhat, Bruce flung his right arm around him lower down, and by one quick and tremendous effort of strength raised him up into the air. In an instant the fellow’s legs spun upward; he appeared to turn a back summerset, and then,—down he went, all sprawling, on his back, with his arms and legs extended wildly, straight into the pool!

"No sound of joy or sorrow
Arose from either bank,
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank.”

Thus far the two prisoners had remained in confinement. They might easily have escaped; their hands were free, and no one was paying any attention to them, but they remained there. Solomon would not go till Bart led the way; and Bart was too tremendously excited by the struggle to think of moving. He stood there rooted to the spot, staring with intense interest. At last the end came, and as Bart saw the Gaspereaugian’s legs go tossing up, and saw him fall splashing into the pool, he touched Solomon, and, followed by him, he darted into the thick shrubbery. The basket of provisions stood there neglected; this Bart seized as he passed, and gave it to Solomon. After this they made a circuit to get to the camp.

Meanwhile the discomfited wrestler had scrambled to his feet in the pool of water, and stood for a time up to his waist, sputtering, blowing, and gasping for breath. The boys stood looking on; and Bruce watched him quietly, not knowing whether the struggle would be renewed or not. But the Gaspereaugian did not make any advances towards resuming the conflict. He himself had been foiled so completely in his most desperate efforts, and the tremendous strength of those arms which had raised him in the air and flung him into the pool was so formidable to his imagination, that he was not at all inclined for another trial. The one trial had sufficed. So he slouched off, with his sulky face bent down, and soon joined his crestfallen companions.

Scarcely had he joined them than a shout was heard near the camp. Bruce and the other boys turned, and, to their delight and surprise, saw Bart and Solomon, with the basket of provisions.

“Hurrah!” cried Arthur; “why, Bart, we were afraid you’d come to grief.”

“So we did,” said Bart; “we were captured—we’re escaped prisoners of war.”

“Captured! Prisoners of war!” cried Bruce.

“Yes,” said Bart.

“How?”

“About an hour ago we came up and fell into an ambush.”

“But how did you manage to get away?”

Upon this Bart told them all about it, and his story was received with unbounded delight, and gave rise to no end of fun. What was best was, the fact, not merely that they had escaped, but that they had brought off the basket also in safety.

Suddenly Bart looked at his watch.

“Brethren of the ‘B. O. W. C.,’” said he, “it’s only sixteen minutes after four. Thus, after so many adventures,—after ambushes, fights, and captivities,—we have succeeded in keeping our appointment, and are not more than sixteen minutes behind time.”

Upon this Solomon carried the basket into the camp, and the others followed, and prepared to take their lunch as coolly as if nothing had happened.

This was too much for the Gaspereaugians. It was a bitter mortification for them to witness the defeat of their companion; it was equally aggravating to see their prisoners reach their friends, carrying with them their basket; and all this reached its climax when they saw the quiet preparations for a lunch.

They stood in that state of mind and body which is expressed by the remarkable word—dumb-foundered.

But what could they do?

Hostilities did not seem to be very attractive now, for the defeat of their champion had greatly changed the aspect of affairs. To stand there stupidly looking on was also not quite the thing. They had come to indulge in a general triumph over the school—and this was the end! They hesitated for some time, and stood in doubt.

But their indecision was at last ended. Their champion walked off silently and sulkily; and they, seeing the leader go, slowly filed away after him. And so—

Exeunt omnes Gaspereaugienses!

IX.

A Banquet begun, but suddenly interrupted.—The far-off Boar.—Off in Search of it.—Keeping Watch at the old French Orchard.—Another Boar, and another Chase.—Soliloquies of Solomon.—Sudden, amazing, paralyzing, and utterly confounding Discovery.—One deep, dark, dread Mystery stands revealed in a familiar but absurd Form.

THE boys now began a very pleasant repast in their camp. Solomon had, as usual, done justice to the occasion. He had chickens, turkeys, mince pies, and other articles too numerous to mention. The boys had enough to talk about; for Bart had to narrate again the story of his captivity, and Bruce had to give an account of their wanderings through the valley of the Gas-pereaux.

The departure of the invading host was viewed by the boys without any demonstrations of excitement whatever. They tried to act as though they were perfectly indifferent to their movements; and having gained the solid results of a victory, they did not care to heighten its brilliancy by any vain display of triumph. The triumph that was in their hearts was enough. They knew also that the Gas-pereaugians would feel an additional mortification when they reached home; for then they would there learn that Bruce and his party had penetrated to the very centre of their territory, and had virtually done defiance by lingering so long by the bridge.

By that memorable exploit the camp in the woods had now become hallowed. Henceforth it was to bear in their eyes the charm of historic associations. They felt that their labor in building it had not been in vain. In truth it was a pleasant spot; and apart from any other associations, its own quiet beauty was sufficient to give it strong attractions. Its walls arose above them, surmounted by its roof, all interwoven with the fragrant, balsamic branches of fir trees. They had chosen fir in preference to others for the reason that the spines of the fir branches will cling for months before drooping; whereas the hemlock, the spruce, the pine, and most other trees of that kind, are of such a nature that their spines will not cling to the severed branch for much more than a week. And here were the dark green walls, cool, and shadowy, and fragrant. Over the floor was a thick, deep carpeting of soft moss, suitable for a seat, or for a couch. Outside, all the scene was shut in by the lofty trees which bordered the little dell. Just behind them the brook bubbled and babbled over rocks and pebbles, till it fell into ‘the pool. The pool itself, their handiwork, was not the least of the attractions. Its waters were deep enough to bathe in, and made a pleasant contrast to those surrounding trees which it reflected in its mirrorlike surface. Farther down, the brook passed on, bordered on one side with trees, and on the other by that grassy knoll where late the beleaguering Gaspereaugians had stood. On it went, past the trees, past the knoll, through underbrush and mosses, until at length it was lost to view in the forest. But amid all these beauties, the one object which was dearest to the “B. O. W. C.” was that which they had fixed over the door as at once a memorial of the past and a stimulus to adventurous deeds in the future. It was the jaw of the big fish. They had for a while been undecided as to its destination, and were on the point of giving it to the Museum, but at last decided on placing it there. There it accordingly was, grinning pleasantly with its triangular teeth, and inviting every one to enter.

Thus they were seated at their lunch, with Solomon a little apart, looking at them like a father, engaged in pleasing conversation upon all the topics which their recent varied adventures might suggest, recounting the past, enjoying the present, and speculating on the future, when suddenly there came an interruption, which in a moment put a full stop to everything.

It was a distant sound.

Now a distant sound must have been very peculiar to have caused such excitement as this.

Very well—this was very peculiar.

It was a harsh, dissonant roar, a noise, in fact, that could not be called a roar exactly, but something half way between a roar and a howl, repeating itself over and over, and pealing from afar upon their startled ears in tremendous echoes. There was no mistaking that sound. It was the same as the one that had so startled them on the memorable night of the money-digging, and had sent them flying in confusion from the spot.

The boys all looked at one another with glances of deep meaning. Not one of them was frightened now. Solomon was only curious; in him the broad day destroyed any superstitious feeling. Had it been dark, he would have been as terrified as he was before.

The noise was repeated over and over as they listened, and at last it ceased. It sounded like the conglomeration of the bellow of a bull, the roar of a lion, the yell of a madman, and the shriek of a steam-whistle, intermixed with other harsh and discordant noises that can scarcely be defined; and the whole result was one which can certainly not be likened to anything at all.

“That settles it!” said Bart at last.

“What?” asked Tom.

“Well, I’ve been giving the Gaspereaugians the credit of that row at the money-hole, and when they came to-day I was certain of it; but this shows that they could have had nothing to do with it. It’s over there, between us and the Academy, and sounds now in the direction of the money-hole.”

“Now’s the time to find it out,” said Bruce. “I was going to propose a watch to-night, to see if we could get at the bottom of it. This is lucky, for we can examine it by daylight.”

“It’s the very same noise,” said Arthur.

“O, there’s no doubt about it,” said Phil, “only it’s farther off. That night the roar seemed to burst forth just behind me. It’s the same in kind, only less in degree, as Mr. Simmons says.”

“Come along then, boys,” said Bart, “Don’t let’s lose any time. It must be somewhere about the old French orchard. Hurry up!” and with these words they all started off.

“De gracious!” cried Solomon. “Where you gwine to? You won’t find nuffin. Dem sorts ob tings don’t ’low derselves to be caught, mind, I tell you! Come back, chil’en, an finish yer dinna, an don’t go actin. An me’s been a cookin for you like all possessed. What’s to become ob an ole darky ef you won’t eat? Dis heah ain’t de proppa conduc fur de Bee See Double. I’ll frow up my office. I won’t be a Granpander any longer.”

But the boys hurried away, and Solomon’s voice sounded upon the empty air. Thereupon he began collecting the dishes and eatables, and replacing them in his basket.

Leaving Solomon thus, the boys hurried on in a state of great excitement. The mystery had thus far weighed heavily on all their spirits. In Bruce it may have been superstitious feeling which made it oppressive to him; but in the others it was the mortification of their retreat and panic, and the unpleasantness of not being able to account for the cause. The sounds, as far as they could judge, seemed to come from the old French orchard; but Bruce insisted that it issued from the woods. This formed the subject of loud debate among them as they went on. The majority, however, were against Bruce, and thought that it was farther away than the limit of the woods.

“Can it be any of the boys, after all?” said Bart, as they went along the path. “Can Pat have in his possession any very remarkable kind of fish-horn or fog-horn?”

“Pat? Nonsense!” said Arthur. “Do you think that any power of Pat’s could produce such a noise?”

“O, I don’t know. He may have a private pocket steam engine, and occasionally let off steam to amuse himself.”

“You’ll have to hunt farther than Pat,” said Bruce, seriously.

“Why, man alive!” cried Bart; “you don’t think now that there’s anything in it—do you?”

Bruce said nothing.

They all hurried along the path, peering into the woods as they went on, and listening for a renewal of the sound.

But there was none.

At length they reached the gully, and, crossing it, they ascended the steep slope on the other side. This brought them to the old French orchard, and to the very cellar which had been the scene of their memorable midnight operations. Looking down into the cellar, they could see the traces of their work very plainly. They had filled in the hole as well as they could, but the ground bore visible marks of having been turned up.

“If any of the fellows have been up here,” said Bart, “they must have noticed this.”

“I don’t think that follows,” said Phil. “They wouldn’t notice it, in my opinion.”

“O, don’t you believe that. The marks of digging there are enough to make any fellow notice them.”

“Well, what if they do?” said Bruce. “They’ll never think that we had anything to do with it. So we needn’t bother our heads about that.”

“The fact is,” said Arthur, “none of them have been up here since they got back. Bogud and Billymack have been studying; Pat has been occupied on the hill; and the others have taken to the dikes. We’re the only fellows that have been here at all.”

“For my part,” said Bart, “I should like to try that hole again. I don’t believe there’s anything there, but at the same time I don’t like to leave a thing unfinished, especially where it’s been broken off the way this was. And what’s more, I’m bound to have another turn at it.”

“And so am I,” said Phil.

“And I,” said Arthur.

“I’ll be there,” said Tom.

“Well, boys, I’ll be there, too,” said Bruce, “and we’ll omit Solomon this time, and Captain Corbet. We may as well do it by daylight.”

“Of course,” said Bart, “it’s all humbug to dig at night. It’s ten times as much trouble, and then we lose our sleep. We can come up early some morning and do it. At the same time, I’m glad we had that night. It’s something to look back upon.”

“That’s all very well,” said Phil; “but I’d like to know why we can’t hear that noise again. If it came from this hole, or from the old French orchard, now’s the time for it. Here we are all ready. So roar away, somebody!”

They all sat down now on the grass, and listened for a while in silence. They could look over the gully on one side, and part of the play-ground on the other. On three sides the woods encircled them. Running along the play-ground on one side, where the woods ended was a pasture field belonging to Dr. Porter. This pasture field could not be seen from the place where they were.

They sat here for some time, waiting for the sound to arise again; and as they sat here, Solomon emerged from the woods, climbed the slope, and advanced towards them. He had replaced all the dishes and all the provisions in the basket, and was now carrying it back. “Dar,” he said, as he put it down. “It beats me. Don’t see de use, no how, fur an ole darky to go an broil his ole brack head off cookin and roastin all sorts ob tings if dey won’t be eaten. An tings, too, what got captured by de Gasperojums! An what we skewered safe back out ob dere plunderin bans! Besides,—blubbed bruddren, if you don’t eat my tings I feel kind o’ slighted—I feel it a pusnul insult. Dat’s so.”

“O, well, Solomon, you know why we cleared out. So you’ve brought the basket. Well, why can’t we go to work here? Come, boys, let’s rise superior to circumstances, and finish our lunch.” Bart’s proposal was greeted with a shout of joy, and once more Solomon, grinning with pride and delight, spread out before them his dishes and eatables.

They had just begun; they had just lifted to their still hungry and unsatisfied mouths a morsel or two, selected from among the dainties spread out by Solomon; they had just become familiar once more with the delicious flavor of some of his pet dishes,—when suddenly, without warning, and altogether unexpectedly, there burst forth again that roar for which they had been waiting so long. Harsh, dissonant, ferocious, resonant in its bellowing intonations, it burst upon their ears, now much nearer than when they had heard it at the camp, and seeming very nearly as loud as it had been on that eventful night. The sound also seemed to come from Dr. Porter’s pasture field. One moment they listened—that moment assured them of the true direction. The next moment they flung down their plates, and knives, and forks; and away they went, like madmen, over the field towards the pasture.

Solomon slowly rose to his feet and looked after them, with his head bent a little forward, and his hands clasped before him.

“Well, well, well!” he ejaculated, while an expression of unutterable disgust came over his dark face. “Well, well, well! ob all de contrairy chil’en dat I ebber did see! Nebber in de gracious sakes does dey know when dere well off. Heah’s de second time dey pitch dere dinnas away. An what dat dinna cost me—ob trouble and hard work! But, O, dear, down it goes—O, yes—jes so—flung it all away—an leab dis ole nigga to pick all it up agen. Pity de Gasperojums didn’t keep de basket. Dey’d ’preciate de dinna, any how—dat’s so. ’Tain’t de trouble,” he grumbled on, as he picked up the things again, and put them in the basket,—“’tain’t dat—no, sir. It’s de want ob ’preciation. Collud folks likes to be ’preciated. So does white folks. Dar’s de doctor. Me an him likes to be ’preciated,—but dis sort ob ting’s not ’greeble. De day’ll come when dey’ll like to hab one ob ole Solomon’s dinnas.”

So he went on, picking up the things, growling and grumbling to himself all the time, until at length he had filled the basket again, and went off in the direction where the boys had gone, to see what had become of them, and with a vague idea that the “dinna” would be resumed somewhere farther on.

He found the boys over in the pasture field, looking a little mystified.

The noises had ceased. A few cows were quietly grazing; and among them was an animal which was very familiar by name, but which none of them had ever before seen in the flesh. It was a simple, domestic animal, in some countries the most common of all; but to these boys it was a novelty. How it had got here was also a wonder; for they had no idea that it was here, and in their surprise they forget about the noises.

And what kind of an animal might this have been?

A quiet, a domestic, agreeable animal; in fact, only a little donkey.

“Solomon,” said Bart, as he came up, “who owns the donkey?”

“De doctor,” said Solomon.

“Why, how in the world did he happen to get one?”

“He bought him.”

“Yes, but what did he want of it?”

“O, for de chil’en to play with.”

“That’s queer. I didn’t know there was one.”

“O, you see de doctor got him de time you was off on de scursium. Ole scissa grinda come long, an de doctor bought de donkey. Ole scissa grinda beat de donkey so, dat de doctor got him, an means to keep him for de chil’en. Dat’s all.”

“Poor old Neddy,” said Bart. “He’s pretty lean. But he’s all right now. This will be a Paradise for him. But I say, boys—I wonder how he rides. I’ve never been on a donkey’s back in my life. Have you?”

“And I never saw one before,” said Bruce. “I can’t say I admire him much.”

“Well, neither did I, for that matter,” said Bart; “and for that very reason I want to have a ride on him.”

Saying this, Bart went up to the donkey. The patient animal did not move, but calmly went on eating a delicious thistle that was under his nose. Bart got on his back. The donkey ate on, apparently unconscious of the weight. Bart caught hold of his long ears, and tried to pull up his head.

But the donkey ate on!

Then Bart slapped his flanks with his hands.

But the donkey ate on!

Then Bart kicked him vigorously with his heels.

But the donkey ate on!

Then he whistled, and shouted, and pulled his ears, and kicked at him, and mixed all sorts of encouraging words with acts of the most violent kind.

But the donkey ate on!

That donkey seemed to be about the most phlegmatic animal that they had ever met with. Bart was in despair. He looked over the field to see if there was a stick lying about anywhere. He asked the boys if they could see one. He now sat still, for a short time, on the donkey’s back, waiting till he should find a stick.

While he was seated thus the donkey slowly lifted his head.

He had finished that thistle, and felt refreshed.

Slowly he elevated his head; slowly he threw back his ears; slowly also he elevated his tail; until at last his nose was directed towards a point about twelve degrees above the northern horizon, and his tail to another point about eleven degrees above the southern.

Then he spread all his legs apart.

Then he opened his mouth.

Then:—

Hee haw! Hee Haw!! Hee Haw!!!

Haw haw 1 Hawwwww! Heee!

Hee haw! Heee! Haaaaw!

Hee-haw! Hee-haw! Haw!

Hee! Haw! Hee! Haw!

Hee! Haw! Hee! Haw!

H-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E I H-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-w!

Bart sprang from his back.

The other boys started and looked at one another in utter amazement.

One mystery was at last revealed!

X.

Irrepressible Outburst of Feeling from the Grand Panjandrum.—He enlarges upon the Dignity of his Office.—Spades again.—Digging once more.—At the old Place, my Boy.—Resumption of an unfinished Work.—Uncovering the Money-hole.—The Iron Plate.—The Cover of the Iron Chest—A Tremendous but restrained Excitement.

SUCH, then, was the explanation of the mystery of the discordant, the hideous roar. To those who have heard the bray of a donkey it will be intelligible how such a noise, sounding suddenly in the still midnight, to inexperienced ears may have been full of terror; while to those who have not heard it, a simple assertion of the above fact will, it is hoped, be all that is necessary. It was the donkey’s bray which, according to the fable, terrified the animals of the forest, after he had put on the lion’s skin. Now, this donkey was clothed in something more dreadful than a lion’s skin: he was clothed in the darkness and the gloom of night, and his roar might well terrify those who heard it under such circumstances, without knowing whence it came.

After the first surprise they all burst into a roar of laughter. It was an immense relief to them all; but their merriment was a little intermingled with feelings of shame, as the dark and dreadful mystery thus resolved itself into the ridiculous form of a poor little donkey.

As for Solomon, the effect produced on him was greater than on the others. As the first peal of the bray struck his ears, he started, his jaw dropped, his eyes rolled up. Then, as the whole truth came to him, he dashed his hat to the ground, threw his head back, and burst into a perfect thunder-peal of laughter. There he stood, while the donkey brayed, swinging his aged frame and his grizzled head backward and forward, tossing his arms, and at last holding his aching sides.

And it was,—“O, dis sight! De jackass! O, de gracious sakes! Shades an powers ob darkness! Sich a succumstance! An’ dis nigga a gwine mad wid feah about dat! An all de blubbed breddern ob de Double bubble: de mos’ wossfle, de patrick, de venebubble wodden, an all de ress, a flyin on de heels ob de Granjer pander drum! wid a small jackass a chasin all dem high an’ mighty ’ficials! Tinkin him de vengin sperrit ob a ole Cajian slashin an swingin a pot ob gold ober our bressed heads! O, dis erf alive! Nebber did dis nigga spec to fin out sich a succumstance! An de stonishing way we did put! Gracious! how my ole heels did kick up! Reglar ravin stracted wid terror we was; mind, I tell you! An dar come a juvenile jackass out ob de wood to devour us up! Say, blubbed breddern, whar’s dat ar minral rod? Spose you get dat ar stick for a ridin whip; wonder ef ’twouldn’t make dat ar jackass gee up. Tell you what now, Mas’r Bart, you jest get on dat ar animal’s back wid Mas’r Bruce, an’ sing one or two ob dem dar cantations, an de rest ob you get some magic candles an set fire to de top knot on de end ob dat ar tail. Tell you what, dat’ll make him gee up—will so! Yah! yah! yah! yah! yah! Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-p!”

“Solomon, my son,’ said Bart, as the old fellow, after giving a wild yell, was getting ready for another outburst.

“Yes, mos wossfle,” said Solomon, with a grin. “Would it be too much to ask you to be kind enough to allow us to finish our rustic repast? As it was interrupted by the noise of this quadruped, we think that it would be very desirable to resume it, unless you prefer remaining here for the rest of the day imitating the animal before us.”

“All right, mos possible,” said old Solomon, catching up his basket. “Couldn’t help it. Had to let out strong. Bust if I hadn’t did so. Fust man dat mentions de name ob a donkey to me, dis ole niggall bust. Dat’s so!”

Saying this, Solomon kicked up one leg, then slapped one hand down hard on his knee, and stood for a moment with his head bent down, while his whole frame shook with internal laughter. At length he raised his head, and presented to the view of the boys a face as grave, as demure, and as solemn as the visage of a judge who is about to pronounce a sentence, only there was an irrepressible twinkle in each of his small black beads of eyes which took a little from the mask of gravity with which his face was covered.

Then he took up the basket, and walked back towards the old French orchard. The boys passed him, reaching the cellar first. Then they all sat down again, and Solomon, for the third time, spread the table before them.

“Dis heah,” said he, “chil’en, am de third and de lass time. Ef any ob you runs away, he’ll lose his bressed dinna, now an forebbermore. Amen. So you go ahead, an eat, fass as you can. De visions ain’t gwine to spile your ’gestions.”

The boys were hungry, and ate in silence. Solomon stood apart unobserved, with a broad grin on his face, occasionally muttering to himself, and shaking all over with laughter. After each of these silent explosions, he would suddenly recover his gravity, mutter to himself some solemn rebuke, and look awfully grave for about half a minute, till a new explosion came.

That discovery had been too much for him. He had seen the donkey when it came, but he had never heard it bray. The terror over him had been tremendous. Every night since then had been a night of fear, and it was the violent revulsion of feeling from his former panic which brought on this joyousness. It took him all the rest of the term to get over his tendency to burst forth on all occasions into fits of laughter.

At length the repast was over, and Solomon at last had the satisfaction of feeling that his efforts had been fully “’preciated.” The boys felt like giants refreshed, and Solomon looked with great complacency upon the bones of the fowls and the empty dishes.

“Dat’s about de ticket,” he said, as he piled the dishes into the basket. “Didn’t want to carry back such a hebby load to de ’Cad’my. Been tuggin at it all day. Got to hurry back now.”

“What, Solomon! you’re not going?” said Bart.

“Got to—must.”

“Nonsense! We can’t spare you yet. We want to talk to you.”

“Can’t spar de time now,—mos ’portant business. De doctor allus specks me punct’ly. Got to get him his dinna. Dis is all very well for play; but business is business, an dat’s what me’n’ de doctor’s got to tend to. We’ve got de ’portant business ob life—de dinna ’partment.”

“O, he’ll get his dinner all right,” said Arthur.

“What dat? He—de doctor—widout me!”

Solomon rolled up his eyes till only the whites were visible, and stood lost in wonder at the preposterous idea.

“Sich chil’en as you,” said he, loftily, “don’t ond’stan de serious business ob life. Wait till you get to be sixty, an hab cooked as many dinnas as me; den you may talk.”

“That’s hard for us,” said Tom, “if we have to become cooks and get to be sixty.”

“Course it is—an I mean it to hit hard. A dinna’s a dinna, an no mistake. Me’n’ de doctor knows dat. Why, whar’d de ’Cad’my be, ef I wasn’t to give de doctor a rail fust-rate dinna ebery day? Me’n’ de doctor keep de ’Cad’my goin. He’s de mas’r, an I’m de one dat keeps him a goin, an so we bofe ob us keep de ’Cad’my goin.”

“Solomon,” said Arthur, “you ought to be one of the teachers.”

“‘Teachas!” said Solomon; “ain’t I somefin more? What’s a teacha? I’m a pro-fessa. I’m de ’fessa ob de cool an airy ’partment.”

“Culinary,” said Bart.

“No,” said Solomon; “cool an airy. Dat’s what de doctor said. Ses he, ‘Solomon, you hab a ’portant ’sition,—you preside ober de cool an airy ‘partment.’ ‘What’s dat ar?’ ses I. ‘O,’ ses he, ‘it’s only de Injin’ fur cookin.’ An I ups an tales him ef he’d ony stay down on some broilin, hot day in Auguss in de kitchen, he’d’fess dat de Injin langidgo didn’t spress de idee, ef it called sich a oven of a place ‘cool an airy.’ Dat’s what I tale him,—an’ now, blubbed breddern, farewell!”

Saying this, Solomon took his basket, and retired from the scene.

“There’s a great lot of these cellars about,” said Arthur at last, after some silence, during which they had been sprawling on the grass beside the cellar. “There’s a great lot of them. I wonder how many there are?”

“O, two or three hundred, at least,” said Bruce; “perhaps more.”

“Well, for my part,” said Bart, “I believe that there’s money buried in some of them; and though our adventure was awfully ridiculous, yet that doesn’t alter the sober fact, and I think the general belief is right.”

“I go in for digging again,” said Phil. “I don’t believe in finding money, but we may find something.”

“Bones, for instance,” said Bruce.

“Yes, bones, if you like; and then we’d give them to the museum. Anything at all would be acceptable. It would take the edge off our disappointment of the other night.”

“There’s a great deal in that,” said Bruce.

“I don’t like giving it up altogether,” said Bart. “We’ve begun it—let’s finish it.”

“And there’s the hole,” said Tom, “inviting us to come along.”

“Besides,” said Bruce, “don’t you remember we struck something hard? and I know it wasn’t a stone.”

“No,” said Arthur; “that’s a fact,—all our shovels touched it. We all heard the dull, ringing sound it gave. It was metal. Let’s go to work, I say.”

“When?” said Bart.

“Tomorrow morning,” said Phil, “early—”

“No—I say now,” said Arthur.

“So say I.”

“And I.”

“All right,” said Phil; “I say so, too. But what’ll we do for shovels?”

“Do? Why, we can go and get some, I suppose,” said Bruce.

“But won’t the fellows see us?”

“What if they do?”

“Why, they’ll wonder what we’re up to.”

“What then?”

“They’ll follow us, and see.”

“Very well. We’re not going to work in secret this time. We’re working now in broad day. We haven’t any mineral rod, nor any magic ceremonies. We’re merely a plain, hard-working crowd; not of money-diggers, but of archaeologists. We’re not digging for pots of gold, but for curiosities and relics of the Acadian French. That’s our position now, my boy; and a very much more dignified position it is than the one we occupied when we were making fools of ourselves the other night.”

So spoke Bruce, who felt more keenly than the others the shame of that panic, for the reason that he had been more deeply touched. Since then he had, over and over again, vindicated his courage most nobly, on occasions, too, when the exercise of that courage could only be accomplished by a supreme effort of his strong spirit; yet, in spite of this, he felt galled at the recollection of that night, and could not allude to it without bitterness.

“Well,” said Phil, “if Jiggins, and Bogud, and the other lot are very inquisitive, I’ll invite them up, and we can get them to do the digging.”

“That’s a very sensible way of viewing it,” said Bart. “Yes, that’s just what we’ll do. For my part, I’d rather have them come than not, for, if they were to dig, our curiosity would be satisfied all the same, while our various muscles would not have to submit to such very violent exertion as is called forth by the unpleasant process of digging with a spade in such abominably hard ground.”

“Well, Bart,” said Bruce, “as soon as you’ve taken breath after that long-winded sentence, we’ll start.”

Up jumped Bart at this, and the others followed his example.

They went down to the Academy and obtained spades and a pickaxe without any difficulty. Shouldering these they paraded about the yard, in the hope of attracting attention. But to their great disappointment they didn’t attract any attention whatever. The boys were all away, some in front, some out for a walk. So they came to the conclusion that they would have to do their own digging.

“At any rate,” said Bart, as they walked back up the hill, “one comfort is, that we dug up the place before, and this time the ground will be softer.”

“I’ve got the old pickaxe,” said Bruce, “all ready in case of need.”

“Whether we find anything or not, it will satisfy our minds.”

“Yes, and then, you know, we can leave the hole open, and explain to the others why we dug it. We can induce them also to do a little more digging, perhaps.”

“But if we find anything there’ll be a still stronger temptation to dig.”

“O, if we find anything, all the cellars in the place will be turned inside out.”

“David Digg will have a chance to prove himself deserving of his name.”

“What a joke it would be if Pat were to see us! He’d be wild with curiosity, and follow us so as to see.”

“O, there’s no danger. Nobody’ll come—that’s just because we want them,” said Phil.

Chatting in this way they marched up the hill, back again to the old French orchard, which they reached without having attracted the smallest attention from anybody, and at length they all stood once more with their spades by the cellar. Very different was this occasion from the last, and they all felt it so. The last had been one of pure fun and nonsense, disturbed, however, by the tremors of some of their number; this time, on the contrary, was an occasion in which business seemed to predominate.

They paused for a little while on the edge of the cellar, before committing themselves to their work.

Upon this Bart began to whine out through his nose a doleful ditty, to the tune of Auld Lang Syne.

"Whene’er I take my walks abroad
How many holes I see!
But how they came upon the ground
Completely puzzles me.

"Here once the peaceful Frenchman dwelt,
And passed his happy days
In draining bogs, devouring frogs,
And cultivating maize.

"These holes, no doubt, were dug by him;
We see them all around;
And all Grand Pré to me appears
A very holy ground.”

“That’s what Captain Corbet would call a ‘hime,’” said Phil, with a laugh. “It’s too solemn, Bart, for this occasion. We want something business-like now.”

“Then here goes,” said Bart, who had a happy talent for improvising. And he droned out the following, in a whining voice, but to a livelier measure:—

"Over Minas’s Bay
Came the French to Grand Pré,
And they all were remarkable fellers;
They lived upon frogs,
And they wore wooden clogs,
And preserved their potatoes in cellars.”

“There,” said Arthur, “that’s enough, Bart. If we don’t stop you now, you’ll go on till sundown. If we’re going to dig, we’d better begin, for it’s getting late, and it’ll be dark before we know it.”

“All right, my son,” said Bart. “Here goes—come along.”

And seizing his spade, he rushed down into the cellar; and plunging it deep into the earth, he began to throw it out.

“Hurrah, Bart!” cried Bruce. “Dig away, old man! You’ll turn up the whole cellar, at that rate, before we can get down. Leave something for us, though, just for the name of the thing, you know.”

“Come along,” cried Bart, throwing out his seventh shovelful.

By this time they were all at the hole, and plunged in their spades. Out flew the earth. In their zealous work the shovels clashed against one another furiously, and rather impeded their progress; but in spite of this, the earth was thrown out with a rapidity that contrasted in a very striking manner with the slowness of their progress on that former occasion. Then, the earth was rigid, and hard bound with the turf that had been accumulating for generations, and Bruce’s pickaxe had to prepare the-way for the slow entrance of their spades. But now, their spades went in easily, and the pickaxe as yet was not needed.

But the work of digging was an unusual one, and their violent efforts exhausted them before they had worked for a long time. They paused for a moment and rested.

“We’re almost at the bottom,” said Bart.

“That depends on what you mean by the bottom,” said Arthur.

“Well, I mean, we’re almost as far down as we were before.”

“But I wonder whether we shall strike that metallic substance that we struck before,” said Arthur.

“I’ll soon see,” said Bruce.

Saying this, he took the pickaxe, and giving it a swing, brought it down into the centre of the hole.

It penetrated a short distance, and then stopped short, with a low, dull sound, as though it had struck something hard.

That sound roused the boys once more, and stimulated them to fresh exertions. They again plunged their spades into the earth. All their first energy was now restored. They forgot their fatigue. Something was there, they knew. What it was they could not tell; but they knew that it must be the same thing that had excited them once before, and from which they had been driven by the sudden bray of that absurd donkey. Now, all that nonsense had been explained; and they knew that this last vestige of the mystery of that midnight hour lay beneath them, and would soon be exhumed and brought to the light of day.

Lower and lower they went.

And now their shovels struck it at every stroke. It seemed metallic. The dull ringing sound given forth could not come from wood, or brick, or stone. It must be metal!

But what?

Was it a pot, or an iron chest?

Pooh!

At any rate they were glad that the other fellow’s were not present. .

Such thoughts and feelings passed through their minds as they came down nearer to the object of their search.