Almost unable to believe my eyes, I gazed fixedly at the damp, bare spots of ground where our dear old cannons had rested for so long a time. Like all the students at Belmont I had grown so accustomed to the old pieces of artillery, and they had become so intimately associated with my college life, that I had learned to look upon them as a part of the institution itself, and I could not get used to the fact that they were gone—that the two Belmont cannons had actually been moved away, and that I was simply staring at vacancy. It all seemed so unreal, that for a moment I wondered whether I was awake or dreaming. As if in echo to my thoughts, I heard Dick Palmer’s voice beside me.
“The old cannons gone! Why, it doesn’t seem like Belmont College now.”
“No,” answered Tony Larcom, “it isn’t the same place at all. The campus looks as if it had had two big front teeth pulled out.”
“Then we must set about refilling the cavities,” said some one.
We looked around.
Clinton Edwards was standing with his hand on Ray Wendell’s shoulder. It was to Ray in particular that he addressed the words. Ray said nothing.
Edwards shook Ray’s shoulder slightly.
“Well, what do you think of it?” he asked.
“It staggers me,” answered Ray slowly. “Who could have taken them? Where have they gone?”
“To Park College,” said Edwards.
My heart leaped at these words. Vague suspicions that had been haunting my mind for days past now suddenly became confirmed.
“How do you know the cannons are there?” questioned Ray as he started and turned around.
“Isn’t it clear enough?” responded Edwards. “Remember that threatening letter, and the ‘positive stand’ they said they had determined to take in the matter. Who would take the cannons but the Park men? If you want further proof, do as I did an hour ago—follow the deep wheel tracks down to the dock by the boathouse, and then ask old Jerry Bunce about the steam tug which he saw coming down from Berkeley night before last.”
“Oh, it is all too clear now,” I burst out. “Everything is explained—the letter, and those two fellows whom I frightened away from the cannons the night of the mass meeting. They were undoubtedly a reconnoitering party from Berkeley—and then that fellow who stared me out of face on the piazza of the Wyman House—he must have been one of them, and overheard my words to Slade about the bruise on my forehead.”
There was a silence in the group for a few seconds. Attracted by our words the greater part of the crowd had by this time gathered closely about us. From a noisy, clamorous indignation meeting the crowd gradually shaped itself into a council of war, of which we formed the center.
Of this council, Clinton Edwards was one of the ruling spirits. No student in Belmont possessed more college feeling or was more vigorously patriotic than Edwards. He was an active leader in all that concerned the best interests of the students.
Another prominent member of our group was Percy Randall, fully as patriotic a student as Edwards, but more reckless. Randall was a jolly scamp, nearly always in some scrape or other, very generally liked and admired on account of his dashing, happy go lucky manner, and the chosen head of a select set of mischief makers that kept the college constantly guessing what would happen next. At a moment like this Randall was in his element, and the contemptible trick that the Park men had played upon us made the fellows only too eager to accept a leadership like his.
“Of all the mean, dastardly, cowardly pieces of work this is the worst,” he exclaimed. “Just think of it, fellows; like a lot of pusillanimous sneaks they steal over here by night, in vacation time, while we are away, and drag off our cannons. Oh, I wish a few of us had been here. It would have taken only about fifteen or twenty of us to have cleaned out half their college.”
“They wouldn’t have come had there been any of us here. Even proctor Murray was on his vacation,” said Edwards. “It was a mean piece of work, but they planned it well, and here we are without our cannons.”
“But we’re not going to sit down and nurse the loss,” exclaimed Randall. “There is only one thing to do in my mind.”
“And in mine too,” echoed Edwards quietly.
“And that is?” asked Dick Palmer.
“Go and bring them back!” cried Randall.
There was a roar of applause.
“And how shall we do it?” asked one.
“How!” answered Randall boldly. “How! There is only one way. Organize a party, go over to Berkeley, and take the cannons away from them.”
“And bring the whole college down on us in a mass?” said Edwards.
“Who cares?” exclaimed Randall. “Let them come down, and we will wipe out the whole gang of them. I’d like nothing better than a chance like that. We’ll teach them to meddle with Belmont College men.”
“All well enough in spirit, Percy, but it won’t work. We can’t get the cannons that way,” said Edwards.
“Do you mean to say you’re going to sit tamely by and do nothing?” asked Randall.
“No.”
“Will you go over to Berkeley?”
“Yes, but not in the way you propose,” answered Edwards.
“Any way then, just so we go,” said Randall.
Edwards was looking at Ray Wendell. He knew what an influence Ray’s voice would exert, and he felt sure of Ray’s feelings in the matter.
“Will you join us?” he asked.
“Join whom and what?”
“I propose that we organize a party of say fifty—it would be hard to handle more—go over to Berkeley this very night late, search out those cannons, take them from right under the snoring noses of those Park men, and bring them back.”
“How shall we carry them?”
“Easily enough; by boat as they did. We can hire Jerry Bunce’s excursion boat for the night for twenty five or thirty dollars. We will go down the river to the landing near Park College, search for the cannons right on their campus, where no doubt they are, and drag them down to the boat, loose our moorings, and off we’ll go. There, what do you think of that?”
Ray’s face was flushing with excitement. His anger at the outrage perpetrated upon us, his feeling of college honor, and his love of adventure, combined, left him no room for hesitation.
“I will go,” he said promptly. “I only waited for some clearly defined plan. Your idea is a good one. I believe we can make it a success.”
“Then you’ll join us?” said Edwards quickly.
“Yes, by all means.”
“Good, and you too?” he continued looking at Tony, Dick Palmer, and myself. We assented at once.
“Who else?” called out Edwards.
A chorus of voices responded eagerly.
“This won’t do,” said Ray. “We can’t go over in a mob, without discipline. That would spoil our chances. We must pick out and organize a regular party as Edwards proposed, and fifty would be enough. Who will make up the company?”
“Let Percy Randall look after that,” suggested Edwards, “and we can arrange the other details. First let us see Jerry Bunce and obtain the use of his boat. We will fix the hour of departure at eleven o’clock to-night—not at our dock, for proctor Murray will be back this afternoon and he would see us. We will have the boat anchored around the bend down the river just beyond Packer’s woods, and the fellows must go through the town by twos and threes so as not to arouse suspicion. There will be a rowboat at the shore to take us aboard——”
“Hold on, Edwards,” said I. “Suppose you can’t get the steamer? You speak as if it was definitely arranged.”
“I do so,” he answered, “in order that we may not have to meet again. I don’t think there will be any trouble about the steamer, but if there is any change of plan, Percy Randall can let his men know. Since we have made up our minds, we had better not linger around here any more.” Then, turning to Percy, he added: “Pick out fifty or sixty of the strongest fellows and have them on hand at eleven o’clock sharp.”
“All right,” answered Randall, “and now, fellows, those of you that don’t happen to be chosen must not be disappointed. You can all see that this is the best plan, and that a large mob would spoil it. If you lie awake to-night you’ll probably see some fun when we get back.”
“Come now, fellows, let us disperse,” said Ray. “There is nothing to be gained by standing around here any longer. We will only betray our plans.”
At this the crowd quickly broke up, and the campus soon resumed its usual aspect—with that one marked exception—the absence of the old cannons, a change more noticeable than ever now that the throng had dispersed.
“Perhaps we had better satisfy ourselves at once about the boat,” said Edwards. “Suppose we go down to see old Jerry?”
Accordingly Ray, Tony, Dick, and I accompanied Edwards down to the small shanty in which Jerry Bunce lived, situated on the shore of the lake, some distance from the boat house dock.
Jerry Bunce was at home, but at first, to our consternation, would not listen to our proposition.
“I ain’t a goin’ to hev no wild crowd o’ students a playin’ the mischief with my boat,” he said emphatically.
It required considerable argument to convince him that we would do the boat no harm. He feared all manner of trouble from the expedition, and raised objection after objection. Edwards, however, had set his mind on having the boat, and he had a persuasive and convincing manner that eventually overcame old Jerry’s opposition.
“Wall, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said at length. “If ye must hev the boat to-night, and you’ll do it no harm, I’ll let it to ye fer fifty dollars—not a cent less.”
We closed with him gladly at this figure, and the bargain was soon completed. The steamer was to be ready at the place arranged that night at eleven o’clock.