CHAPTER XXIII.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S FEAST.
“Eleven o’clock and all’s we-ell!”
It was the call of the sentry ringing through the silent woods and still more silent camp.
The sentries that night were marching under very different circumstances from the usual ones. No broad paths and moonlit, tree-shaded avenues; no gas lamps and spacious tents; but, instead of these, a small clearing, with the smallest of small shelter tents lit only by smoldering camp-fires, and beyond these a dark wood with sentry beats that ran uphill and down, over fallen logs and brush. Guard duty in the woods was a far less pleasant business than at Camp McPherson.
It was easier, too, for a person to pass one of the sentries here, for the latter could not see from one end of his beat to the other, small though it was; “the orders of the night” had accordingly called for extra watchfulness.
However, as we know, cadets have ways of getting the better of official orders. A certain merry crowd of yearlings who were just then stealing silently about the grounds were not the least alarmed for fear the sentry might challenge them; they had it all arranged beforehand and they vanished silently into the woods without their comrade on duty even “seeing” them. The reader scarcely needs to be told that it was Bull and his friends.
There were fully a dozen in that party. A very few moments later another party, seven in number, were creeping about the camp just as the yearlings had. They did one thing, however, which the yearlings did not do. That one thing we must notice before we follow them into the woods.
Two of them crept down the main “street” of the camp to one tent, a rather large tent at its head. The two were trembling quite a little as they went. Why shouldn’t they tremble?
“I guess this is the most daring thing we ever did,” one of them whispered. “If we should be found out there’d be a war for fair. ’Sh! I wonder if he’s asleep.”
It seemed that he was—for as the two paused and listened at the door of the tent they could distinctly hear a loud breathing. Considering the rank of the personage it would scarcely seem right to call it a “snore.”
However that may be, let us go on with the story. It is not the writer’s intention to have anybody shivering in suspense at this critical moment, dreading lest the hero’s wild prank should arouse the sleeping ogre.
Suffice it to say that after a brief space of time devoted to whispering and hesitating, one of the two figures knelt down and gently, very gently, slid one arm in under the canvas. Then gently, still more gently, he drew it out again. No disciple of the genuine Fagin himself could have done the act more silently, or gotten up and stolen away more swiftly than did those conspirators two.
Half a minute later the Seven were flying past the sentry beat and into the woods beyond. The sentry did not “see” this party either; he’d have jumped with surprise if he had. For while six of the party wore the regular plebe gray one of them was clad in a uniform that was blue!
We must leave them now to the guidance of the merry “B’gee!” and hasten on ahead to the scene of that long-delayed “Bull Harris’ banquet.” The conversation of the plebes would not interest us anyway, for all they did was to chuckle in wild delight over the “success” of their plot; if those lads could only have foreseen the result of their foolhardy act it is safe to say that they would have been considerably less hilarious and considerably more alarmed.
The yearlings were no less merry. By this time they had reached their destination, which was only a very short ways off from the camp—just far enough for safety. Here they found the drum orderly awaiting them. That youngster was seated on a box, mounting guard; the contents of the box we are sure the reader will agree were enough to justify the cadets in all their happiness.
The first thing to do was to light a camp-fire; everybody pitched in to help gather wood under the direction of the officious Bull, who, as host, naturally felt duty bound to boss everything. Pretty soon there was a merry blaze that lit up the little open space in the woods and the jolly party of lads who were gathered within it. The latter had by this time seated themselves about on the ground, chatting and joking, while they watched the all-important operation of opening that box.
In order to appreciate what follows it may be well for us to take a glance at the faces of that crowd and see how many we can recognize.
It is safe to hazard a guess in the first place that a crowd whom Bull selected to aid him in his festivities would not include very many of the better element of the class. Bull was not very popular among such, as anybody might guess by a glance at his decidedly coarse features; his particular cronies, who had aided him in all his efforts to torment Mark, were a very unpleasant crowd of persons indeed.
They were all there to-night. There was the brutal Gus Murray, the sallow and sarcastic Vance, the amiable Baby Edwards, and Rogers, the big chap whom Mark had made a fool of a few days previously. In fact, there was scarcely one member of that crowd of twelve who had not some grudge against our plebe friends. And so it is not to be wondered that the conversation turned upon them before very long.
By this time the cover had been pried off of that box, and Bull proceeded to spread out its contents, amid general interest and excitement. The crowd moved up closer instinctively and conversation was unanimously suspended.
Bull’s parents, or whoever had arranged the contents of that highly interesting package, had evidently “known their business.” They had wasted no room on ham sandwiches and such nuisances, which nobody wanted, but had filled the case to the brim with every kind of pie and cake that a hungry cadet could wish for. The pièce de résistance, a huge fruit cake, which came out last, would most certainly have called for three cheers if it had not been for the proximity of the camp. As it was, there was a murmur of pleasure; and then Bull gave the signal.
“Pitch in,” said he, “and help yourselves.”
Nobody waited to be asked twice. Every one in the crowd soon had a handful of something, and the conversation, which had been hushed in mock suspense, broke forth merrily again. The momentous banquet had started at last; people who have been to picnics and similar affairs may imagine how the cadets were enjoying it.
“Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.” It was perhaps just as well that the cadets were ignorant in this case—ignorant of certain malignant villains who were wandering about the vicinity, bent, like Sir Hudibras, on interrupting all the fun they saw.
For the seven wicked plebes were flitting about in the woods by this time, only waiting for a favorable opportunity to spring their coup d’état.
They didn’t mean to wait very long. Any one could see that after the yearlings were once let loose at the provisions it was the matter of only five or ten minutes before there would be nothing at all in sight. But something happened just then which made Mark very loath to interrupt the proceedings.
That something has already been hinted at before; it was simply that the conversation had turned upon Mark and his friends. And it did seem to be too good a chance to waste, to hide in the woods and listen to a dozen of your enemies discuss you.
The subject was brought up by way of our old acquaintance, Rogers. Rogers had had a dispute with Mallory a day or two ago which he had never yet told his classmates about; they urged him to, then, but he only shook his head. That, however, turned the talk to the Banded Seven. Parson Stanard had the pleasure of hearing himself referred to as a crane, a goggle-eyed pile of bones, etc. Baby Edwards cheerfully remarked that he thought Texas was a bluff from start to finish, and that he—Baby—could lick him in a minute. It took all six of the plebes to choke Texas and prevent his giving a yell of indignation at that insult.
Cheerful though these remarks were, nobody was touched up in quite such style as Mark, the chief offender. The whole twelve vied with each other in thinking up epithets to apply to him; in this Bull Harris, the host, set the lead.
“I’ll tell you what, fellows,” he said, after Gus Murray, amid great applause, had announced his intention of thrashing Mark in a few days. “I tell you, we’ve got to subdue that fellow some way. He’s succeeded in spoiling our fun all this summer. He’s ruined every bit of hazing! And if we don’t get rid of him somehow he’ll keep up his tricks through the winter. There’s nothing we attempt that he don’t spoil. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t found out about this affair to-night and tried to drive us off——”
“I wish he would!” put in Merry Vance. “By Heaven! he’d regret it!”
“You bet he would!” roared the crowd. “There are enough of us here to handle him,” Bull went on. “That’s the reason he don’t dare try it, for he’s nothing but a blamed coward. He wouldn’t dare show his face——”
It was just here that Bull Harris stopped. Do you ask why?
Perhaps you remember the story of Belshazzar’s feast and the proverbial handwriting on the wall. There is a very famous painting of that scene, which it will do no harm to describe. It represents the banquet hall of the king; there is a magnificent room and a table loaded with every conceivable delicacy. A rollicking, feasting crowd is grouped about it, with the king in state at the head. And on the wall behind them is the dreadful hand and its warning of destruction.
The king is like a man who has seen a ghost. His trembling finger is pointing, and his eyes are glazed with terror. And that is the best description that can be said of the boastful yearling, Bull Harris, at that moment.
The laughter had ceased in one instant, as if every man in the crowd had been struck dead. They were all of them staring, panting with horror no less than Bull’s. Standing in the shadow of the trees was a figure that seemed fairly to have paralyzed them.
In the darkness they could not see his face, but his uniform and figure they knew. It was Lieutenant Allen! And in his hand he held a notebook, upon which he was calmly jotting down the names of the cadets he saw!
It was all over a moment or two later. The horrified lads realized their ruin, and one idea flashed over every one of them. Perhaps he hasn’t recognized me yet! And then as one man they leaped to their feet and made a dash for the darkness of the trees. Their feast they left half finished behind them.
And a minute later six chuckling plebes came forth and joined “Allen” in capturing the spoils.