The Young Buglers

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER II.

  TWO YOUNG PICKLES.

  An old-fashioned open carriage, drawn by a stiff, old-fashioned horse,and driven by a stiff, old-fashioned man, was in waiting at the inn atwhich the coach drew up at Marlborough. Into this the young Scudamoreswere soon transferred, and, after a hearty good-bye from theirfellow-passengers, and an impressive one from the coachman, theystarted upon the concluding part of their journey.

  "How far is it to aunt's?" Tom asked.

  "About six miles, young sir," the driver said gravely.

  The young Scudamores had great difficulty to restrain their laughterat Tom's new title; in fact, Peter nearly choked himself in hisdesperate efforts to do so, and no further questions were asked forsome time.

  The ride was a pleasant one, and Rhoda, who had never been out ofLincolnshire before, was delighted with the beautiful country throughwhich they were passing. The journey, long as it was--for the roadwas a very bad one, and the horse had no idea of going beyond a slowtrot--passed quickly to them all; but they were glad when the driverpointed to a quaint old-fashioned house standing back from the road,and said that they were home.

  "There are the pigeons, Rhoda, and there is Minnie asleep on that openwindow-sill."

  Very many times had the young Scudamores talked about their aunt, andhad pictured to themselves what she would be like; and their ideas ofher so nearly approached the truth, that she almost seemed to be anold acquaintance as she came to the door as the carriage stopped. Shewas a tall, upright, elderly lady, with a kind, but very decided face,and a certain prim look about her manner and dress.

  "Well, niece Rhoda and nephews, I am glad to see that you have arrivedsafely," she said in a clear, distinct voice. "Welcome to the Yews. Ihope that we shall get on very well together. Joseph, I hope that youhave not driven Daisy too fast, and that you did not allow my nephewsto use the whip. You know I gave you very distinct instructions not tolet them do so."

  "No, my lady, they never so much as asked."

  "That is right," Miss Scudamore said, turning round and shaking handswith the boys, who had now got out of the carriage and had helpedRhoda down. "I am glad to hear what Joseph tells me, for I know thatboys are generally fond of furious driving and like lashing horsesuntil they put them into a gallop. And now, how are you, niece Rhoda!Give me a kiss. That is right. You look pale and tired, child; youmust have something to eat, and then go to bed. Girls can't standracketing about as boys can. You look quiet and nice, child, and Ihave no doubt we shall suit very well. It is very creditable to youthat you have not been spoilt by your brothers. Boys generally maketheir sisters almost as noisy and rude as they are themselves."

  "I don't think we are noisy and rude, aunt," Tom said, with a smile.

  "Oh, you don't, nephew?" Miss Scudamore said, looking at him sharply,and then shaking her head decidedly two or three times. "If your looksdo not belie you both sadly, you are about as hair-brained a couple oflads as my worst enemies could wish to see sent to plague me; but,"she added to herself, as she turned to lead the way indoors, "I mustdo my duty, and must make allowances; boys will be boys, boys will beboys, so they say at least, though why they should be is more than Ican make out. Now, Rhoda, I will take you up with me. Your bedroomleads out of mine, dear. Hester," she said to a prim-looking servantwho had come out after her to the door; "will you show my nephews totheir room? Dinner will be ready at two; it is just a quarter to thehour now. I see that you have got watches, so that you will be ableto be punctual; and I must request you, when you have done washing,not to throw the water out of the window, because my flower-beds areunderneath."

  Tom had great difficulty in keeping his countenance, while he assuredhis aunt that his brother and himself never did empty their basins outof the window.

  "That is right," Miss Scudamore said doubtfully; "but I have heardthat boys do such things."

  Once fairly in their room and the door shut, the boys had a greatlaugh over their aunt's ideas as to boys.

  "There is one comfort," Tom said at last; "whatever we do we shallnever surprise her."

  "I think we shall get on very well with her," Peter said. "She meansto be kind, I am sure. This is a jolly room, Tom."

  It was a low wainscoted room, with a very wide window divided intothree by mullions, and fitted with latticed panes. They were open, anda delicious scent of flowers came in from the garden. The furniturewas all new and very strong, of dark stained wood, which harmonizedwell with the paneling. There were no window curtains, but a valanceof white dimity hung above the window. There was a piece of carpetbetween the beds; the rest of the floor was bare, but the boards wereof old oak, and looked as well without it. Several rows of pegs hadbeen put upon the walls, and there was a small chest of drawers byeach bed.

  "This is very jolly, Peter; but it is a pity that there are bars tothe window."

  When they came down to dinner they found that Rhoda, quite done upwith her journey, had gone to bed.

  "You like your room, I hope, nephews," Miss Scudamore said, after theyhad taken their seats.

  "Yes, aunt, very much. There is only one drawback to it."

  "What is that, Thomas?"

  "Oh, please, aunt, don't call me Thomas; it is a dreadful name; it isalmost as bad as Tommy. Please call me Tom. I am always called Tom byevery one."

  "I am not fond of these nicknames," Miss Scudamore said. "There is aflippancy about them of which I do not approve."

  "Yes, aunt, in nicknames; but Tom is not a nickname; it is only ashort way of speaking. We never hear of a man being called Thomas,unless he is a footman or an archbishop, or something of that sort."

  "What do you mean by archbishop?" Miss Scudamore asked severely.

  "Well, aunt, I was going to say footman, and then I thought of Thomasa Becket; and there was Thomas the Rhymer. I have heard of him, butI never read any of his rhymes. I wonder why they did not call thempoems. But I expect even Thomas a Becket was called Tom in his ownfamily."

  Miss Scudamore looked sharply at Tom, but he had a perfect command ofhis face, and could talk the greatest nonsense with the most seriousface. He went on unmoved with her scrutiny.

  "I have often wondered why I was not christened Tom, It would havebeen much more sensible. For instance, Rhoda is christened Rhoda andnot Rhododendron."

  "Rhododendron?" Miss Scudamore said, mystified.

  "Yes, aunt, it is an American plant, I believe. We had one in thegreen-house at home; it was sent poor papa by some friend who went outthere, I don't see anything else Rhoda could come from."

  "You are speaking very ignorantly, nephew," Miss Scudamore saidseverely. "I don't know anything about the plant you speak of, but thename of Rhoda existed before America was ever heard of. It is a veryold name."

  "I expect," Peter said, "it must have meant originally a woman ofRhodes. You see Crusaders and Templars were always having to do withRhodes, and they no doubt brought the name home, and so it got settledhere."

  "The name is mentioned in Scripture," Miss Scudamore said severely.

  "Yes, aunt, and that makes it still more likely that it meant a womanof Rhodes; you see Rhodes was a great place then."

  Miss Scudamore was silent for some time. Then she went back to thesubject with which the conversation had commenced. "What is theobjection you spoke of to the room?"

  "Oh! it is the bars to the window, aunt."

  "I have just had them put up," Miss Scudamore said calmly.

  "Just put up, aunt!" Tom repeated in surprise, "what for?"

  "To prevent you getting out at night."

  The boys could not help laughing this time, and then Peter said, "Butwhy should we want to get out at night, aunt?"

  "Why should boys always want to do the things they ought not?" MissScudamore said. "I've heard of boys being let down by ropes to go andbuy things. I dare say you have both done it yourselves."

  "Well, aunt," Tom said, "perhaps we have; but then, you see, that wasat school."

  "I do not see a
ny difference, nephew. If you will get out at onewindow, you will get out at another. There is mischief to be done inthe country as well as in towns; and so long as there is mischief todo, so long will boys go out of their way to do it. And now I willtell you the rules of this house, to which you will be expected toadhere. It is well to understand things at once, as it preventsmistakes. We breakfast at eight, dine at two, have tea at half-pastsix, and you will go to bed at half-past eight. These hours will bestrictly observed. I shall expect your hands and faces to be washed,and your hairs brushed previous to each meal. When you come indoorsyou will always take off your boots and put on your shoes in thelittle room behind this. And now, if you have done dinner I thinkthat you had better go and lie down on your bed, and get two or threehours' sleep. Take your boots off before you get into the bed."

  "She means well, Peter," the elder brother said, as they wentupstairs, "but I am afraid she will fidget our lives out."

  For two or three days the boys wandered about enjoying the beautifulwalks, and surprising and pleasing their aunt by the punctualitywith which they were in to their meals. Then she told them that shehad arranged for them to go to a tutor, who lived at Warley, a largevillage a mile distant, and who had some eight or ten pupils. The veryfirst day's experience at the school disgusted them. The boys wereof an entirely different class to those with whom they had hithertoassociated, and the master was violent and passionate.

  "How do you like Mr. Jones, nephews?" Miss Scudamore asked upon theirreturn after their first day at school.

  "We do not like him at all, aunt. In the first place, he is a gooddeal too handy with that cane of his."

  "'He who spares the rod--'"

  "Yes, we know that, aunt, 'spoils the child,'" broke in Tom, "but wewould not mind so much if the fellow were a gentleman."

  "I don't know what you may call a gentleman," Miss Scudamore saidseverely. "He stands very high here a schoolmaster, while he visitsthe vicar, and is well looked up to everywhere."

  "He's not a gentleman for all that," Tom muttered; "he wouldn't be ifhe visited the Queen. One does not mind being trashed by a gentleman;one is used to that at Eton; but to be knocked about by a fellow likethat! Well, we shall see."

  For a week the boys put up with the cruelty of their tutor, who atonce took an immense dislike to them on finding that they did not,like the other boys, cringe before him, and that no trashing couldextract a cry from them.

  It must not be supposed that they did not meditate vengeance, but theycould hit upon no plan which could be carried out without causingsuspicion that it was the act of one of the boys; and in that casethey knew that he would question them all round, and they would nottell a lie to screen themselves.

  Twice they appealed to their aunt, but she would not listen to them,saying that the other boys did not complain, and that if their masterwas more severe with them than with others, it could only be becausethey behaved worse. It was too evident that they were boys of veryviolent dispositions, and although she was sorry that their masterfound it necessary to punish them, it was clearly her duty not tointerfere.

  The remark about violence arose from Miss Scudamore having read in thelittle paper which was published once a week at Marlborough an accountof the incident of the stopping of the coach, about which the boyshad agreed to say nothing to her. The paper had described the conductof her nephews in the highest terms, but Miss Scudamore was terriblyshocked. "The idea", she said, "that she should have to associate withboys who had take a fellow-creature's life was terrible to her, andtheir conduct in resisting, when grown-up men had given up the ideaas hopeless, showed a violent spirit, which, in boys so young, wasshocking."

  A few days after this, as the boys were coming from school, theypassed the carrier's cart, coming in from Marlborough.

  "Be you the young gentlemen at Miss Scudamore's?" the man asked."Because, if you be, I have got a parcel for you."

  Tom answered him that they were, and he then handed them over a heavysquare parcel. Opening it after the cart had gone on, the boys, totheir great delight, found that it consisted of two cases, eachcontaining a brace of very handsome pistols.

  "This is luck, Peter," Tom said. "If the parcel had been sent to thehouse, aunt would never have let us have them; now we can take them inquietly, get some powder and balls, and practice shooting every day insome quiet place. That will be capital. Do you know I have thought ofa plan which will enrage old Jones horribly, and he will never suspectus?"

  "No; have you, Tom? What is that?"

  "Look here, Peter. I can carry you easily standing on my shoulders. Ifyou get a very long cloak, so as to fall well down on me, no one wouldsuspect in the dark that there were two of us; we should look likeone tremendously tall man. Well, you know, he goes every evening toDunstable's to sing with Miss Dunstable. They say he's making love toher. We can waylay him in the narrow lane, and make him give up thatnew watch he has just bought, that he's so proud of. I heard him sayhe had given thirty guineas for it. Of course, we don't want to keepit, but we would smash it up between a couple of big stones, and sendhim all the pieces."

  "Capital, Tom; but where should we get the cloak?"

  "There is that long wadded silk cloak of aunt's that she uses when shegoes out driving. It always hangs up in the closet in the hall."

  "But how are we to get in again, Tom? I expect that he does not comeback till half-past nine or ten. We can slip out easily enough afterwe are supposed to have gone to bed; but how are we to get back?"

  "The only plan, Peter, is to get in through Rhoda's window. She isvery angry at that brute Jones treating us so badly, and if I take herinto the secret I feel sure she will agree."

  Rhoda was appealed to, and although at first she said it was quite,quite impossible, she finally agreed, although with much fear andtrembling, to assist them. First, the boys were to buy some rope andmake a rope ladder, which Rhoda was to take up to her room; she was toopen the window wide when she went to bed, but to pull the blind downas usual, so that if her aunt came in she would not notice it. Then,when she heard her aunt come tip to bed at half-past nine, she was toget up very quietly, drop the rope ladder out, fastening it as theyinstructed her, and then get into bed again, and go to sleep if shecould, as the boys would not try to come in until after Miss Scudamorewas asleep.

  Two nights after this the schoolmaster was returning from his usualvisit to Mr. Dunstable, when, to his horror, he saw a gigantic figureadvance from under a tree which overshadowed the lawn, and heard adeep voice say, "Your money or your life!"

  Like all bullies, the schoolmaster was a coward, and no sooner did hesee this terrible figure, and his ears caught the ominous click ofa pistol which accompanied the words, than his teeth chattered, hiswhole figure trembled with fear, and he fell on his knees, crying,"Spare my life!--take all that I have, but spare my life!"

  "You miserable coward!" the giant said, "I do not want to take yourwretched life. What money have you?"

  "I have only two shillings," he exclaimed; "I swear to you that I haveonly two shillings."

  "What is the use of two shillings to me?--give them to the firstbeggar you see."

  "Yes, sir," the schoolmaster said; "I swear to you that I will."

  "Give me your watch."

  The schoolmaster took out his watch, and, getting upon his feet,handed it to the giant.

  "There now, you can go; but see," he added, as the schoolmaster turnedwith great alacrity to leave--"look here."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Look here, and mark my words well. Don't you go to that house whereyou have been to-night, or it will be the worse for you. You are awretch, and I won't see that poor little girl marry you and be mademiserable. Swear to me you will give her up."

  The schoolmaster hesitated, but there was again the ominous click ofthe pistol.

  "Yes, yes, I swear it," he said hastily. "I will give her upaltogether."

  "You had better keep your oath," the giant said, "for if you break it,if I hear you go the
re any more--I shall be sure to hear of it--I willput an ounce of lead in you, if I have to do it in the middle of yourschool. Do you hear me? Now you may go."

  Only too glad to escape, the schoolmaster walked quickly off, and in amoment his steps could be heard as he ran at the top of his speed downthe lane.

  In a moment the giant appeared to break in two, and two small figuresstood where the large one had been.

  "Capital, Peter. Now, I'll take the cloak, and you keep the pistol,and now for a run home--not that I'm afraid of that coward gettingup a pursuit. He'll be only too glad to get his head under thebedclothes."

  Rhoda had carried out her brother's instructions with great exactness,and was in a great fright when her aunt came in to see her in bed,lest she should notice that the window was open. However, the nightwas a quiet one, and the curtains fell partly across the blind, sothat Miss Scudamore suspected nothing, but Rhoda felt great reliefwhen she said good-night, took the candle, and left the room. She hadhad hard work to keep herself awake until she heard her aunt come upto bed; and then, finding that she did not again come into the room,she got up, fastened one end of the rope ladder to a thick stick longenough to cross two of the mullions, let the other end down veryquietly, and then slipped into bed again. She did not awake untilHester knocked at her door and told her it was time to get up. Sheawoke with a great start, and in a, fright at once ran to the window.Everything looked as usual. The rope ladder was gone, the window wasclosed, and Rhoda knew that her brothers must have come in safely.

  Great was the excitement in Warley next day, when it became known thatthe schoolmaster had been robbed of his watch by a giant fully eightfeet high. This height of the robber was, indeed, received with muchdoubt, as people thought that he might have been a tall man, butthat the eight feet must have been exaggerated by the fear of theschoolmaster.

  Two or three days afterwards the surprise rose even higher, when aparty of friends who had assembled at Mr. Jones' to condole with himupon his misfortune, were startled by the smashing of one of thewindows by a small packet, which fell upon the floor in their midst.

  There was a rush to the door, but the night was a dark one, and no onewas to be seen; then they returned to the sitting-room, and the littlepacket was opened, and found to contain some watchworks bent andbroken, some pulverized glass, and a battered piece of metal, which,after some trouble, the schoolmaster recognized as the case of hiswatch. The head-constable was sent for, and after examining the relicsof the case, he came to the same conclusion at which the rest hadalready arrived, namely, that the watch could not have been stolen byan ordinary footpad, but by some personal enemy of the schoolmaster's,whose object was not plunder, but annoyance and injury.

  To the population of Warley this solution was a very agreeable one.The fact of a gigantic footpad being in the neighborhood was alarmingfor all, and nervous people were already having great bolts and barsplaced upon their shutters and doors. The discovery, therefore, thatthe object of this giant was not plunder, but only to gratify a spiteagainst the master, was a relief to the whole place. Every one was, ofcourse, anxious to know who this secret foe could be, and what crimeMr. Jones could have committed to bring such a tremendous enemy uponhim. The boys at the school assumed a fresh importance in the eyes ofthe whole place, and being encouraged now to tell all they knew ofhim, they gave such a picture of the life that they had led at school,that a general feeling of disgust was aroused against him.

  The parents of one or two of the boys gave notice to take their sonsaway, but the rest of the boys were boarders, and were no better offthan before.

  Miss Scudamore was unshaken in her faith in Mr. Jones and consideredthe rumor current about him to be due simply to the vindictive natureof boys.

  "Well, aunt," Tom said one day, after a lecture of this sort from her,"I know you mean to be kind to us, but Peter and I have stood it onthat account, but we can't stand it much longer, and we shall run awaybefore long."

  "And where would you run to, nephew?" Miss Scudamore said calmly.

  "That is our affair," Tom said quite as coolly, "only I don't like todo it without giving you warning. You mean kindly, I know, aunt, butthe way you are always going on at us from morning to night wheneverwe are at home, and the way in which you allow us to be treated bythat tyrannical brute, is too much altogether."

  Miss Scudamore looked steadily at them.

  "I am doing, nephew, what I consider to be for your good. You arewillful, and violent, and headstrong. It is my duty to cure you, andalthough it is all very painful to me, at my time of life, to havesuch a charge thrust upon me, still, whatever it costs, it must bedone."

  For the next month Mr. Jones' life was rendered a burden to him. Thechimney-pots were shut up with sods placed on them, and the fireplacespoured volumes of smoke into the rooms and nearly choked him. Nightafter night the windows of his bedroom were smashed; cats were letdown the chimney; his water-butts were found filled with mud, and thecord of the bucket of his well was cut time after time; the flowersin his garden were dug up and put in topsy-turvy. He himself could notstir out after dark without being tripped up by strings fastened afew inches above the path; and once, coming out of his door, a stringfastened from scraper to scraper brought him down the steps with suchviolence that the bridge of his nose, which came on the edge of astep, was broken, and he was confined to his bed for three or fourdays. In vain he tried every means to discover and punish the authorsof these provocations. A savage dog, the terror of the neighborhood,was borrowed and chained up in the garden, but was found poisoned nextmorning.

  Watchmen were hired, but refused to stay for more than one night, forthey were so harassed and wearied out that they came to the conclusionthat they were haunted. If they were on one side of the house a voicewould be heard on the other. After the first few attempts, they nolonger dared venture to run, for between each round strings were tiedin every direction, and they had several heavy falls, while as theywere carefully picking their way with their lanterns, stones struckthem from all quarters. If one ventured for a moment from the other'sside his lantern was knocked out, and his feet were struck from underhim with a sharp and unexpected blow from a heavy cudgel; and theywere once appalled by seeing a gigantic figure stalk across the grass,and vanish in a little bush.

  At the commencement of these trials the schoolmaster had questionedthe boys, one by one, if they had any hand in the proceeding.

  All denied it. When it came to Tom Scudamore's turn, he said. "Younever do believe me, Mr. Jones, so it is of no use my saying that Ididn't do it; but if you ask Miss Scudamore, she will bear witnessthat we were in bed hours before, and that there are bars on ourwindows through which a cat could hardly get."

  The boys had never used Rhoda's room after the first night'sexpedition, making their escape now by waiting until the house wasquiet, and then slipping along the passage to the spare room, andthence by the window, returning in the same way.

  Under this continued worry, annoyance, and alarm, the schoolmastergrew thin and worn, his school fell off more and more; for many ofthe boys, whose rest was disturbed by all this racket, encouraged bythe example of the boys of the place who had already been taken away,wrote privately to their friends.

  The result was that the parents of two or three more wrote to saythat their boys would not return after the holidays, and no one wassurprised when it became known that Mr. Jones was about to close hisschool and leave the neighborhood.

  The excitement of the pranks that they had been playing had enabledthe boys to support the almost perpetual scoldings and complaints oftheir aunt; but school once over, and their enemy driven from theplace, they made up their minds that they could no longer stand it.

  One day, therefore, when Rhoda had, as an extraordinary concession,been allowed to go for a walk with them, they told her that theyintended to run away.

  Poor Rhoda was greatly distressed.

  "You see, Rhoda dear," Tom said, "although we don't like leaving you,you will really b
e happier when we are gone. It is a perpetual worryto you to hear aunt going on, on, on--nagging, nagging, nagging forever and ever at us. She is fond of you and kind to you, and youwould get on quietly enough without us, while now she is in a fidgetwhenever you are with us, and is constantly at you not to learnmischief and bad ways from us. Besides you are always in a fright now,lest we should get into some awful scrape, as I expect we should ifwe stopped here. If it weren't for you, we should not let her off aseasily as we do. No, no, Rhoda, it is better for us all that we shouldgo."

  Poor Rhoda, though she cried bitterly at the thought of losing herbrothers, yet could not but allow to herself that in many respects sheshould be more happy when she was freed from anxiety, lest they shouldget into some scrape, and when her aunt would not be kept in a stateof continued irritation and scolding. She felt too that, although sheherself could get on well enough in her changed life, that it was veryhard indeed for the boys, accustomed as they had been to the jolly andindependent life of a public school, and to be their own master duringthe holidays, with their ponies, amusements, and their freedom to comeand go when they chose. Rhoda was a thoughtful child, and felt thatnothing that they could go through could do them more harm or makethem more unhappy than they now were. She had thought it all over dayafter day, for she was sure that the boys would, sooner or later cometo it, and she had convinced herself that it was better for them.Still it was with a very sad heart that she found that the time hadcome.

  For some time she cried in silence, and then, drying her eyes, shesaid, trying to speak bravely, though her lips quivered.

  "I shall miss you dreadfully, boys; but I will not say a word to keepyou here, for I am sure it is very, very bad for you. What do you meanto do? Do you mean to go to sea?"

  "No, Rhoda; you see uncle was in the army, and used to talk to usabout that; and, as we have never seen the sea, we don't care for itas some boys do. No, we shall try and go as soldiers."

  "But my dear Tom, they will never take you as soldiers; you are toolittle."

  "Yes, we are not old enough to enlist at present," Tom said; "but wemight go in as buglers. We have thought it all over, and have beenpaying old Wetherley, who was once in the band of a regiment, to teachus the bugle, and he says we can sound all the calls now as well asany bugler going. We did not like to tell you till we had made up ourminds to go; but we have gone regularly to him every day since thefirst week we came here."

  "Then you won't have to fight, Tom," Rhoda said joyfully.

  "No," Tom said, in a rather dejected tone; "I am afraid they won't letus fight; still we shall see fighting, which is the next best thing."

  "I heard in Warley yesterday that there will be a movement of thearmy in Spain soon, and that some more troops will be sent out, andwe shall try and get into a regiment that is going."

  They talked very long and earnestly on their plans, and were soengrossed that they quite forgot how time went, and got in late fortea, and were terribly scolded in consequence. For once none ofthem cared for the storm; the boys exulted over the thought that itwould be the last scolding they would have to suffer; and Rhoda haddifficulty in gasping down her tears at the thought that it was thelast meal that she would take with them, for they had settled thatthey would start that very night.