The master drew forth his heavy black strap with impressive deliberation and ominous silence. The preparations for punishment were so elaborate and imposing that the big boys guessed that the punishment itself would not amount to much. Not so Jimmie. He stood numb with fear and horrible expectation. The master lifted up the strap.
"James, hold out your hand!"
Jimmie promptly clutched his hand behind his back.
"Hold out your hand, sir, at once!" No answer.
"James, you must do as you are told. Your punishment for disobedience will be much severer than for laughing." But Jimmie stood pale, silent, with his hands tight clasped behind his back.
The master stepped forward, and grasping the little boy's arm, tried to pull his hand to the front; but Jimmie, with a roar like that of a young bull, threw himself flat on his face on the floor and put his hands under him. The school burst into a laugh of triumph, which increased the master's embarrassment and rage.
"Silence!" he said, "or it will be a worse matter for some of you than for James."
Then turning his attention to Jimmie, be lifted him from the floor and tried to pull out his hand. But Jimmie kept his arms folded tight across his breast, roaring vigorously the while, and saying over and over, "Go away from me! Go away from me, I tell you! I'm not taking anything to do with you."
The big boys were enjoying the thing immensely. The master's rage was deepening in proportion. He felt it would never do to be beaten. His whole authority was at stake.
"Now, James," he reasoned, "you see you are only making it worse for yourself. I cannot allow any disobedience in the school. You must hold out your hand."
But Jimmie, realizing that he had come off best in the first round, stood doggedly sniffing, his arms still folded tight.
"Now, James, I shall give you one more chance. Hold out your hand."
Jimmie remained like a statue.
Whack! came the heavy strap over his shoulders. At once Jimmie set up his refrain, "Go away from me, I tell you! I'm not taking anything to do with you!"
Whack! whack! whack! fell the strap with successive blows, each heavier than the last. There was no longer any laughing in the school. The affair was growing serious. The girls were beginning to sob, and the bigger boys to grow pale.
"Now, James, will you hold out your hand? You see how much worse you are making it for yourself," said the master, who was heartily sick of the struggle, which he felt to be undignified, and the result of which he feared was dubious.
But Jimmie only kept up his cry, now punctuated with sobs, "I'm—not—taking—anything—to do—with—you."
"Jimmie, listen to me," said the master. "You must hold out your hand. I cannot have boys refusing to obey me in this school." But Jimmie caught the entreaty in the tone, and knowing that the battle was nearly over, kept obstinately silent.
"Well, then," said the master, suddenly, "you must take it," and lifting the strap, he laid it with such sharp emphasis over Jimmie's shoulders that Jimmie's voice rose in a wilder roar than usual, and the girls burst into audible weeping.
Suddenly, above all the hubbub, rose a voice, clear and sharp.
"Stop!" It was Thomas Finch, of all people, standing with face white and tense, and regarding the master with steady eyes.
The school gazed thunderstruck at the usually slow and stolid Thomas.
"What do you mean, sir?" said the master, gladly turning from Jimmie. But Thomas stood silent, as much surprised as the master at his sudden exclamation.
He stood hesitating for a moment, and then said, "You can thrash me in his place. He's a little chap, and has never been thrashed."
The master misunderstood his hesitation for fear, pushed Jimmie aside, threw down his strap, and seized a birch rod.
"Come forward, sir! I'll put an end to your insubordination, at any rate. Hold out your hand!"
Thomas held out his hand till the master finished one birch rod.
"The other hand, sir!"
Another birch rod was used up, but Thomas neither uttered a sound nor made a move till the master had done, then he asked, in a strained voice, "Were you going to give Jimmie all that, sir?"
The master caught the biting sneer in the tone, and lost himself completely.
"Do you dare to answer me back?" he cried. He opened his desk, took out a rawhide, and without waiting to ask for his hand, began to lay the rawhide about Thomas's shoulders and legs, till he was out of breath.
"Now, perhaps you will learn your place, sir," he said.
"Thank you," said Thomas, looking him steadily in the eye.
"You are welcome. And I'll give you as much more whenever you show that you need it." The slight laugh with which he closed this brutal speech made Thomas wince as he had not during his whole terrible thrashing, but still he had not a word to say.
"Now, James, come here!" said the master, turning to Jimmie. "You see what happens when a boy is insubordinate." Jimmie came trembling. "Hold out your hand!" Out came Jimmie's hand at once. Whack! fell the strap.
"The other!"
"Stop it!" roared Thomas. "I took his thrashing."
"The other!" said the master, ignoring Thomas.
With a curious savage snarl Thomas sprung at him. The master, however, was on the alert, and swinging round, met him with a straight facer between the eyes, and Thomas went to the floor.
"Aha! my boy! I'll teach you something you have yet to learn."
For answer came another cry, "Come on, boys!" It was Ranald Macdonald, coming over the seats, followed by Don Cameron, Billy Ross, and some smaller boys. The master turned to meet them.
"Come along!" he said, backing up to his desk. "But I warn you it's not a strap or a rawhide I shall use."
Ranald paid no attention to his words, but came straight toward him, and when at arm's length, sprung at him with the cry, "Horo, boys!"
But before he could lay his hands upon the master, he received a blow straight on the bridge of the nose that staggered him back, stunned and bleeding. By this time Thomas was up again, and rushing in was received in like manner, and fell back over a bench.
"How do you like it, boys?" smiled the master. "Come right along."
The boys obeyed his invitation, approaching him, but more warily, and awaiting their chance to rush. Suddenly Thomas, with a savage snarl, put his head down and rushed in beneath the master's guard, paid no attention to the heavy blow he received on the head, and locking his arms round the master's middle, buried his head close into his chest.
At once Ranald and Billy Ross threw themselves upon the struggling pair and carried them to the floor, the master underneath. There was a few moments of fierce struggling, and then the master lay still, with the four boys holding him down for dear life.
It was Thomas who assumed command.
"Don't choke him so, Ranald," he said. "And clear out of the way, all you girls and little chaps."
"What are you going to do, Thomas?" asked Don, acknowledging Thomas's new-born leadership.
"Tie him up," said Thomas. "Get me a sash."
At once two or three little boys rushed to the hooks and brought one or two of the knitted sashes that hung there, and Thomas proceeded to tie the master's legs.
While he was thus busily engaged, a shadow darkened the door, and a voice exclaimed, "What is all this about?" It was the minister, who had been driving past and had come upon the terrified, weeping children rushing home.
"Is that you, Thomas? And you, Don?"
The boys let go their hold and stood up, shamed but defiant.
Immediately the master was on his feet, and with a swift, fierce blow, caught Thomas on the chin. Thomas, taken off his guard, fell with a thud on the floor.
"Stop that, young man!" said the minister, catching his arm. "That's a coward's blow."
"Hands off!" said the master, shaking himself free and squaring up to him.
"Ye would, would ye?" said the minister, gripping him by the neck and shaking him a
s he might a child. "Lift ye're hand to me, would ye? I'll break you're back to ye, and that I will." So saying, the minister seized him by the arms and held him absolutely helpless. The master ceased to struggle, and put down his hands.
"Ay, ye'd better, my man," said the minister, giving him a fling backward.
Meantime Don had been holding snow to Thomas's head, and had brought him round.
"Now, then," said the minister to the boys, "what does all this mean?"
The boys were all silent, but the master spoke.
"It is a case of rank and impudent insubordination, sir, and I demand the expulsion of those impudent rascals."
"Well, sir," said the minister, "be sure there will be a thorough investigation, and I greatly misjudge the case if there are not faults on both sides. And for one thing, the man who can strike such a cowardly blow as you did a moment ago would not be unlikely to be guilty of injustice and cruelty."
"It is none of your business," said the master, insolently.
"You will find that I shall make it my business," said the minister. "And now, boys, be off to your homes, and be here Monday morning at nine o'clock, when this matter shall be gone into."
CHAPTER VI
"ONE THAT RULETH WELL HIS OWN HOUSE"
The news of the school trouble ran through the section like fire through a brule. The younger generations when they heard how Thomas Finch had dared the master, raised him at once to the rank of hero, but the heads of families received the news doubtfully, and wondered what the rising generation was coming to.
The next day Billy Jack heard the story in the Twentieth store, and with some anxiety waited for the news to reach his father's ears, for to tell the truth, Billy Jack, man though he was, held his father in dread.
"How did you come to do it?" he asked Thomas. "Why didn't you let Don begin? It was surely Don's business."
"I don't know. It slipped out," replied Thomas. "I couldn't stand Jimmie's yelling any longer. I didn't know I said anything till I found myself standing up, and after that I didn't seem to care for anything."
"Man! it was fine, though," said Billy Jack. "I didn't think it was in you." And Thomas felt more than repaid for all his cruel beating. It was something to win the approval of Billy Jack in an affair of this kind.
It was at church on the Sabbath day that Donald Finch heard about his son's doings in the school the week before. The minister, in his sermon, thought fit to dwell upon the tendency of the rising generation to revolt against authority in all things, and solemnly laid upon parents the duty and responsibility of seeing to it that they ruled their households well.
It was not just the advice that Donald Finch stood specially in need of, but he was highly pleased with the sermon, and was enlarging upon it in the churchyard where the people gathered between the services, when Peter McRae, thinking that old Donald was hardly taking the minister's advice to himself as he ought, and not knowing that the old man was ignorant of all that had happened in the school, answered him somewhat severely.
"It is good to be approving the sermon, but I would rather be seeing you make a practical application of it."
"Indeed, that is true," replied Donald, "and it would not be amiss for more than me to make application of it."
"Indeed, then, if all reports be true," replied Peter, "it would be well for you to begin at home."
"Mr. McRae," said Donald, earnestly, "it is myself that knows well enough my shortcomings, but if there is any special reason for your remark, I am not aware of it."
This light treatment of what to Peter had seemed a grievous offense against all authority incensed the old dominie beyond all endurance.
"And do you not think that the conduct of your son last week calls for any reproof? And is it you that will stand up and defend it in the face of the minister and his sermon upon it this day?"
Donald gazed at him a few moments as if he had gone mad. At length he replied, slowly, "I do not wish to forget that you are an elder of the church, Mr. McRae, and I will not be charging you with telling lies on me and my family—"
"Tut, tut, man," broke in Long John Cameron, seeing how the matter stood; "he's just referring to yon little difference Thomas had with the master last week. But it's just nothing. Come away in."
"Thomas?" gasped Donald. "My Thomas?"
"You have not heard, then," said Peter, in surprise, and old Donald only shook his head.
"Then it's time you did," replied Peter, severely, "for such things are a disgrace to the community."
"Nonsense!" said Long John. "Not a bit of it! I think none the less of Thomas for it." But in matters of this kind Long John could hardly be counted an authority, for it was not so very long ago since he had been beguiled into an affair at the Scotch River which, while it brought him laurels at the hands of the younger generation, did not add to his reputation with the elders of the church.
It did not help matters much that Murdie Cameron and others of his set proceeded to congratulate old Donald, in their own way, upon his son's achievement, and with all the more fervor that they perceived that it moved the solemn Peter to righteous wrath. From one and another the tale came forth with embellishments, till Donald Finch was reduced to such a state of voiceless rage and humiliation that when, at the sound of the opening psalm the congregation moved into the church for the Gaelic service, the old man departed for his home, trembling, silent, amazed.
How Thomas could have brought this disgrace upon him, he could not imagine. If it had been William John, who, with all his good nature, had a temper brittle enough, he would not have been surprised. And then the minister's sermon, of which he had spoken in such open and enthusiastic approval, how it condemned him for his neglect of duty toward his family, and held up his authority over his household to scorn. It was a terrible blow to his pride.
"It is the Lord's judgment upon me," he said to himself, as he tramped his way through the woods. "It is the curse of Eli that is hanging over me and mine." And with many vows he resolved that, at all costs, he would do his duty in this crisis and bring Thomas to a sense of his sins.
It was in this spirit that he met his family at the supper-table, after their return from the Gaelic service.
"What is this I hear about you, Thomas?" he began, as Thomas came in and took his place at the table. "What is this I hear about you, sir?" he repeated, making a great effort to maintain a calm and judicial tone.
Thomas remained silent, partly because he usually found speech difficult, but chiefly because he dreaded his father's wrath.
"What is this that has become the talk of the countryside and the disgrace of my name?" continued the father, in deepening tones.
"No very great disgrace, surely," said Billy Jack, lightly, hoping to turn his father's anger.
"Be you silent, sir!" commanded the old man, sternly. "I will ask for your opinion when I require it. You and others beside you in this house need to learn your places."
Billy Jack made no reply, fearing to make matters worse, though he found it hard not to resent this taunt, which he knew well was flung at his mother.
"I wonder at you, Thomas, after such a sermon as yon. I wonder you are able to sit there unconcerned at this table. I wonder you are not hiding your head in shame and confusion." The old man was lashing himself into a white rage, while Thomas sat looking stolidly before him, his slow tongue finding no words of defense. And indeed, he had little thought of defending himself. He was conscious of an acute self-condemnation, and yet, struggling through his slow-moving mind there was a feeling that in some sense he could not define, there was justification for what he had done.
"It is not often that Thomas has grieved you," ventured the mother, timidly, for, with all her courage, she feared her husband when he was in this mood.
"Woman, be silent!" blazed forth the old man, as if he had been waiting for her words. "It is not for you to excuse his wickedness. You are too fond of that work, and your children are reaping the fruits of it."
&
nbsp; Billy Jack looked up quickly as if to answer, but his mother turned her face full upon him and commanded him with steady eyes, giving, herself, no sign of emotion except for a slight tightening of the lips and a touch of color in her face.
"Your children have well learned their lesson of rebellion and deceit," continued her husband, allowing his passion a free rein. "But I vow unto the Lord I will put an end to it now, whatever. And I will give you to remember, sir," turning to Thomas, "to the end of your days, this occasion. And now, hence from this table. Let me not see your face till the Sabbath is past, and then, if the Lord spares me, I shall deal with you."
Thomas hesitated a moment as if he had not quite taken in his father's words, then, leaving his supper untouched, he rose slowly, and without a word climbed the ladder to the loft. The mother followed him a moment with her eyes, and then once more turning to Billy Jack, held him with calm, steady gaze. Her immediate fear was for her eldest son. Thomas, she knew, would in the mean time simply suffer what might be his lot, but for many a day she had lived in terror of an outbreak between her eldest son and her husband. Again Billy Jack caught her look, and commanded himself to silence.
"The fire is low, William John," she said, in a quiet voice. Billy Jack rose, and from the wood-box behind the stove, replenished the fire, reading perfectly his mother's mind, and resolving at all costs to do her will.
At the taking of the books that night the prayer, which was spoken in a tone of awful and almost inaudible solemnity, was for the most part an exaltation of the majesty and righteousness of the government of God, and a lamentation over the wickedness and rebellion of mankind. And Billy Jack thought it was no good augury that it closed with a petition for grace to maintain the honor of that government, and to uphold that righteous majesty in all the relations of life. It was a woeful evening to them all, and as soon as possible the household went miserably to bed.
Before going to her room the mother slipped up quietly to the loft and found Thomas lying in his bunk, dressed and awake. He was still puzzling out his ethical problem. His conscience clearly condemned him for his fight with the master, and yet, somehow he could not regret having stood up for Jimmie and taken his punishment. He expected no mercy at his father's hands next morning. The punishment he knew would be cruel enough, but it was not the pain that Thomas was dreading; he was dimly struggling with the sense of outrage, for ever since the moment he had stood up and uttered his challenge to the master, he had felt himself to be different. That moment now seemed to belong to the distant years when he was a boy, and now he could not imagine himself submitting to a flogging from any man, and it seemed to him strange and almost impossible that even his father should lift his hand to him.
Glengarry School Days-a story of early days in Glengarry Page 7