CHAPTER XI. PUNISHING A BULLY
It was fortunate for Mrs. Frost that she was so soon called upon tothink for others. It gave her less time to grieve over her husband'sabsence, which was naturally a severe trial to her. As for Frank, thoughthe harvest was gathered in, there were plenty of small jobs to occupyhis attention. He divided with Jacob the care of the cows, and was upbetimes in the morning to do his share of the milking. Then the pigs andchickens must be fed every day, and this Frank took entirely into hisown charge. Wood, also, must be prepared for the daily wants of thehouse, and this labor he shared with Jacob.
In the afternoon, however, Frank usually had two or three hours at hisown disposal, and this, in accordance with a previous determination, heresolved to devote to keeping up his studies. He did not expect tomake the same progress that he would have done if he had been ableto continue at school, but it was something to feel that he was notremaining stationary.
Frank resolved to say nothing to his classmates about his privatestudies. They would think he was falling far behind, and at some futuretime he would surprise them.
Still, there were times when he felt the need of a teacher. He wouldoccasionally encounter difficulties which he found himself unable tosurmount without assistance. At such times he thought of Mr Rathburn'skind offer. But his old teacher lived nearly a mile distant, and he feltaverse to troubling him, knowing that his duties in school were arduous.
Occasionally he met some of his schoolmates. As nearly all of them werefriendly and well-disposed to him, this gave him pleasure, and broughtback sometimes the wish that he was as free as they. But this wish wasalmost instantly checked by the thought that he had made a sacrifice forhis country's sake.
A few days after the incident narrated in the last chapter, Frank wasout in the woods not far from Chloe's cottage, collecting brushwood,to be afterward carried home, when his attention was called to analtercation, one of the parties in which he readily recognized as littlePomp. To explain how it came about, we shall have to go back a little.
Pomp was returning from Mrs. Frost's, swinging a tin kettle containingprovisions for his mother and himself, when all at once he met JohnHaynes, who was coming from the opposite direction.
Now, John was something of a bully, and liked to exercise authority overthe boys who were small enough to render the attempt a safe one. On thepresent occasion he felt in a hectoring mood.
"I'll have some fun out of the little nigger," he said to himself, as heespied Pomp.
Pomp approached, swinging his pail as before, and whistling a plantationmelody.
"What have you got there, Pomp?" asked John.
"I'se got a pail," said Pomp independently. "Don't yer know a pail whenyou see him?"
"I know an impudent little nigger when I see him," retorted John, notoverpleased with the answer. "Come here directly, and let me see whatyou've got in your pail."
"I ain't got noffin for you," said Pomp defiantly.
"We'll see about that," said John. "Now, do you mean to come here ornot? I'm going to count three, and I'll give you that time to decide.One--two--three!"
Pomp apparently had no intention of complying with John's request.He had halted about three rods from him, and stood swinging his pail,meanwhile watching John warily.
"I see you want me to come after you," said John angrily.
He ran toward Pomp, but the little contraband dodged him adroitly, andgot on the other side of a tree.
Opposition only stimulated John to new efforts. He had become excited inthe pursuit, and had made up his mind to capture Pomp, who dodged inand out among the trees with such quickness and dexterity that Johnwas foiled for a considerable time. The ardor of his pursuit and itsunexpected difficulty excited his anger. He lost sight of the fact thatPomp was under no obligation to comply with his demand. But this isgenerally the way with tyrants, who are seldom careful to keep withinthe bounds of justice and reason.
"Just let me catch you, you little rascal, and I will give you the worstlicking you ever had," John exclaimed, with passion.
"Wait till you catch me," returned Pomp, slipping, eel-like, from hisgrasp.
But Pomp, in dodging, had now come to an open space, where he was ata disadvantage. John was close upon him, when suddenly he stoodstock-still, bending his back so as to obtain a firm footing. Theconsequence was that his too ardent pursuer tumbled over him, andstretched his length upon the ground.
Unfortunately for Pomp, John grasped his leg in falling, and held itby so firm a grip that he was unable to get free. In the moment of hisdownfall John attained his object.
"Now I've got you," he said, white with passion, "and I'm going to teachyou a lesson."
Clinging to Pomp with one hand, he drew a stout string from hispocket with the other, and secured the hands of the little contraband,notwithstanding his efforts to escape.
"Le' me go, you debble," he said, using a word which had grown familiarto him on the plantation.
There was a cruel light in John's eyes which augured little good to poorPomp. Suddenly, as if a new idea had struck him, he loosened the cord,and taking the boy carried him, in spite of his kicking and screaming,to a small tree, around which he clasped his hands, which he againconfined with cords.
He then sought out a stout stick, and divested it of twigs.
Pomp watched his preparations with terror. Too well he knew what theymeant. More than once he had seen those of his own color whipped on theplantation. Unconsciously, he glided into the language which he wouldhave used there.
"Don't whip me, Massa John," he whimpered in terror. "For the lub ofHeaven, lef me be. I ain't done noffin' to you."
"You'd better have thought of that before," said John, his eyes blazinganew with vengeful light. "If I whip you, you little black rascal, it'sonly because you richly deserve it."
"I'll nebber do so again," pleaded Pomp, rolling his eyes in terror.Though what it was he promised not to do the poor little fellow wouldhave found it hard to tell.
It would have been as easy to soften the heart of a nether millstone asthat of John Haynes.
By the time he had completed his preparations, and whirled his stick inthe air preparatory to bringing it down with full force on Pomp's back,rapid steps were heard, and a voice asked, "What are you doing there,John Haynes?"
John looked round, and saw standing near him Frank Frost, whoseattention had been excited by what he had heard of Pomp's cries.
"Save me, save me, Mass' Frank," pleaded poor little Pomp.
"What has he tied you up there for, Pomp?"
"It's none of your business, Frank Frost," said John passionately.
"I think it's some of my business," said Frank coolly, "when I find youplaying the part of a Southern overseer. You are not in Richmond, JohnHaynes, and you'll get into trouble if you undertake to act as if youwere."
"If you say much more, I'll flog you too!" screamed John, beside himselfwith excitement and rage.
Frank had not a particle of cowardice in his composition. He was notfond of fighting, but he felt that circumstances made it necessary forhim to do so now. He did not easily lose his temper, and this at presentgave him the advantage over John.
"You are too excited to know what you are talking about," he saidcoolly. "Pomp, why has he tied you up?"
Pomp explained that John had tried to get his pail from him. He closedby imploring "Mass' Frank" to prevent John from whipping him.
"He shall not whip you, Pomp," said Frank quietly. As he spoke hestepped to the tree and faced John intrepidly.
John, in a moment of less passion, would not have ventured to attack aboy so near his own size. Like all bullies, he was essentially a coward,but now his rage got the better of his prudence.
"I'll flog you both!" he exclaimed hoarsely, and sprang forward withupraised stick.
Frank was about half a head shorter than John, and was more than a yearyounger, but he was stout and compactly built; besides, he was cool andcollected, and this is always an
advantage.
Before John realized what had happened, his stick had flown from hishand, and he was forcibly pushed back, so that he narrowly escapedfalling to the ground.
"Gib it to him, Mass' Frank!" shouted little Pomp. "Gib it to him!"
This increased John's exasperation. By this time he was almost foamingat the mouth.
"I'll kill you, Frank Frost," he exclaimed, this time rushing at himwithout a stick.
Frank had been in the habit of wrestling for sport with the boys of hisown size. In this way he had acquired a certain amount of dexterity in"tripping up." John, on the contrary, was unpractised. His quick temperwas so easily roused that other boys had declined engaging in friendlycontests with him, knowing that in most cases they would degenerate intoa fight.
John rushed forward, and attempted to throw Frank by the strength of hisarms alone. Frank eluded his grasp, and, getting one of his legs aroundJohn's, with a quick movement tripped him up. He fell heavily upon hisback.
"This is all foolish, John," said Frank, bending over his fallen foe."What are you fighting for? The privilege of savagely whipping a poorlittle fellow less than half your age?"
"I care more about whipping you, a cursed sight!" said John, takingadvantage of Frank's withdrawing his pressure to spring to his feet."You first, and him afterward!"
Again he threw himself upon Frank; but again coolness and practiceprevailed against blind fury and untaught strength, and again he layprostrate.
By this time Pomp had freed himself from the string that fettered hiswrists, and danced in glee round John Haynes, in whose discomfiture hefelt great delight.
"You'd better pick up your pail and run home," said Frank. He wasgenerously desirous of saving John from further humiliation. "Will yougo away quietly if I will let you up, John?" he asked.
"No, d---- you!" returned John, writhing, his face almost livid withpassion.
"I am sorry," said Frank, "for in that case I must continue to hold youdown."
"What is the trouble, boys?" came from an unexpected quarter.
It was Mr. Maynard, who, chancing to pass along the road, had beenattracted by the noise of the struggle.
Frank explained in a few words.
"Let him up, Frank," said the old man. "I'll see that he does no furtherharm."
John rose to his feet, and looked scowlingly from one to the other, asif undecided whether he had not better attack both.
"You've disgraced yourself, John Haynes," said the old farmerscornfully. "So you would turn negro-whipper, would you? Your talentsare misapplied here at the North. Brutality isn't respectable here, mylad. You'd better find your way within the rebel lines, and then perhapsyou can gratify your propensity for whipping the helpless."
"Some day I'll be revenged on you for this," said John, turningwrathfully upon Frank. "Perhaps you think I don't mean it, but the daywill come when you'll remember what I say."
"I wish you no harm, John," said Frank composedly, "but I sha'n't standby and see you beat a boy like Pomp."
"No," said the farmer sternly; "and if ever I hear of your doing it,I'll horsewhip you till you beg for mercy. Now go home, and carry yourdisgrace with you."
Mr. Maynard spoke contemptuously, but with decision, and pointed up theroad.
With smothered wrath John obeyed his order, because he saw that it wouldnot be safe to refuse.
"I'll come up with him yet," he muttered to himself, as he walkedquietly toward home. "If he doesn't rue this day, my name isn't JohnHaynes."
John did not see fit to make known the circumstances of his quarrel withFrank, feeling, justly, that neither his design nor the result wouldreflect any credit upon himself. But his wrath was none the less deepbecause he brooded over it in secret. He would have renewed his attemptupon Pomp, but there was something in Mr. Maynard's eye which assuredhim that his threat would be carried out. Frank, solicitous for thelittle fellow's safety, kept vigilant watch over him for some days, butno violence was attempted. He hoped John had forgotten his threats.
Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp Page 11