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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Sixteen.</h3> <h4>A Beleaguered Garrison.</h4> The decision arrived at by the club meeting speedily came to the ears of the recalcitrant Moderns, and by no means pleased them. They had expected at least that some one would propose that they should be met half-way, and appealed to, for the sake of the School, to abandon their attitude. That would have given them an opportunity of figuring in an heroic light before Fellsgarth, and showing how, for the general good, they could afford even to overlook the slight which had been put upon them. But now, so far from that, they figured as the party who had wrecked the School clubs for the sake of a petty pique, and in their absence had been quietly deposed along with every one else from office and privilege, and left looking uncommonly foolish and uncommonly ridiculous. Yorke himself hardly realised, when he made his downright motion, that he was dealing the hardest blow possible at the mutiny. A mutiny is all very well as long as there is some one to mutiny against. But now, even this luxury was denied them. Naturally the wrath of Clapperton and his friends fell on the traitors in their own camp whose presence at the meeting had made it impossible to discredit it as entirely one-sided in its composition. That Corder would go, every one was prepared for. He had laid up for himself yet one more rod in pickle, and should punctually taste its quality. But the mutiny of the juniors was a surprise. No one imagined that their threats at revolt were anything more than the ordinary bluster in which these young braves notoriously dealt. Had they sinned in ignorance it would have mattered less. But they had gone to the meeting in deliberate defiance of their captain’s order, and in the face of his warning as to what the consequences of disobedience would be. The discipline of the house was at an end if a flagrant act of insubordination like this was to be allowed to pass unnoticed. Besides, if allowed to spread, other fellows would go over to the enemy, and the “moral” effect of the strike would be at an end. A peremptory summons was therefore dispatched to Percy and his friends to appear before the prefects of their house that same evening. “That all?” inquired Percy of the middle-boy who brought the message. “We hear you. You needn’t stop.” “I’ll tell him you’ll come?” said the messenger. “I don’t mind what you tell him. Cut out of our room, that’s all. We aren’t particular, me and my chaps; but we draw the line at louts.” “He says if you don’t come—” “What’s to prevent him saying anything he likes? Look here, young Gamble,” (Gamble was at least two years the senior of any boy present), “if you don’t cut your sticks, they’ll be cut for you. So there.” Gamble gave a general invitation to the party to come and try to tamper with his sticks, and departed with a final caution as to the desirability of obeying their captain. “Lick,” said Percy, when he had gone, “how much grub have we got in the room?” “What are you talking about? You aren’t hungry surely, after that go-in at the shop?” “Have we got enough for two days?” The party opened their eyes, and began to suspect the drift of the inquiry. “No; but Maynard owes us a loaf, and Spanker some butter, and those kids in Reynolds’ study half a tongue.” “All right; go out and get it all in, sharp. Scrape up all you can.” “What, are we going to have a blockade?” “Rather. You don’t suppose we’re going to cave in to Clapperton, do you?” “But we shan’t want enough for two days, shall we?” “Shan’t we, that’s all! To-morrow’s exeat day, and no school. Next day’s Sunday, and next day exeat doesn’t end till twelve. We may have to stick out three days.” “Whew! we shall want a lot of grub,” said Cash. “You young pig; that’s all you think about. You’ll have to go on jolly short rations, I can promise you. Do you know what we’re going to do?” No one had an idea what they were going to do. “Do you know those four Classic kids,” said Percy, “my younger brother and his lot? They’ve not been quite such cads lately as they used to be, have they?” “They’ve been a bit more civil,” said Cottle. “I suppose that’s because of the shop.” “What about them?” asked Ramshaw. “Why, I fancy if we asked them, they might come over and back us up. Of course they’d have to bring their own grub; and we’d kick them out if they weren’t civil. What do you say?” “Rather a lark,” said Lickford. “All serene. I’ll go and see about it. Keep it dark, whatever you do, and mind you scrape up all the grub that’s owing us. There’s no time to lose, I say; Clapperton expects us in half an hour. Wire in!” By the end of half an hour the larder had been fairly well replenished. Lickford and Cash had gone round on a general raid; recovering by force, where persuasion failed, their outstanding loans, and in other cases borrowing additional supplies in the same genial manner. Among other booty, they secured a tin of pressed beef from Spanker, who had to be clouted on the head before he would “lend it,” and some sardines from another boy, who was thankful to find any one to take them off his hands at any price. Cottle and Ramshaw, acting on sealed orders from their leader, had been round borrowing a screw-driver and screws, a few yards of rope, and other material of war, among which was a squirt belonging to Reynolds, who had been pleased to “swap” it for a couple of Greek stamps which Cottle had to dispose of. Many were the fears lest not only should Percy fail to secure the services of the Classic juniors, but should himself be too late to take part in the siege. However, much to their relief, this was not so; as presently he came over arm in arm with Wally (who carried a parcel under his arm), followed at a respectful distance by D’Arcy, Ashby, and Fisher minor, the bulkiness of whose pockets gave promise of a further addition to the sinews of war. By general consent the visitors slipped in, not in a body, but casually one by one, and so escaped special observation. As soon as they were all assembled, Percy gave the order to screw up, and pile on the barricades. Wally, who was disposed to be patronising, snuffed up somewhat at his brother’s calm assumption of the command. “Why didn’t you say you wanted screws?” said he; “we’ve got one or two long ones. That’s not the way to stick it in, young Lickford; make the hole more sideways. Here, I’ll do it for you.” “I’ll tell you what,” said D’Arcy, “you chaps had better begin to move up the bed against the door, in case they come before we’re fast in. Fire away. Stick it close up, and young Lickford can stand on to it to put in the screw.” “Come on, Cash; stick these parcels out of the way,” said Ashby, handing out the provender; “they’ll be better in the cupboard. Mind how you put them in.” “You’ve got a knife, Cottle,” said Fisher minor. “Cut these bits of wood into wedges to go under the door. They’ll make it pretty secure.” In this manner the Classic auxiliaries coolly took charge of the arrangements before ever their hosts had time to realise that they had been relegated to a back seat. However, just now there was no time for arguing questions of precedence and authority. The enemy might be upon them at any moment, and they had a lot to do before their outworks could be said to be in a proper state of defence. The screws in the door were driven hard home into the wainscot; the wedges underneath were tightly fixed. The bed, with bedding complete, was drawn against the entry. A second line of defence was thrown up of chairs, chest of drawers, book-case, and wash-stand. Beyond that were stacked against the wall cricket bats, stumps, boxing-gloves, and other dangerous-looking implements, for use in a last emergency. At Percy’s suggestion, and under Wally’s direction, an additional loophole was bored in the panel of the door (in flagrant forgetfulness of the rights of School property), through which, as well as through the ventilating holes above, the enemy might be reconnoitred and operated on. These preliminaries being complete, and Fisher minor having been perched on the table (which was on the bed), with his eye to the loophole, the company, to pass the time, resolved itself into a committee on the School shop, and waited anxiously for the attack. Percy was specially anxious, for he had enlisted his four recruits on the distinct understanding there would be a row, and all the blame would fall on his head if by any ill-luck the evening passed off quietly. Already the Classic juniors were beginning to get impatient, and hinting that they saw no fun in the proceeding so far, when Fisher minor scrambled down from his perch and cried: “Sh!—here comes somebody.” “About time,” said Wally, taking possession of the squirt. As he spoke, the footsteps halted at the door, and the handle turned. “Lie low, you chaps,” whispered Percy. “Don’t let them know you’re here to begin with. Hullo! who’s that?” “Let me in!” cried Gamble, outside. “Can’t; we’re busy,” replied Lickford. “We’ve got a committee meeting, and you’d better cut,” cried Percy. “Do you hear?” replied the ambassador; “let me in.” “There’s plenty of room in your own study, ain’t there? Why don’t you go there? We don’t want you here.” “Cut your sticks, and learn your rotten Modern lessons,” shouted Wally, who began to be tired of being a listener. Luckily, Cottle knocked over one of the chairs at this juncture, which served to conceal the voice of the speaker from the ears outside. “All right,” said Gamble; “you’ll catch it. Clapperton sent me to tell you if you don’t come to his room directly, he’ll come and fetch you himself. There!” “Good evening,” cried Ramshaw. “Our love to them all at home.” D’Arcy, meanwhile, had mounted the bed, and by means of a pea-shooter materially assisted in the departure of the discomfited envoy. “Now we’re getting livery,” said Wally, proceeding to load his squirt out of the jug. “Better light the candle, one of you, and have some light on the subject.” A terrible discovery ensued. Neither candle nor matches could be found! In a quarter of an hour daylight would depart, and after that—well, the prospect was not brilliant, at any rate. However, there was no time to do anything but recriminate, which the company industriously did until the sentinel again gave the signal to stand by. “Look here,” said Percy, “we’d better keep him jawing as long as he’ll stand it, and not let fly till he begins to get violent—eh?” “All serene,” said Wally; “that won’t be long.” “No; and he’ll bring the whole kit of prefects with him. What a high old time there’ll be!” chuckled D’Arcy. “There’s one lucky thing,” said Cash. “Forder and his dame have gone out for the evening; so we shan’t hurt their feelings.” “Look out—it’s Clapperton,” whispered the sentinel. Clapperton tried the door, and on finding it fast, gave it a kick. “Hello! who’s there?” “Open the door; let me in!” “Who is it? that young cad Gamble again?” cried Percy, with a wink; the company generally. “No. Do you hear? Let me in!” “Say what your name is. How do we know you aren’t a Classic cad? Oh! ow!” This last interjection was in answer to a fraternal kick from behind. “You know who I am,” replied Clapperton. “Let me in!” “Very sorry, Corder, we can’t let you in. Clapperton says we’re to cut you, because you played a jolly sight too well last week.” “It’s not Corder, it’s me—Clapperton.” “Go on! no larks, whoever you are. Clapperton’s got something better to do than go to tea-parties in fags’ rooms. Go and tell that to the Clap— Oh! ow! I mean, try it on next door!” “I tell you what,” said Clapperton, whose temper, none of the best, was rapidly evaporating, “if you young cads don’t open the door instantly, I’ll break it open.” “If you do, we’ll tell Clapperton. He’ll welt you for it. He won’t let you spoil our new paint, not if he knows it. Good old Clappy?” A thundering kick was the only reply, which shook the plaster of the walls, and nearly sent Fisher minor headlong with terror off his perch. This was getting serious. But in Percy’s judgment the time was not even yet ripe for extreme measures. The assailant might be given a little rope yet. He took it, and worked himself into a childish passion against the refractory door, encouraged by the friendly gibes of the besieged. “Go it!” “Two to one on his boots!” “Keep your temper!” “Come in!” “Stick to it!” “One more and you’ll do it!” and so on. It was hardly likely that the spectacle of the captain of the house in a towering rage, toying to kick his way into a fag’s room, would long be allowed to continue unheeded by the rest of the inhabitants of Forder’s, and in a very short time new voices without apprised the beleaguered garrison that the enemy was sitting down in force. Brinkman’s voice could be heard demanding admission, and presently Dangle’s; while a posse of mercenary middle-boys relieved Clapperton of the kicking. The stout old door held out bravely and defied all their efforts. Presently a pause was made, and Dangle’s voice outside was heard demanding a parley. “Young Wheatfield,” he said, “it will be wiser for you to open the door at once. If you don’t it will be broken open, and you needn’t expect to get off easy then. Take my advice, and don’t be a fool.” “Thanks awfully,” said Percy. “I and my chaps are just going to sit down to tea. Wish you could join us, whoever you are. We’ve got as much right to have tea in our study as you have in yours. That’s right! Kick away! Never mind the varnish! Somebody tapping at the study door.” “It’s no good wasting time over young asses like them,” Brinkman was heard to say. “I don’t mean to go now,” said Clapperton. “They shall have such a hiding, all of them, as they won’t forget in a hurry.” “It’s funny how when we seniors strike against the School it’s so noble, and when these juniors strike against us it’s so inexcusable,” said Fullerton. “Strikes always did puzzle me.” “If, instead of talking rubbish, you’d go and fetch Robert with a crowbar to smash open the door,” said Clapperton, “you’d be more use.” It was getting quite dark in the room by this time, but Wally could be heard refilling his squirt at the jug, “I mean to start now,” said he. Percy came beside him. “All serene,” said he; “but why use water when there’s ink?” “My eye! I never thought of that. Rather! I say, old man, while I remember it, I’ll write home this week. Don’t you fag, good old Percy.” “Oh no, it’s my turn.” “Oh, let me. Is that the ink-pot? Hold it tight while I get a good go at it.” “Suppose we tickle them up with the pea-shooter first,” suggested Lickford. “Mind how you go over the chairs, Cash,” added he, as that hero in the dark got entangled in the second line of fortifications. “All serene—wire away! Young Ashby, you’d better mix up some soap and coal-dust in the water for use when the ink’s done.” By this time the attack without had redoubled, and Cash, mounting up to the loophole, began to operate on the besiegers with his pea-shooter. He had to guess where to shoot, for though the gas was alight in the passage, he was unable for anatomical reasons to look and shoot through the same hole at the same time. However, he had the satisfaction of feeling sure his fire was taking effect, by the aggravated exclamations of the besiegers, who vowed terrific vengeance for this fresh insult. In due time the marksman fell short of ammunition and was carefully helped down from his post in the dark, while Wally and Percy, gingerly carrying the squirt, ascended in his place. “Hand up the basin,” said Wally, “and get another lot of water ready.” “I say,” said Fisher minor, who was always being seized by heroic impulses, “if you could let me down out of the window by the rope, I’d be able to get a candle.” “Good old ‘How now!’ awfully good notion,” said Wally. “You chaps see to that, while my young brother and I work the squirt. Don’t tell anybody what’s up, young Fisher, and get back as soon as you can.” So, while the squirt was carefully being levelled in the face of the enemy, Fisher minor, with the end of the rope round his waist, was swinging precariously in mid-air out of the window, heartily repenting, until his feet touched terra firma, of his rash and desperate undertaking. Before he was safe, the great attack had been delivered through the loophole. The kickers had receded from the door a pace or two in order to get up impetus for a combined onslaught, and Clapperton with a poker in his hand was advancing to annihilate the lock, when Percy, who was reconnoitring from the ventilating holes, gave the signal to have at them. Whereupon Wally let fly with all his might, and converted half of the enemy, their captain included, into Ethiopians. The effect was instantaneous. The four-footed kick did not come off. Clapperton’s poker fell with a clatter on the floor, and a howl went up which electrified both besiegers and besieged. “Look alive now!” said Wally. “Let ’em have the water! Keep it up!” For five minutes an almost uninterrupted flow of coloured water poured through the loophole and kept the enemy at bay. But even a jugful will not last for ever, and presently the squirt gave a dismal groan on the bottom of the basin. Almost at the same moment an ominous crack proclaimed that the good old door was giving way by degrees under the now renewed attack of the besiegers. “They’ll have it, after all,” said Percy. “Tell you what! Suppose we slip out by the window, and you chaps come and have supper in our room. Rather a lark, eh? It’s getting a bit slow here. Nice sell for them too. Besides, they can’t get at you over on our side.” This hospitable invitation fitted in with the humour of the company generally, particularly as every moment the door gave a more doubtful sound than before. In three minutes the whole party was on the grass below, where Fisher minor, returning breathless, with a candle and matches, encountered them. “Come on, you chaps,” said Wally. “I’d give sixpence to see how they look when they find we’ve gone—ha! ha!” They salved their honour with a keen sense of the humour of the situation, and followed their host across the Green in the dark, not at all sorry to have a harbour of refuge in sight, though very loth to admit that this rearward movement was a retreat. At the door of Wakefield’s, to their consternation, they met Ranger. “What on earth are all you youngsters up to at this hour?” “It’s all right,” said Wally. “The shop committee, you know. We’re going to talk things over in my room. Come on, you Modern kids. We’ll make an exception for you this once, and let you into Wakefield’s; won’t we, Ranger? But it mustn’t occur again.” Yet another peril awaited them before they were safe in port. This time it was Mr Stratton on the stairs. “Ah, here you are—all of you,” said he. “I came to look for you. I want to hear how the shop is doing.” “Very well, thank you, sir. I say, Mr Stratton,” said Wally, with a presence of mind which moved the admiration of his friends, “would you mind coming to a committee meeting in my and my chaps’ room! We can show you the things we want ordered next week, if you don’t mind.” “Certainly; I’ll come. I’m delighted to find you’re sticking so well to the business.” And so it happened that when at last Percy’s door succumbed, and the besiegers rushed in, vowing vengeance and slaughter, to find the room empty, the nine innocents were sitting prettily round the table in Wally’s room with Mr Stratton in the chair, deciding that until November was out it would be premature to order oranges for the Fellsgarth shop. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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