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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Three.</h3> <h4>The Voyage of the Cock-House.</h4> Yorke was roused before daybreak next morning by a voice at his bedside. “Is that you, Yorke?” The voice was Mr Stratton’s. The captain bounded to his feet at once. “What is it, sir? Has he been found?” “No,” said the master; “no news. Every place has been searched where he would be likely to be, except the mountain. It seems a very off-chance that he has gone up there; still, it is possible. He has been on it once or twice before. I am going there now. Would you care to come too?” The captain gratefully acquiesced. For a week he had been chafing at the doctor’s orders that no boy should go beyond the bounds. His request to be allowed to undertake this very expedition had been twice refused already. “The doctor has given you an exeat if you wish to go,” said Mr Stratton. “We are to take a guide, and it is quite understood we may be late in getting back. I shall be glad of your company.” Yorke was ready in ten minutes—thankful at last to be allowed to do something, yet secretly doubting if anything would come of this forlorn quest. Apart from Rollitt, however, good did come of it to Fellsgarth. For during the long walk master and boy got to understand one another better than ever before. With a common ambition for the welfare of the School, and a common trouble at the dissensions which had split it up during the present term, they also discovered a common hope for better times ahead. They discussed all sorts of plans, and exchanged confidences about all sorts of difficulties. And all the while they felt drawn close to one another, exchanging the ordinary relations of master and boy for those of friend and friend. Some of my readers may say that Mr Stratton must have been a very foolish master to give himself away to a boy, or that Yorke must have been a very presuming boy to talk so familiarly to a master. Who cares what they were, if they and Fellsgarth were the better for that morning’s walk? “In many ways,” said Mr Stratton, “a head boy has as much responsibility for the good of a school as a head-master—always more than an assistant master. You could wreck the School in a week if you chose; and it is in your hands to pull it together more than any of us masters, however much we should like to do it. And you’ll do it, old fellow!” And so they turned up the lane that led round to the back of the mountain. The news that Mr Stratton and the captain had gone up Hawk’s Pike to look for Rollitt soon spread through Fellsgarth that morning. The souls of our friends the juniors were seriously stirred by it. Their promise—or shall we say threat?—to organise a search-party up the mountain on their own account had been lost sight of somewhat in the exciting distractions of the last twenty-four hours; but now that they found the ground cut from under their feet they were very indignant. Secretly, no doubt, they were a little relieved to find that they had been forestalled in the perilous venture of a winter ascent of the formidable pike they had such good cause to remember. It was a mean trick of Yorke’s to “chowse” them out of the credit, they protested. Now he would get all the glory, and they would get none. “I tell you what,” said Percy. “It’s my notion Rollitt’s not gone up the mountain at all. It’s just a dodge of those two to get a jolly good spree for themselves. Pooh! They’ll get lost. We shall have to go and look for them, most likely.” “And then,” said Lickford, “somebody will have to come and look for us.” “And Rollitt’s not here to do it,” said Fisher minor. This cast the company back on to their original subject. “It’s my notion,” said Wally, “he’s got on the island in the middle of the lake, like Robinson Crusoe.” “Rather a lark,” said Ashby, “to get up a search-party and go and look for him there.” The idea took wonderfully. To-day was “Founder’s Day,” a whole holiday. They would certainly go and look for Rollitt on the island. The preparations disclosed an odd conception on the part of the explorers of the serious nature of their quest. Their stated object was to rescue a lost schoolfellow. Why, therefore, did they decide to take nine pennyworth of brandy-balls, a football, a pair of boxing-gloves, and other articles of luxury not usually held to be necessary to the equipment of a relief expedition? As regards food, they possessed too keen a recollection of the straits they had been put to up the mountain a few weeks ago to neglect that important consideration now. Naturally, ham and Abernethys were the victuals selected. Had not Rollitt made these classical as the staff of life during voluntary exile from school? They were compelled to put up with a very small sample of the former. Lickford had been bequeathed a bone by his senior yesterday, to which adhered a few fragments of a once small ham. Possibly it might, with careful carving, furnish nine small slices. It was better than nothing. They would make up for its deficiency by a double lot of Abernethys. So they trooped off to the shop. According to their own rules, this establishment was only open between 11 and 12 in the morning, and not at all on holidays. But another rule said that the committee might in certain cases suspend or alter the rules. Whereupon Percy moved, and Ashby seconded, the following resolution: “That this shop be, and is, hereby opened for the space of five minutes.” The motion was carried unanimously. D’Arcy and Cottle, whose turn it was to be on duty, solemnly took down the shutters, and ranged themselves behind the counter. “What can I do for you, my little dears?” said the former, encouragingly. “Money down. No tick. Try some of our Rollitt’s particular—three-halfpence each.” “No, they’re not, you cheat!—they’re a penny. We’d better have two each,” said Wally. “Hullo! I say,” exclaimed D’Arcy. “Look here, you fellows.” He pointed to the heap of Abernethy biscuits, on the top of which lay a sixpence. “That’s what you call looking after the money,” said Wally. “Left that there all night.” “No—not a bit of it. But I tell you what,” said D’Arcy, who had rapidly been counting the pile of biscuits; “there were twenty-four biscuits there when we left last night. I’m certain of it; weren’t there, young Cottle?” “Yes. I remember that,” testified Cottle. “Very well; then some one’s been here in the night, for there are only eighteen biscuits now, and this sixpence.” “Perhaps Yorke got some before he started?” “How could he? No one can get in here without the latch-key; and only the two chaps who are on duty keep that.” “Perhaps it’s the owls in the belfry?” “They don’t generally pay ready money for what they take.” “I say!” exclaimed Wally; “I expect it’s Rollitt. He’d have finished his others by this time, and he sneaked back in the night for some more. Good old Rollitt!” Wally did not stay to explain how Rollitt could have got in any more than any one else. His suggestion made a deep impression. It touched them to feel that, amid all his distresses, Rollitt was loyal to the School shop; and if anything was needed to spur them on to his rescue, this did it. They bought up the remaining eighteen biscuits between them, and sallied forth. “You see,” said Wally, “it’s much more likely to be the island than the mountain. There’s water there, for one thing.” “There’s water on the mountain,” said Ashby; “plenty.” “But not good to drink, you ass!” argued Wally. “And there’s that old broken boat-house to live in, and lots of wood to make fires, and ducks to bag and fish to catch. I say! I expect he’s having rather a lark.” The prospect of sharing in his wild sports urged them on still faster. At the lake-side a new problem arose. If Rollitt was on the island, how had he got there? And, still more important, how were they to get there? Widow Wisdom’s boat had already been laid up for the winter; and the few others, which in the summer were generally kept at the river-mouth for the use of the boys, had been taken back to Penchurch. The only craft available was a flat-bottomed punt used by fishermen, and at present moored to a stake at the river-bank. It was capacious, certainly, but not exactly the sort of boat in which to get up much pace, particularly as its sole apparent mode of propulsion was by means of two very long boat-hooks, one on either side. These details, however, presented few obstacles to the minds of the enterprising explorers. The punt was in many ways adapted for a voyage such as they proposed to take. There was room to walk about in it. Nay, who should say the boxing-gloves and football might not have scope for themselves within its ample lines? The one question was whether the boat-hooks were long enough to touch bottom all the way from the shore to the island. Wally paced one, and found it measured eighteen feet. “Ought to do,” said he; “it’s bound not to be deeper than that.” So the punt, which was christened the “Cock-house” for the occasion, was loosed from her moorings, the Abernethys and knuckle-bone and other stores were put on board, the boat-hooks, by a combined effort, were got into position, and the party embarked for the rescue of Rollitt. Thanks to the stream, their progress at first was satisfactory. They were delighted to find how easily they went. Wally with one boat-book on one side, and Percy with the other on the other side, had comparatively little to do except to prevent their hooks getting stuck in the mud at the bottom, and refusing to come out. Any one watching them would have said these boys had been born in a barge. They carried their long poles to the prow, and plunged them in there with a mighty splash. Then they shoved away, till the end of the poles came within reach of their hands. Then, in perfect step and time, they started to march, each down his own side of the boat, calling on their friends and admirers to get out of the way. Then, as they neared the stern, and the prospect of pulling up their hooks and returning fora’d for another “punt” loomed ahead, their faces grew anxious and concerned. They began to hold on “hard all,” a yard from the end of the walk, and tug frantically to get themselves free. Sometimes the hook came out easily, in which case they fell backwards into the arms of their friends. At other times it stuck, and they had to detain the progress of the boat a minute or more to get it out. And sometimes it all but escaped them, and continued sticking up out of the water while the barge itself floated on. Happily, the last tragedy never quite came off, although it was periodically imminent. When, however, the stream opened into the lake, the progress became much less exciting. The water was a little lumpy, and had a tendency, while they were walking back at the end of one punt in order to start another, of jumping the “Cock-House” back into precisely the same position from which she had lately started. After about half an hour’s fruitless efforts the twins were seized with a generous desire not to monopolise the whole of the fun of the voyage. “Like to have a go!” said Wally to D’Arcy. “You may have a turn if you like, Lick,” said Percy. Whereupon D’Arcy and Lickford took up the rowing for the “Cock-House,” greatly assisted and enlivened in their operations by the advice and encouragement of the late navigators. “Two to one on Lick,” cried Wally, as the two started their mad career down the boat. “Look out! he’s gaining.” “You’ve made her go an inch and a half,” said Percy. “Hang on tight now, and pull it up,” said Wally, as Lickford, red in the face with excitement, was straining himself to release the hook from the mud. “Keep her trim,” said Percy, laying hold of D’Arcy’s feet, as the latter was gradually letting himself be hauled out of the boat by his refractory pole. In due time D’Arcy and Lickford unselfishly gave up the poles to Cottle and Ashby; and they, after a reasonable season of struggle and peril, nobly ceded them to Ramshaw and Cash, Fisher minor waiving his claim, and electing to sit “odd man out” and steer. As at the end of an hour and a half’s manful shoving the net progress made was a yard back into the stream of the river, the talents of the helmsman were not put to a very severe test. “I say, it’s rather slow,” said Wally; “let’s have some of Rollitt’s particular.” So while Percy with a small pair of scissors—none of the party, marvellous to relate, had brought a knife—was carving the remnant of ham, and Ashby was counting out nine brandy-balls from the bag, each member of the party produced one of his Abernethys, and fell-to with all the appetite that waits on hard and honest toil. “Not much of a pace yet,” remarked D’Arcy. “Why, we’re going better now we’ve stopped rowing than we were before.” “That’s because the wind’s changed,” said Wally. “If we’d only got a sail we could make her go.” “Why not stick up the two poles, and fasten our coats or something between for a sail!” suggested Percy. “Good idea! the poles are long enough for all the nine. One of ’em can go through right sleeves, and the other through left. It’ll make a ripping sail.” So, despite the season of the year, the nine voyagers divested themselves of their coats, which were industriously threaded by the sleeves on either pole. The top coat was spiked by the hooks, and those below were ingeniously buttoned one to the other to keep them up. Every one agreed it made a ripping sail. The difficulty was to hoist it. There were no holes in which to fix the parallel masts. They would have to be held in position, as the breeze was stiffening, and it required all hands aloft. At length, by superhuman exertions, the complex fabric was slowly hoisted to the perpendicular, looking very like a ladder, up which nine scarecrows were clambering. However, no matter what it looked like now, as Wally predicted, they’d spank along. “We’re going already,” gasped he, panting with the exertion of holding up his mast. “Look out now! here’s a nice breeze coming.” He was right. Next moment the vast foresail fell with a run by the board, and the nine athletes below were nearly shot into the air by the force of the collapse. The coats, fortunately, held together sufficiently well to enable them to be hauled on board in a piece; but as they were soaked through, they afforded very little comfort to the distressed seamen, who decided forthwith to shorten sail at once, and take to the poles once more. But by this time the “Cock-House,” thanks to the tremendous impetus it had just received, was twenty yards from the shore; and Wally, when he put down his pole, nearly went after it, in the vain search for a bottom. “Here’s a go!” said he; “I say, you chaps, I almost fancy, after all, Rollitt must be up the mountain. What do you say?” “I thought so all along,” said Fisher minor. “If he is, Yorke and Stratton will find him.” “Good old Yorke! I say—we may as well back water a bit.” Easier said than done. The old punt, now she was once out on the vasty deep, behaved pretty much as she and the wind between them pleased. For a time it looked very much as if, after all the explorers would reach their destination. But presently—just, indeed, as the explorers had started a small football match (Association rules), Classics against Moderns, to keep themselves warm, the fickle breeze shifted, and sent the “Cock-House” lumbering inshore a mile or so north of the river-mouth. The Classics had just scored their 114th goal as she grounded, and it was declared by common consent that the voyage was at an end. Luckily, she came ashore near to a little creek, into which, by prodigious haulings and shovings, she was turned; and here, in a rude way, they succeeded in mooring her until a more convenient season. The call-over bell was just beginning to ring when the nine mariners got back to Fellsgarth. Great cheering was going on on the Green, and boys were crowding together discussing some great news. “What is it?—Rollitt turned up?” asked the juniors. “No; haven’t you heard? Yorke and Stratton went up to look for him on Hawk’s Pike. They didn’t find him, but they got to the top!” “Got to the top! One of our chaps got to the top of Hawk’s Pike. Hurroo. Yell, you chaps. Bravo, Yorke! Bully for Fellsgarth!” “I wish they’d found Rollitt, all the same,” said Fisher minor; “I’m afraid he’s gone for good.” “Not he. Didn’t we nearly find him to-day, you young muff?” retorted Wally. “Besides, a fellow who’s gone for good wouldn’t come and buy sixpenny-worth of Abernethys at our shop in the night, would he?” Fisher minor took what comfort he could from the assurance, and trooped in with his fellow-adventurers to call-over. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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