_ CHAPTER EIGHT. HOW MY MASTER DID NOT CATCH THE FISH HE EXPECTED
About ten years before the time of my story it had happened that in a famous battle fought between her Majesty's troops and those of a hostile and savage king, the colours of the 300th Regiment were noticed to be in imminent peril of capture. The ensign who carried them was wounded, and already a score of the enemy were rushing forward to seize the prize and carry it off in triumph to their king. Suddenly, however, there dashed up to the spot a young cornet of dragoons, who, seeing the peril of his fellow-officer and the colours he carried, dragged him, flag and all, up nearly into his own saddle, and started off with his precious burden towards a place of shelter from the fire and spears of the savages. Before, however, he had gone twenty yards the poor ensign tumbled to the ground, shot through the heart, yielding with his dying hands his colours to the dragoon. That plucky young soldier, wrapping the torn and stained flag round his body, set his teeth, stooped forward in his saddle, and, digging his spurs into his horse, galloped for his life. He had a terrific gauntlet to run, and grandly he ran it. The friendly trench was in sight, the cheers of his comrades fell like music on his ears, a vision of glory and honour flashed through his mind, and then suddenly he reeled forward in his seat--a malignant shot had found him out at last, and, with the colours round him, he dropped from his horse into his comrades' arms a dead man.
This hero was an old Randlebury boy; and ever since that day, on every anniversary of his glorious death, Randlebury kept, and still keeps, holiday.
All this Charlie was informed of by his faithful chum, Jim Halliday, as the former was dressing himself on the morning of the eventful holiday in question.
What possessed him to get up at six, when he was not to start till nine, I cannot say. He even routed me from under his pillow at five, so fidgety was he, and as soon as ever I pointed to six he bounced out of bed as if he was shot.
"What are you up to, getting up at this time?" growled Jim, who, much to the mutual delight of the boys, slept in the same room with Charlie.
"Oh, you know; I don't want to be behindhand," replied Charlie.
"Behindhand! Why, do you know it's only just six?"
"I know that, and I mean to make the most of my holiday. I say, Jim, what do they want to give us a holiday for, do you know?"
"They don't want to at all; they've got to."
"Got to? What do you mean?" inquired Charlie, dragging on his boots.
And then Jim, with many yawns and growls, told him the story; and, without waiting for his comments thereon, rolled over and went off to sleep again.
Charlie spent his early hour in polishing up things generally. When he had polished up his rod with the lance-wood top, he polished up his green can and his hooks. Then he warmed me up with a piece of wash- leather, and then his many-fanged knife.
By the time these little jobs were accomplished, and Joe's study put in order, the breakfast bell sounded, and he went down with a mouth sore with whistling.
He caught sight of Tom Drift at another table, and nodded and waved his green can to him; he informed every boy within hearing distance that it was certain to be a fine day, whatever it looked like now; and he made the wildest and most indiscriminate promises to entertain his whole acquaintance at no end of a trout supper on the spoils of that day's sport. Twenty times during breakfast did he pull me out and look impatiently at my minute-hand slowly making its way from eight to nine; and as soon as ever the meal was over he rushed upstairs like mad for his rod and bag, and then tore down again four steps at a time, nearly knocking the head master over at the bottom.
"Gently, my man," said that gentleman, recognising in this cannon-ball of a young fellow his little travelling companion. "Why, what's the matter?"
"I beg your pardon, doctor," said Charlie; "did I hurt you?"
"Not a bit. So you are going to fish to-day?"
"Yes, sir," said the beaming Charlie. "I say, sir, do you think it'll be a fine day?"
"I hope so--good-bye. I suppose this can will be full when you come back?"
"Good-bye, sir," said Charlie, secretly resolving that if fortune favoured him he would present the two finest of his trout to the doctor.
He found Drift ready for him when he reached that young gentleman's study.
Besides his rod, Tom had a somewhat cumbersome bag, which, as it carried most of the provisions for the whole party, he was not a little surly about being burdened with.
Charlie, of course, thought it was his and Tom's dinner.
"Is that the grub?" he cried. "Why, Tom Drift, you have been laying in a spread! What a brick you are! Look here, I'd carry it--isn't it a weight, though! If we get all this inside us two we shan't starve!"
And so they started, Charlie lugging along the bag and whistling like a lark.
"Looks cloudy," said Tom, who felt he must say something or other.
"Never mind, all the better for the trout, you know. I say, I wish I had my fly on the water this minute."
As Tom was silent, Charlie kept up the conversation by himself.
"I say, Tom Drift," said he, "if your mother could only see us two chaps going off for a day's fishing she--"
"Look here, draw it mild about my mother, young un. She can take care of herself well enough."
Charlie blushed to the roots of his hair at this rebuke, and for some time the flow of his conversation was arrested.
It was a good four miles from Randlebury to Sharle Bridge; and long ere they reached it Charlie's arm ached with the ponderous bag he was carrying. He did not, however, like to say anything, still less to ask Tom to take a turn at carrying it; so he plodded on, changing hands every few minutes, and buoying himself up with the prospect of the river and the trout.
Presently they came within sight of the signpost which marks the junction of the Gurley and Sharle Bridge roads.
"Here we are at last!" cried Charlie, panting and puffing. "I say, Tom Drift, I don't believe I could have carried this bag any farther if I'd tried."
"It'll be lighter when we go home. Hullo! who are these three?" for at this moment Gus, Margetson, and Shadbolt made their appearance.
"They look like Randlebury fellows by their caps. Oh, I know who one of them is," added Charlie-- "Margetson, in the fourth; don't you know him?"
"Rather!" replied Tom; "and the other two are Shaddy and Gus. Who'd have thought of meeting _them_!" and he gave a whistle, which succeeded in attracting the attention of the worthy trio.
Of course their surprise at meeting Tom and his companion was no less great--in fact, they had to inquire who the youngster was.
"Where are you off to?" demanded Gus.
"We're going to try our luck up the Sharle," said Tom.
"You'll be sold if you do," said Gus. "We were down looking at it, and a pretty state it's in. Old Skinner at the Tannery took it into his head to leave his gates up last night, and his muck has got into the river and poisoned every fish in it--hasn't it, Shad?"
"Rather!" replied Shad. "I was glad enough to get my nose away from the place."
"Here's a go, Charlie!" said Tom, turning to his young companion.
During this short conversation Charlie had passed through all the anguish of a bitter disappointment. It is no light thing to have the hope of days snuffed out all in a moment, and he was ready to cry with vexation. However it couldn't be helped, and he had learned before now how to take a disappointment like a man. So when Tom appealed to him he put a good face on it, and said,--
"Awful hard lines. Never mind, let's go back and see the match with the Badgers, Tom."
"Why don't you come with us?" asked Gus. "We are going to Gurley; have you ever been to Gurley, young un?"
"No," said Charlie.
"Come along, then, we'll show it you. It's a prime town, isn't it, Margetson?"
"Don't ask me," said Margetson; "I'd sooner see about Gurley than catch a seven-pounder, any day."
"And besides," said Tom, "isn't there some good fishing above the lock! Come along, Charlie; we shall not be baulked of our day's sport after all."
Charlie joined the party, although he did not conceive any great admiration for Tom's three friends. His anxiety not to offend his now reconciled enemy, and the possibility of fishing after all, overruled him; and still dragging the bag, he trudged along with the others towards Gurley.
As they approached the town he could not help noticing the number of holiday-makers and vehicles that passed them. There were drags full of gaily-dressed ladies; and gentlemen who wore veils; and there were light jaunty dog-carts with spruce young white-hatted gentlemen perched in them; there were vans in which corks were popping like musketry fires and parties on foot like themselves, hurrying forward with loud laughter and coarse music.
"Surely," thought he, "there's something on at Gurley."
Presently a waggonette, driven by a very loud youth in a check suit, and with an enormous cigar in his mouth, pulled up in passing, and its driver addressed Gus.
"So you've found _your_ way here, have you, my young bantam? Catch _you_ being out of a good thing. Are you going on the grand stand?"
"Don't know," said Gus grandly. "We may pick up a trap in the town."
"Ho, ho! going to do it flash, are you? Well, there's one of you could do with a little spice," added he, glancing at Charlie. "I suppose my trap's not grand enough for you."
"Can you give us a lift, then, Bill?" asked Gus, charmed at the idea.
"Yes, to be sure; I've no company to-day. There's just room. Hop in. I may as well turn an honest penny as not. Here, you young sinner, jump up beside me on the box." And before Charlie knew where he was or whither he was going he found himself on the box of the waggonette beside the flash youth, and his four friends behind him inside.
"Who's your friend, Gus?" he heard Margetson ask.
"Son of Belsham, who keeps the 'Green Tiger' at Randlebury. We're in luck, I can tell you, you fellows."
As Charlie gradually recovered from his bewilderment he felt himself extremely uncomfortable and ill at ease. From what had been said he had gathered that the object of the boys in going to Gurley was something more than to see the town; and he by no means liked Gus's new friend, or approved of his easy familiarity with a low publican's son. It was not long before his dawning suspicions were fully confirmed.
"So you're going to see the races?" asked Mr Belsham.
"No, I'm not," replied Charlie, as curtly as he could, for he had no desire to encourage the conversation of this objectionable person.
"Ain't you? And what are you going to do, then, my young lamb?" And in the course of this brief sentence Mr Belsham succeeded in interjecting at least three oaths.
"I shan't speak to you if you swear," said Charlie; "it's wrong to swear."
"No! is it? Who says that?"
"My father says so," blurted out Charlie, fully satisfied that no better reason could be demanded.
Belsham laughed, and turning to the four inside, said,--
"I say, young gentlemen, this young pippin tells me he's got a father who says it's wrong to swear. What do you think of that?"
"His father must be an amusing man," replied Gus.
"Wait till we get on to the course," said Margetson; "he'll hear something to astonish him there, young prig!"
"I'm not going to the races!" cried my master, starting from his seat, and now fully alive to the fraud of which he had been made the victim. "How could you do this, Tom Drift! Let me down, will you!" and he struggled so desperately with Belsham that that gentleman was obliged to let go the reins in order to hold him.
Of course it was no use his resisting. Amid the shouts and jeers of his schoolfellows he was held on to the box. In vain he pleaded, besought, struggled, threatened; there he was compelled to stay, all through Gurley and out to the racecourse. Here he found himself in the midst of a yelling, blaspheming, drunken multitude, from the sight of whose faces and the sound of whose words his soul revolted so vehemently that it lent new vigour to his exhausted frame, and urged him to one last desperate struggle to free himself and escape from his tormentors.
"Look here," said Belsham to Gus; "if you suppose I'm going to have all my fun spoiled by looking after this cub of yours while you're enjoying yourselves there inside, you're mistaken; here, look after him yourselves."
So saying, he dragged Charlie from his seat and swung him down into the waggonette with such force that he lay there half stunned and incapable of further resistance, and so for the time being saved his persecutors a good deal of trouble.
And indeed had it been otherwise it is hardly likely they would have just then been able to pay him much attention, for at that moment the horses were all drawn up at the starting-post, waiting for the signal to go.
That was a feverish moment for Tom Drift. He had bet all his money on one horse, and if that horse did not win, he would lose every penny of it.
As usual, he had repented a hundred times of that day's business, and the last brutal outrage on poor Charlie had called up even in his seared breast a fleeting feeling of indescribable shame. It was, alas! only fleeting.
Next moment he forgot all but the horses. There they stood in a long restless line. A shout! and they were off. In the first wild scramble he could catch a sight of the colours on which his hopes depended near the front. On they came like the wind. A man near shouted the name of Tom's horse--"It's winning," and Tom's head swam at the sound. On still nearer, and now they have passed. In the retreating, straggling crowd he can see his horse still, but it seems to be going back instead of forward. Like a torrent the others overhaul and pass it. Then a louder shout than usual proclaims the race over, and the favourite beaten, and Tom staggers down to his seat sick and half stupid.
"Never mind, old man," he heard Gus say, "luck's against you this time; you'll have your turn some day. Take some of this, man, and never say die."
And Tom, reckless in his misery, took the proffered bottle, and drank deeply.
It was late in the afternoon before Belsham thought of turning his horse's head homeward, and by that time Charlie, on the floor of the waggonette, was slowly beginning to recover consciousness. _