Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp

“Would it not be well, Mr. Chairman,” suggested Frank, “to circulate an invitation to other boys not present to-day to join the company? The larger our number, the more interest will be felt. I can think of quite a number who would be valuable members. There are Dick Bumstead, and William Chamberlain, and many others.”

At the sound of Dick Bumstead’s name John Haynes looked askance at Frank, but for the moment the thought of Dick’s agency in the affair of the pig-pen had escaped his recollection, and he looked quite unconscious of any indirect reference to it.

“Will you make a motion to that effect?”

“Yes, if necessary.”

“Is the motion seconded?”

“Second it,” said Moses Rogers.

“I will appoint Wilbur Summerfield and Moses Rogers on that committee,” said the chairman.

“I move that the meeting adjourn ipse dixit,” said Sam Davis, bringing out the latter phrase with considerable emphasis.

A roar of laughter followed which shook the schoolhouse to the very rafters, and then a deafening clamor of applause. The proposer sat down in confusion.

“What are you laughing at?” he burst forth indignantly.

“Mr. Chairman,” said Henry Tufts, struggling with his laughter, “I second the gentleman’s motion, all except the Latin.”

The motion was carried in spite of the manner in which it was worded, and the boys formed little groups, and began eagerly to discuss the plan which had been proposed. Frank had reason to feel satisfied with the success of his suggestion. Several of the boys came up to him and expressed their pleasure that he had brought the matter before them.

“I say, Frank,” said Robert Ingalls, “We’ll have a bully company.”

“Yes,” said Wilbur Summerfield, “if John Haynes belongs to it. He’s a bully, and no mistake.”

“What’s that you are saying about me?” blustered John Haynes, who caught a little of what was said.

“Listeners never hear anything good of themselves,” answered Wilbur.

“Say that again, Wilbur Summerfield,” said John menacingly.

“Certainly, if it will do you any good. I said that you were a bully, John Haynes; and there’s not a boy here that doesn’t know it to be true.”

“Take care!” said John, turning white with passion.

“While I’m about it, there’s something more I want to say,” continued Wilbur undauntedly. “Yesterday you knocked my little brother off his sled and sent him home crying. If you do it again, you will have somebody else to deal with.”

John trembled with anger. It would have done him good to “pitch into” Wilbur, but the latter looked him in the face so calmly and resolutely that discretion seemed to him the better part of valor, and with an oath he turned away.

“I don’t know what’s got into John Haynes,” said Wilbur. “I never liked him, but now he seems to be getting worse and worse every day.”

CHAPTER XXIII. POMP TAKES MRS. PAYSON PRISONER

Old Mrs. Payson, who arrived in Rossville at the same time with Henry Morton, had been invited by her daughter, “Cynthy Ann,” to pass the winter, and had acquiesced without making any very strenuous objections. Her “bunnit,” which she had looked upon as “sp’ilt,” had been so far restored by a skilful milliner that she was able to wear it for best. As this restoration cost but one dollar and a half out of the five which had been given her by young Morton, she felt very well satisfied with the way matters had turned out. This did not, however, by any means diminish her rancor against Pomp, who had been the mischievous cause of the calamity.

“Ef I could only get hold on him,” Mrs. Payson had remarked on several occasions to Cynthy Ann, “I’d shake the mischief out of him, ef I died for’t the very next minute.”

Mrs. Payson was destined to meet with a second calamity, which increased, if possible, her antipathy to the “young imp.”

Being of a social disposition, she was quite in the habit of dropping in to tea at different homes in the village. Having formerly lived in Rossville, she was acquainted with nearly all the townspeople, and went the rounds about once in two weeks.

One afternoon she put her knitting into a black work-bag, which she was accustomed to carry on her arm, and, arraying herself in a green cloak and hood, which had served her for fifteen years, she set out to call on Mrs. Thompson.

Now, the nearest route to the place of her destination lay across a five-acre lot. The snow lay deep upon the ground, but the outer surface had become so hard as, without difficulty, to bear a person of ordinary weight.

When Mrs. Payson came up to the bars, she said to herself, “‘Tain’t so fur to go across lots. I guess I’ll ventur’.”

She let down a bar and, passing through, went on her way complacently. But, alas, for the old lady’s peace of mind! She was destined to come to very deep grief.

That very afternoon Pomp had come over to play with Sam Thompson, and the two, after devising various projects of amusement, had determined to make a cave in the snow. They selected a part of the field where it had drifted to the depth of some four or five feet. Beginning at a little distance, they burrowed their way into the heart of the snow, and excavated a place about four feet square by four deep, leaving the upper crust intact, of course, without its ordinary strength.

The two boys had completed their task, and were siting down in their subterranean abode, when the roof suddenly gave way, and a visitor entered in the most unceremonious manner.

The old lady had kept on her way unsuspiciously, using as a cane a faded blue umbrella, which she carried invariably, whatever the weather.

When Mrs. Payson felt herself sinking, she uttered a loud shriek and waved her arms aloft, brandishing her umbrella in a frantic way. She was plunged up to her armpits in the snow, and was, of course, placed in a very unfavorable position for extricating herself.

The two boys were at first nearly smothered by the descent of snow, but when the first surprise was over they recognized their prisoner. I am ashamed to say that their feeling was that of unbounded delight, and they burst into a roar of laughter. The sound, indistinctly heard, terrified the old lady beyond measure, and she struggled frantically to escape, nearly poking out Pomp’s eye with the point of her umbrella.

Pomp, always prompt to repel aggression, in return, pinched her foot.

“Massy sakes! Where am I?” ejaculated the affrighted old lady. “There’s some wild crittur down there. Oh, Cynthy Ann, ef you could see your marm at this moment!”

She made another vigorous flounder, and managed to kick Sam in the face. Partly as a measure of self-defense, he seized her ankle firmly.

“He’s got hold of me!” shrieked the old lady “Help! help! I shall be murdered.”

Her struggles became so energetic that the boys soon found it expedient to evacuate the premises. They crawled out by the passage they had made, and appeared on the surface of the snow.

The old lady presented a ludicrous appearance. Her hood had slipped off, her spectacles were resting on the end of her nose, and she had lost her work-bag. But she clung with the most desperate energy to the umbrella, on which apparently depended her sole hope of deliverance.

“Hi yah!” laughed Pomp, as he threw himself back on the snow and began to roll about in an ecstasy of delight.

Instantly Mrs. Payson’s apprehensions changed to furious anger.

“So it’s you, you little varmint, that’s done this. Jest le’ me get out, and I’ll whip you so you can’t stan’. See ef I don’t.”

“You can’t get out, missus; yah, yah!” laughed Pomp. “You’s tied, you is, missus.”

“Come an’ help me out, this minute!” exclaimed the old lady, stamping her foot.

“Lor’, missus, you’ll whip me. You said you would.”

“So I will, I vum,” retorted the irate old lady, rather undiplomatically. “As true as I live, I’ll whip you till you can’t stan’.”

As she spoke, she brandished her umbrella in a menacing manner.

“Den, missus, I guess you’d better stay where you is.”

“Oh, you imp. See ef I don’t have you put in jail. Here, you, Sam Thompson, come and help me out. Ef you don’t, I’ll tell your mother, an’ she’ll give you the wust lickin’ you ever had. I’m surprised at you.”

“You won’t tell on me, will you?” said Sam, irresolutely.

“I’ll see about it,” said the old lady, in a politic tone.

She felt her powerlessness, and that concession must precede victory.

“Then, give me the umbrella,” said Sam, who evidently distrusted her.

“You’ll run off with it,” said Mrs. Payson suspiciously.

“No, I won’t.”

“Well, there ‘tis.”

“Come here, Pomp, and help me,” said Sam.

Pomp held aloof.

“She’ll whip me,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s an old debble.”

“Oh, you—you sarpint!” ejaculated the old lady, almost speechless with indignation.

“You can run away as soon as she gets out,” suggested Sam.

Pomp advanced slowly and warily, rolling his eyes in indecision.

“Jest catch hold of my hands, both on ye,” said Mrs. Payson, “an’ I’ll give a jump.”

These directions were followed, and the old lady rose to the surface, when, in an evil hour, intent upon avenging herself upon Pomp, she made a clutch for his collar. In doing so she lost her footing and fell back into the pit from which she had just emerged. Her spectacles dropped off and, falling beneath her, were broken.

She rose, half-provoked and half-ashamed of her futile attempt. It was natural that neither of these circumstances should effect an improvement in her temper.

“You did it a purpose,” she said, shaking her fist at Pomp, who stood about a rod off, grinning at her discomfiture. “There, I’ve gone an’ broke my specs, that I bought two years ago, come fall, of a pedler. I’ll make you pay for ‘em.”

“Lor’, missus, I ain’t got no money,” said Pomp. “Nebber had none.”

Unfortunately for the old lady, it was altogether probable that Pomp spoke the truth this time.

“Three and sixpence gone!” groaned Mrs. Payson. “Fust my bunnit, an’ then my specs. I’m the most unfort’nit’ crittur. Why don’t you help me, Sam Thompson, instead of standin’ and gawkin’ at me?” she suddenly exclaimed, glaring at Sam.

“I didn’t know as you was ready,” said Sam. “You might have been out before this, ef you hadn’t let go. Here, Pomp, lend a hand.” Pomp shook his head decisively.

“Don’t catch dis chile again,” he said. “I’m goin’ home. Ole woman wants to lick me.”

Sam endeavored to persuade Pomp, but he was deaf to persuasion. He squatted down on the snow, and watched the efforts his companion made to extricate the old lady. When she was nearly out he started on a run, and was at a safe distance before Mrs. Payson was in a situation to pursue him.

The old lady shook herself to make sure that no bones were broken. Next, she sent Sam down into the hole to pick up her bag, and then, finding, on a careful examination, that she had recovered everything, even to the blue umbrella, fetched the astonished Sam a rousing box on the ear.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded in an aggrieved tone.

“‘Taint half as much as you deserve,” said the old lady. “I’m goin’ to your house right off, to tell your mother what you’ve been a-doin’. Ef you was my child, I’d beat you black and blue.”

“I wish I’d left you down there,” muttered Sam.

“What’s that?” demanded Mrs. Payson sharply. “Don’t you go to bein’ sassy. It’ll be the wuss for ye. You’ll come to the gallows some time, ef you don’t mind your p’s and q’s. I might ‘ave stayed there till I died, an’ then you’d have been hung.”

“What are, you jawing about?” retorted Sam. “How could I know you was comin’?”

“You know’d it well enough,” returned the old lady. “You’ll bring your mother’s gray hairs with sorrer to the grave.”

“She ain’t got any gray hairs,” said Sam doggedly.

“Well, she will have some, ef she lives long enough. I once know’d a boy just like you, an’ he was put in jail for stealin’.”

“I ain’t a-goin to stay and be jawed that way,” said Sam. “You won’t catch me pulling you out of a hole again. I wouldn’t have you for a grandmother for all the world. Tom Baldwin told me, only yesterday, that you was always a-hectorin’ him.”

Tom Baldwin was the son of Cynthy Ann, and consequently old Mrs. Payson’s grandson.

“Did Tom Baldwin tell you that?” demanded the old lady abruptly, looking deeply incensed.

“Yes, he did.”

“Well, he’s the ungratefullest cub that I ever sot eyes on,” exclaimed his indignant grandmother. “Arter all I’ve done for him. I’m knittin’ a pair of socks for him this blessed minute. But he sha’n’t have ‘em. I’ll give ‘em to the soldiers, I vum. Did he say anything else?”

“Yes, he said he should be glad when you were gone.”

“I’ll go right home and tell Cynthy Ann,” exclaimed Mrs. Payson, “an’ if she don’t w’ip him I will. I never see such a bad set of boys as is growin’ up. There ain’t one on ‘em that isn’t as full of mischief as a nut is of meat. I’ll come up with them, as true as I live.”

Full of her indignation, Mrs. Payson gave up her proposed call on Mrs. Thompson, and, turning about, hurried home to lay her complaint before Cynthy Ann.

“I’m glad she’s gone,” said Sam, looking after her, as with resolute steps she trudged along, punching the snow vigorously with the point of her blue cotton umbrella. “I pity Tom Baldwin; if I had such a grandmother as that, I’d run away to sea. That’s so!”

CHAPTER XXIV. A CHAPTER FROM HARDEE

A few rods east of the post-office, on the opposite side of the street, was a two-story building used as an engine-house, The second story consisted of a hall used for company meetings. This the fire company obligingly granted to the boys as a drill-room during the inclement season, until the weather became sufficiently warm to drill out of doors.

On the Monday afternoon succeeding the preliminary meeting at the academy, about thirty boys assembled in this hall, pursuant to a notice which had been given at school and posted up at the tavern and post-office.

At half-past two Frank entered, accompanied by Mr. Morton.

Some of the boys were already acquainted with him, and came up to speak. He had a frank, cordial way with boys, which secured their favor at first sight.

“Well, boys,” said he pleasantly, “I believe I am expected to make soldiers of you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Charles Reynolds respectfully: “I hope we shall learn readily and do credit to your instructions.”

“I have no fear on that score,” was the reply. “Perhaps you may have some business to transact before we commence our lessons. If so, I will sit down a few minutes and wait till you are ready.”

A short business meeting was held, organized as before.

John Haynes reported that he had spoken to his father, and the question of allowing the boys the use of the muskets belonging to the town would be acted upon at the next meeting of the Selectmen. Squire Haynes thought that the request would be granted.

“What are we going to do this afternoon?” asked Robert Ingalls.

“I can answer that question, Mr. Chairman,” said Henry Morton. “We are not yet ready for muskets. I shall have to drill you first in the proper position of a soldier, and the military step. Probably it will be a week before I shall wish to place muskets into your hands. May I inquire how soon there will be a meeting of the Selectmen?”

John Haynes announced that the next meeting would be held in less than a week.

“Then there will be no difficulty as to the muskets,” said Mr. Morton.

Wilbur Summerfield reported that he had extended an invitation to boys not connected with the academy to join the company. Several were now present. Dick Bumstead, though not able to attend that day, would come to the next meeting. He thought they would be able to raise a company of fifty boys.

This report was considered very satisfactory.

Tom Wheeler arose and inquired by what name the new company would be called.

“I move,” said Robert Ingalls, “that we take the name of the Rossville Home Guards.”

“If the enemy should invade Rossville, you’d be the first to run,” sneered John Haynes.

“Not unless I heard it before you,” was the quick reply.

There was a general laugh, and cries of “Bully for you, Bob!” were heard.

“Order!” cried the chairman, pounding the table energetically. “Such disputes cannot be allowed. I think we had better defer obtaining a name for our company till we find how well we are likely to succeed.”

This proposal seemed to be acquiesced in by the boys generally. The business meeting terminated, and Mr. Morton was invited to commence his instructions.

“The boys will please form themselves in a line,” said the teacher, in a clear, commanding voice.

This was done.

The positions assumed were, most of them, far from military. Some stood with their legs too far apart, others with one behind the other, some with the shoulders of unequal height. Frank alone stood correctly, thanks to the private instructions he had received.

“Now, boys,” said Mr. Morton, “when I say ‘attention!’ you must all look at me and follow my directions implicitly. Attention and subordination are of the first importance to a soldier. Let me say, to begin with, that, with one exception, you are all standing wrong.”

Here there was a general shifting of positions. Robert Ingalls, who had been standing with his feet fifteen inches apart, suddenly brought them close together in a parallel position. Tom Wheeler, who had been resting his weight mainly on the left foot, shifted to the right. Moses Rogers, whose head was bent over so as to watch his feet, now threw it so far back that he seemed to be inspecting the ceiling. Frank alone remained stationary.

Mr. Morton smiled at the changes elicited by his remarks, and proceeded to give his first command.

“Heels on the same line!” he ordered.

All the boys turned their heads, and there was a noisy shuffling of feet.

“Quit crowding, Tom Baldwin!” exclaimed Sam Rivers in an audible tone.

“Quit crowding, yourself,” was the reply. “You’ve got more room than I, now.”

“Silence in the ranks!” said the instructor authoritatively. “Frank Frost, I desire you to see that the boys stand at regular distances.” This was accomplished.

“Turn out your feet equally, so as to form a right angle with each other. So.”

Mr. Morton illustrated his meaning practically. This was very necessary, as some of the boys had very confused ideas as to what was meant by a right angle.

After some time this order was satisfactorily carried out.

“The knees must be straight. I see that some are bent, as if the weight of the body were too much for them. Not too stiff! Rivers, yours are too rigid. You couldn’t walk a mile in that way without becoming very tired. There, that is much better. Notice my position.”

The boys, after adjusting their positions, looked at the rest to see how they had succeeded.

“Don’t look at each other,” said Mr. Morton. “If you do you will be certain to make blunders. I notice that some of you are standing with one shoulder higher than the other. The shoulders should be square, and the body should be erect upon the hips. Attention! So!”

“Very well. Haynes, you are trying to stand too upright. You must not bend backward. All, incline your bodies a little forward. Frank Ingalls is standing correctly.”

“I don’t think that’s very soldierly,” said John Haynes, who felt mortified at being corrected, having flattered himself that he was right and the rest were wrong.

“A soldier shouldn’t be round-shouldered, or have a slouching gait,” said the instructor quietly; “but you will find when you come to march that the opposite extreme is attended with great inconvenience and discomfort. Until then you must depend upon my assurance.”

Mr. Morton ran his eye along the line, and observed that most of the boys were troubled about their arms. Some allowed them to hang in stiff rigidity by their sides. One, even, had his clasped behind his back. Others let theirs dangle loosely, swinging now hither, now thither.

He commented upon these errors, and added, “Let your arms hang naturally, with the elbows near the body, the palm of the hand a little turned to the front, the little finger behind the seam of the pantaloons. This you will find important when you come to drill with muskets. You will find that it will economize space by preventing your occupying more room than is necessary. Frank, will you show Sam Rivers and John Haynes how to hold their hands?”

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” said John haughtily, but in too low a voice, as he supposed, for Mr. Morton to hear. “I don’t want a clodhopper to teach me.”

Frank’s face flushed slightly, and without a word he passed John and occupied himself with showing Sam Rivers, who proved more tractable.

“No talking in the ranks!” said Mr. Morton, in a tone of authority. “If any boy wishes to ask any explanation of me he may do so, but it is a breach of discipline to speak to each other.”

“My next order will be, ‘Faces to the front!’” he resumed, after a pause. “Nothing looks worse than to see a file of men with heads turned in various directions. The eyes should be fixed straight before you, striking the ground at about fifteen paces forward.”

It required some time to have this direction properly carried out. Half an hour had now passed, and some of the boys showed signs of weariness.

“I will now give you a little, breathing-spell for ten minutes,” said Mr. Morton. “After this we will resume our exercises.”

The boys stretched their limbs, and began to converse in an animated strain about the lesson which they had just received.

At the expiration of ten minutes the lesson was resumed, and some additional directions were given.

It will not be necessary for us to follow the boys during the remainder of the lesson. Most of them made very creditable progress, and the line presented quite a different appearance at the end of the exercise from what it had at the commencement.

“I shall be prepared to give you a second lesson on Saturday afternoon,” announced Mr. Morton. “In the meantime it will be well for you to remember what I have said, and if you should feel inclined to practice by yourselves, it will no doubt make your progress more rapid.”

These remarks were followed by a clapping of hands on the part of the boys—a demonstration of applause which Mr. Morton acknowledged by a bow and a smile.

“Well, how do you like it?” asked Frank Frost of Robert Ingalls.

“Oh, it’s bully fun!” returned Bob enthusiastically. “I feel like a hero already.”

“You’re as much of one now, Bob, as you’ll ever be,” said Wilbur good-naturedly.

“I wouldn’t advise you to be a soldier,” retorted Bob. “You’re too fat to run, and would be too frightened to fight.”

“I certainly couldn’t expect to keep up with those long legs of yours, Bob,” said Wilbur, laughing.

The boys dispersed in excellent humor, fully determined to persevere in their military exercises.

CHAPTER XXV. ELECTION OF OFFICERS

For the six weeks following, Mr. Morton gave lessons twice a week to the boys. At the third lesson they received their muskets, and thenceforth drilled with them. A few, who had not been present at the first two lessons, and were consequently ignorant of the positions, Mr. Morton turned over to Frank, who proved an efficient and competent instructor.

At the end of the twelfth lesson, Mr. Morton, after giving the order “Rest!” addressed the boys as follows:

“Boys, we have now taken twelve lessons together. I have been very much gratified by the rapid improvement which you have made, and feel that it is due quite as much to your attention as to any instructions of mine. I can say with truth that I have known companies of grown men who have made less rapid progress than you.

“The time has now come when I feel that I can safely leave you to yourselves, There are those among you who are competent to carry on the work which I have commenced. It will be desirable for you at once to form a company organization. As there are but fifty on your muster-roll, being about half the usual number, you will not require as many officers. I recommend the election of a captain, first and second lieutenants, three sergeants and three corporals. You have already become somewhat accustomed to company drill, so that you will be able to go on by yourselves under the guidance of your officers. If any doubtful questions should arise, I shall always be happy to give you any information or assistance in my power.