The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children by Maria Edgeworth
THE BARRING OUT; OR, PARTY SPIRIT.
“THE mother of mischief,” says an old proverb, “is no bigger than amidge’s wing.”
At Doctor Middleton’s school, there was a great tall dunce of the name ofFisher, who never could be taught how to look out a word in thedictionary. He used to torment everybody with—“Do pray help me! I can’tmake out this one word.” The person who usually helped him in hisdistress was a very clever, good natured boy, of the name of De Grey, whohad been many years under Dr. Middleton’s care, and who, by his abilitiesand good conduct, did him great credit. The doctor certainly was bothproud and fond of him; but he was so well beloved, or so much esteemed byhis companions, that nobody had ever called him by the odious name offavourite, until the arrival of a new scholar of the name of Archer.
[Picture: The Barring Out]
Till Archer came, the ideas of _favourites_ and _parties_ were almostunknown at Dr. Middleton’s; but he brought all these ideas fresh from agreat public school, at which he had been educated—at which he hadacquired a sufficient quantity of Greek and Latin, and a superabundantquantity of party spirit. His aim, the moment he came to a new school,was to get to the head of it, or at least to form the strongest party.His influence, for he was a boy of considerable abilities, was quicklyfelt, though he had a powerful rival, as he thought proper to call him,in De Grey; and, with _him_, a rival was always an enemy. De Grey, sofar from giving him any cause of hatred, treated him with a degree ofcordiality, which would probably have had an effect upon Archer’s mind,if it had not been for the artifices of Fisher.
It may seem surprising, that a _great dunce_ should be able to work upona boy like an Archer, who was called a great genius; but when genius isjoined to a violent temper, instead of being united to good sense, it isat the mercy even of dunces.
Fisher was mortally offended one morning by De Grey’s refusing totranslate his whole lesson for him. He went over to Archer, who,considering him as a partisan deserting from the enemy, received him withopen arms, and translated his whole lesson without expressing _much_contempt for his stupidity. From this moment Fisher forgot all De Grey’sformer kindness, and considered only how he could in his turn mortify theperson whom he felt to be so much his superior.
De Grey and Archer were now reading for a premium, which was to be givenin their class. Fisher betted on Archer’s head, who had not sense enoughto despise the bet of a blockhead. On the contrary he suffered him toexcite the spirit of rivalship in its utmost fury by collecting the betsof all the school. So that this premium now became a matter of thegreatest consequence, and Archer, instead of taking the means to secure ajudgment in his favour, was listening to the opinions of all hiscompanions. It was a prize which was to be won by his own exertions; buthe suffered himself to consider it as an affair of chance. Theconsequence was, that he trusted to chance—his partisans lost theirwagers, and he the premium—and his temper.
“Mr. Archer,” said Dr. Middleton, after the grand affair was decided,“you have done all that genius alone could do; but you, De Grey, havedone all that genius and industry united could do.”
“Well!” cried Archer, with affected gaiety, as soon as the doctor hadleft the room—“Well, I’m content with _my_ sentence. Genius alone! forme—industry for those who _want_ it,” added he, with a significant lookat De Grey.
Fisher applauded this as a very spirited speech; and, by insinuationsthat Dr. Middleton “always gave the premium to De Grey,” and that “thosewho had lost their bets might thank themselves for it, for being suchsimpletons as to bet against the favourite,” he raised a murmur highlyflattering to Archer, amongst some of the most credulous boys; whilstothers loudly proclaimed their belief in Dr. Middleton’s impartiality.These warmly congratulated De Grey. At this Archer grew more and moreangry, and when Fisher was proceeding to speak nonsense _for_ him, pushedforward into the circle to De Grey, crying, “I wish, Mr. Fisher, youwould let me fight my own battles!”
“And _I_ wish,” said young Townsend, who was fonder of diversions than ofpremiums, or battles, or of anything else—“_I_ wish, that we were not tohave any battles; after having worked like horses, don’t set about tofight like dogs. Come,” said he, tapping De Grey’s shoulder, “let us seeyour new playhouse, do—it’s a holiday, and let us make the most of it.Let us have the ‘School for Scandal,’ do; and I’ll play Charles for you,and you, De Grey, shall be _my little Premium_. Come, do open this newplayhouse of yours to-night.”
“Come then!” said De Grey, and he ran across the playground to a wastebuilding at the farthest end of it, in which, at the earnest request ofthe whole community, and with the permission of Dr. Middleton, he hadwith much pain and ingenuity erected a theatre.
“The new theatre is going to be opened! Follow the manager! Follow themanager!” echoed a multitude of voices.
“_Follow the manager_!” echoed very disagreeably in Archer’s ear; but ashe could not be _left alone_, he was also obliged to follow the manager.The moment that the door was unlocked, the crowd rushed in: the delightand wonder expressed at the sight was great, and the applause and thankswhich were bestowed upon the manager were long and loud.
Archer at least thought them long, for he was impatient till his voicecould be heard. When at length the acclamations had spent themselves, hewalked across the stage with a knowing air, and looking roundcontemptuously.
“And is _this_ your famous playhouse?” cried he. “I wish you had, any ofyou, seen the playhouse _I_ have been used to?”
These words made a great and visible change in the feelings and opinionsof the public. “Who would be a servant of the public? or who would toilfor popular applause?” A few words spoken in a decisive tone by a newvoice operated as a charm, and the playhouse was in an instantmetamorphosed in the eyes of the spectators. All gratitude for the pastwas forgotten, and the expectation of something better justified to thecapricious multitude their disdain of what they had so lately pronouncedto be excellent.
Everyone now began to criticise. One observed, “that the green curtainwas full of holes, and would not draw up.” Another attacked the scenes;“Scenes! they were not like real scenes—Archer must know best, because hewas used to these things.” So everybody crowded to hear something of the_other_ playhouse. They gathered round Archer to hear the description ofhis playhouse, and at every sentence insulting comparisons were made.When he had done, his auditors looked round, sighed and wished thatArcher had been their manager. They turned from De Grey as from a personwho had done them an injury. Some of his friends—for he had friends whowere not swayed by the popular opinion—felt indignation at thisingratitude, and were going to express their feelings; but De Greystopped them, and begged that he might speak for himself.
“Gentlemen,” said he, coming forward, as soon as he felt that he hadsufficient command of himself. “My friends, I see you are discontentedwith me and my playhouse. I have done my best to please you; but ifanybody else can please you better, I shall be glad of it. I did notwork so hard for the glory of being your manager. You have my free leaveto tear down—” Here his voice faltered, but he hurried on—“You have myfree leave to tear down all my work as fast as you please. Archer, shakehands first, however, to show that there’s no malice in the case.”
Archer, who was touched by what his rival said, and, stopping the hand ofhis new partisan, Fisher, cried, “No, Fisher! no!—no pulling down. Wecan alter it. There is a great deal of ingenuity in it, considering.”
In vain Archer would now have recalled the public to reason,—the time forreason was passed: enthusiasm had taken hold of their minds. “Down withit! Down with it! Archer for ever!” cried Fisher, and tore down thecurtain. The riot once begun, nothing could stop the little mob, tillthe whole theatre was demolished. The love of power prevailed in themind of Archer; he was secretly flattered by the zeal of his _party_, andhe mistook their love of mischief for attachment to himself. De Greylooked
In this moment of silence there was heard something like a voice. “Hush!What strange voice is that?” said Archer. Fisher caught fast hold of hisarm. Everybody looked round to see where the voice came from. It wasdusk. Two window-shutters at the farthest end of the building were seento move slowly inwards. De Grey, and in the same instant Archer, wentforward; and, as the shutters opened, there appeared through the hole thedark face and shrivelled hands of a very old gipsy. She did not speak;but she looked first at one and then at another. At length she fixed hereyes on De Grey. “Well, woman,” said he, “what do you want with me?”
“Want!—nothing—with _you_,” said the old woman; “do you want nothing with_me_?”
“Nothing,” said De Grey. Her eye immediately turned upon Archer,—“_You_want something with me,” said she, with emphasis.
“I—what do I want?” replied Archer.
“No,” said she, changing her tone, “you want nothing—nothing will youever want, or I am much mistaken in that _face_.”
In that _watch-chain_, she should have said, for her quick eye had espiedArcher’s watch-chain. He was the only person in the company who had awatch, and she therefore judged him to be the richest.
“Had you ever your fortune told, sir, in your life?”
“Not I!” said he, looking at De Grey, as if he was afraid of hisridicule, if he listened to the gipsy.
“Not you! No! for you will make your own fortune, and the fortune of allthat belong to you!”
“There’s good news for my friends!” cried Archer.
“And I’m one of them, remember that,” cried Fisher. “And I,” “And I,”joined a number of voices.
“Good luck to them!” cried the gipsy, “good luck to them all!”
Then, as soon as they had acquired sufficient confidence in her goodwill, they pressed up to the window. “There,” cried Townsend, as hechanced to stumble over the carpenter’s mitre box, which stood in theway, “there’s a good omen for me. I’ve stumbled on the mitre box; Ishall certainly be a bishop.”
Happy he who had sixpence, for he bid fair to be a judge upon the bench.And happier he who had a shilling, for he was in the high road to be oneday upon the woolsack, Lord High Chancellor of England. No one had halfa crown, or no one would surely have kept it in his pocket upon such anoccasion, for he might have been an archbishop, a king, or what hepleased.
Fisher, who like all weak people was extremely credulous, kept his postimmovable in the front row all the time, his mouth open, and his stupideyes fixed upon the gipsy, in whom he felt implicit faith.
Those who have least confidence in their own powers, and who have leastexpectation from the success of their own exertions, are always mostdisposed to trust in fortune-tellers and fortune. They hope to _win_,when they cannot _earn_; and as they can never be convinced by those whospeak sense, it is no wonder they are always persuaded by those who talknonsense.
“I have a question to put,” said Fisher, in a solemn tone.
“Put it, then,” said Archer, “what hinders you?”
“But they will hear me,” said he, looking suspiciously at De Grey.
“_I_ shall not hear you,” said De Grey, “I am going.” Everybody elsedrew back, and left him to whisper his question in the gipsy’s ear.
“What is become of my Livy?”
“Your _sister_ Livy, do you mean?” said the gipsy.
“No, my _Latin_ Livy.”
The gipsy paused for information. “It had a leaf torn out in thebeginning, and _I hate Dr. Middleton_—”
“Written in it,” interrupted the gipsy.
“Right—the very book!” cried Fisher with joy. “But how _could_ you knowit was Dr. Middleton’s name? I thought I had scratched it, so thatnobody could make it out.”
“Nobody _could_ make it out but _me_,” replied the gipsy. “But neverthink to deceive me,” said she, shaking her head at him in a manner thatmade him tremble.
“I don’t deceive you indeed, I tell you the whole truth. I lost it aweek ago.”
“True.”
“And when shall I find it?”
“Meet me here at this hour to-morrow evening, and I will answer you. Nomore! I must be gone. Not a word more to-night.”
She pulled the shutters towards her, and left the youth in darkness. Allhis companions were gone. He had been so deeply engaged in thisconference, that he had not perceived their departure. He found all theworld at supper, but no entreaties could prevail upon him to disclose hissecret. Townsend rallied in vain. As for Archer, he was not disposed todestroy by ridicule the effect which he saw that the old woman’spredictions in his favour had had upon the imagination of many of hislittle partisans. He had privately slipped two good shillings into thegipsy’s hand to secure her; for he was willing to pay any price for _any_means of acquiring power.
The watch-chain had not deceived the gipsy, for Archer was the richestperson in the community. His friends had imprudently supplied him withmore money than is usually trusted to boys of his age. Dr. Middleton hadrefused to give him a larger monthly allowance than the rest of hiscompanions; but he brought to school with him secretly the sum of fiveguineas. This appeared to his friends and to himself an inexhaustibletreasure.
Riches and talents would, he flattered himself, secure to him thatascendancy of which he was so ambitious. “Am I your manager, or not?”was now his question. “I scorn to take advantage of a hasty moment; butsince last night you have had time to consider. If you desire me to beyour manager, you shall see what a theatre I will make for you. In thispurse,” said he, showing through the network a glimpse of the shiningtreasure—“in this purse is Aladdin’s wonderful lamp. Am I your manager?Put it to the vote.”
It was put to the vote. About ten of the most reasonable of the assemblydeclared their gratitude and high approbation of their old friend, DeGrey; but the numbers were in favour of the new friend. And as nometaphysical distinctions relative to the idea of a majority had everentered their thoughts, the most numerous party considered themselves asnow beyond dispute in the right. They drew off on one side in triumph,and their leader, who knew the consequence of a name in party matters,immediately distinguished his partisans by the gallant name of _Archers_,stigmatizing the friends of De Grey by the odious epithet of Greybeards.
Amongst the Archers was a class not very remarkable for their mentalqualifications; but who, by their bodily activity, and by the peculiaradvantages annexed to their way of life, rendered themselves of thehighest consequence, especially to the rich and enterprising.
The judicious reader will apprehend that I allude to the persons calledday scholars. Amongst these, Fisher was distinguished by his knowledgeof all the streets and shops in the adjacent town; and, though a dullscholar, he had such reputation as a man of business, that whoever hadcommissions to execute at the confectioner’s, was sure to apply to him.Some of the youngest of his employers had, it is true, at timescomplained that he made mistakes of halfpence and pence in theiraccounts; but as these affairs could never be brought to a public trial,Fisher’s character and consequence were undiminished, till the fatal daywhen his Aunt Barbara forbade his visits to the confectioner’s; or,rather, till she requested the confectioner, who had his private reasonsfor obeying her, not _to receive_ her nephew’s visits, as he had madehimself sick at his house, and Mrs. Barbara’s fears for his health wereincessant.
Though his visits to the confectioner’s were thus at an end, there weremany other shops open to him; and with officious zeal he offered hisservices to the new manager, to purchase whatever might be wanting forthe theatre.
Since his father’s death Fisher had become a boarder at Dr. Middleton’s,but his frequent visits to his Aunt Barbara af
To which the carpenter readily assented, and added, that “gentlemen ofspirit never looked to the _expense_, but always to the _effect_.” Uponthis principle Mr. Chip set to work with all possible alacrity. In a fewhours’ time he promised to produce a grand effect. High expectationswere formed. Nothing was talked of but the new playhouse; and so intentupon it was every head, that no lessons could be got. Archer wasobliged, in the midst of his various occupations, to perform the part ofgrammar and dictionary for twenty different people.
“O ye Athenians!” he exclaimed, “how hard do I work to obtain yourpraise!”
Impatient to return to the theatre, the moment the hours destined forinstruction, or, as they are termed by schoolboys, school-hours, wereover, each prisoner started up with a shout of joy.
“Stop one moment, gentlemen, if you please,” said Dr. Middleton, in anawful voice. “Mr. Archer, return to your place. Are you all here?” Thenames of all the boys were called over, and when each had answered to hisname, Dr. Middleton said—
“Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your amusements; but, till you havecontrary orders from me, no one, on pain of my serious displeasure, mustgo into _that_ building” (pointing to the place where the theatre waserecting). “Mr. Archer, your carpenter is at the door. You will be sogood as to dismiss him. I do not think proper to give my reasons forthese orders; but you who _know_ me,” said the doctor, and his eye turnedtowards De Grey, “will not suspect me of caprice. I depend, gentlemen,upon your obedience.”
To the dead silence with which these orders were received, succeeded in afew minutes a universal groan. “So!” said Townsend, “all our diversionis over.” “So,” whispered Fisher in the manager’s ear, “this is sometrick of the Greybeard’s. Did you not observe how he looked at De Grey?”
Fired by this thought, which had never entered his mind before, Archerstarted from his reverie, and striking his hand upon the table, sworethat he “would not be outwitted by any Greybeard in Europe—no, nor by allof them put together. The Archers were surely a match for them. Hewould stand by them, if they would stand by him,” he declared, with aloud voice, “against the whole world, and Dr. Middleton himself, with‘_Little Premiums_’ at his right hand.”
Everybody admired Archer’s spirit, but were a little appalled at thesound of standing against Dr. Middleton.
“Why not?” resumed the indignant manager. “Neither Dr. Middleton nor anydoctor upon earth shall treat me with injustice. This, you see, is astroke at me and my party, and I won’t bear it.”
“Oh, you are mistaken!” said De Grey, who was the only one who dared tooppose reason to the angry orator. “It cannot be a stroke aimed at ‘youand your party,’ for he does not know that you _have_ a party.”
“I’ll make him know it, and I’ll make _you_ know it, too,” said Archer.“Before I came here you reigned alone, now your reign is over, Mr. DeGrey. Remember my majority this morning, and your theatre last night.”
“He has remembered it,” said Fisher. “You see, the moment he was not tobe our manager, we were to have no theatre, no playhouse, no plays. Wemust all sit down with our hands before us—all for ‘_good reasons_’ ofDr. Middleton’s, which he does not vouchsafe to tell us.”
“I won’t be governed by any man’s reasons that he won’t tell me,” criedArcher. “He cannot have good reasons, or why not tell them?”
“Nonsense!” said De Grey. “_We shall not suspect him of caprice_!”
“Why not?”
“Because we who know him, have never known him capricious.”
“Perhaps not. _I_ know nothing about him,” said Archer.
“No,” said De Grey; “for that very reason _I_ speak who do know him.Don’t be in a passion, Archer.”
“I will be in a passion. I won’t submit to tyranny. I won’t be made afool of by a few soft words. You don’t know me, De Grey. I’ll gothrough with what I’ve begun. I am manager, and I will be manager; andyou shall see my theatre finished in spite of you, and _my_ partytriumphant.”
“Party,” repeated De Grey. “I cannot imagine what is in the word ‘party’that seems to drive you mad. We never heard of parties till you cameamongst us.”
“No; before I came, I say, nobody dared oppose you; but I dare; and Itell you to your face, take care of me—a warm friend and a bitter enemyis my motto.”
“I am not your enemy! I believe you are out of your senses, Archer!”said he, laughing.
“Out of my senses! No; you are my enemy! Are you not my rival? Did notyou win the premium? Did not you want to be manager? Answer me, are notyou, in one word, a Greybeard?”
“You called me a Greybeard, but my name is De Grey,” said he, stilllaughing.
“Laugh on!” cried the other, furiously. “Come, _Archers_, follow me._We_ shall laugh by-and-by, I promise you.” At the door Archer wasstopped by Mr. Chip. “Oh, Mr. Chip, I am ordered to discharge you.”
“Yes, sir; and here’s a little bill—”
“Bill, Mr. Chip! why, you have not been at work for two hours!”
“Not much over, sir; but if you’ll please to look into it, you’ll see’tis for a few things you ordered. The stuff is all laid out anddelivered. The paper and the festoon-bordering for the drawing roomscene is cut out, and left yAnder within.”
“Y_a_nder, within! I wish you had not been in such a confoundedhurry—six-and-twenty shillings!” cried he; “but I can’t stay to talkabout it now. I’ll tell you, Mr. Chip,” said Archer, lowering his voice,“what you must do for me, my good fellow.”
Then, drawing Mr. Chip aside, he begged him to pull down some of the woodwork which had been put up, and to cut it into a certain number of woodenbars, of which he gave him the dimensions, with orders to place them all,when ready, under a haystack, which he pointed out.
Mr. Chip scrupled and hesitated, and began to talk of “_the doctor_.”Archer immediately began to talk of the bill, and throwing down a guineaand a half, the conscientious carpenter pocketed the money directly, andmade his bow.
“Well, Master Archer,” said he, “there’s no refusing you nothing. Youhave such a way of talking one out of it. You manage me just like achild.”
“Ay, ay!” said Archer, knowing that he had been cheated, and yet proud ofmanaging a carpenter, “ay, ay! I know the way to manage everybody. Letthe things be ready in an hour’s time, and hark’e! leave your tools bymistake behind you, and a thousand of twenty-penny nails. Ask noquestions, and keep your own counsel like a wise man. Off with you, andtake care of ‘_the doctor_.’”
“Archers, Archers, to the Archers’ tree! Follow your leader,” cried he,sounding his well known whistle as a signal. His followers gatheredround him, and he, raising himself upon the mount at the foot of thetree, counted his numbers, and then, in a voice lower than usual,addressed them thus:—“My friends, is there a Greybeard amongst us? Ifthere is, let him walk off at once, he has my free leave.” No onestirred. “Then we are all Archers, and we will stand by one another.Join hands, my friends.” They all joined hands. “Promise me not tobetray me, and I will go on. I ask no security but your honour.” Theyall gave their honour to be secret and _faithful_, as he called it, andhe went on. “Did you ever hear of such a thing as a ‘_Barring Out_,’ myfriends?” They had heard of such a thing, but they had only heard of it.
Archer gave the history of a “Barring Out,” in which he had beenconcerned at his school, in which the boys stood out against the master,and gained the
“Did you ever try to push him back? Let us be steady and he’ll tremble.Tyrants always tremble when—”
“Oh,” interrupted a number of voices; “but he is not a tyrant—is he?”
“All schoolmasters are tyrants—are not they?” replied Archer; “and is nothe a schoolmaster?”
To this logic there was no answer; but, still reluctant, they asked,“What they should _get_ by a Barring Out?”
“Get!—everything!—what we want!—which is everything to lads ofspirit—victory and liberty! Bar him out till he repeals his tyrannicallaw; till he lets us into our own theatre again, or till he tells us his‘_good reasons_’ against it.”
“But perhaps he has reasons for not telling us.”
“Impossible!” cried Archer, “that’s the way we are always to be governedby a man in a wig, who says he has good reasons, and can’t tell them.Are you fools? Go! go back to De Grey! I see you are all Greybeards.Go! Who goes first?” Nobody would go _first_. “I will have nothing todo with ye, if ye are resolved to be slaves!” “We won’t be slaves!” theyall exclaimed at once. “Then,” said Archer, “stand out in the right andbe free.”
“_The right_.” It would have taken up too much time to examine what “theright” was. Archer was always sure that “_the right_” was what his partychose to do; that is, what he chose to do himself; and such is theinfluence of numbers upon each other, in conquering the feelings of shameand in confusing the powers of reasoning, that in a few minutes “theright” was forgotten, and each said to himself, “To be sure, Archer is avery clever boy, and he can’t be mistaken”; or, “to be sure, Townsendthinks so, and he would not do anything to get us into a scrape”; or, “tobe sure, everybody will agree to this but myself, and I can’t stand outalone, to be pointed at as a Greybeard and a slave. Everybody thinks itis right, and everybody can’t be wrong.”
By some of these arguments, which passed rapidly through the mind withouthis being conscious of them, each boy decided, and deceived himself—whatnone would have done alone, none scrupled to do as a party. It wasdetermined, then, that there should be a Barring Out. The arrangement ofthe affair was left to their new manager, to whom they all pledgedimplicit obedience. Obedience, it seems, is necessary, even from rebelsto their ringleaders; not reasonable, but implicit obedience.
Scarcely had the assembly adjourned to the Ball-alley, when Fisher, withan important length of face, came up to the manager, and desired to speakone word to him. “My advice to you, Archer, is, to do nothing in thistill we have consulted, _you know who_, about whether it’s right orwrong.”
“‘_You know who_!’ Whom do you mean? Make haste, and don’t make so manyfaces, for I’m in a hurry. Who is ‘_You know who_?’”
“The old woman,” said Fisher, gravely; “the gipsy.”
“You may consult the old woman,” said Archer, bursting out a-laughing,“about what’s right and wrong, if you please; but no old woman shalldecide for me.”
“No; but you don’t _take_ me,” said Fisher; “you don’t _take_ me. Byright and wrong, I mean lucky and unlucky.”
“Whatever _I_ do will be lucky,” replied Archer. “My gipsy told you thatalready.”
“I know, I know,” said Fisher, “and what she said about your friendsbeing lucky—that went a great way with many,” added he, with a sagaciousnod of his head; “I can tell you _that_—more than you think. Do youknow,” said he, laying hold of Archer’s button, “I’m in the secret.There are nine of us have crooked our little fingers upon it, not to stira step till we get her advice; and she has appointed me to meet her aboutparticular business of my own at eight. So I’m to consult her and tobring her answer.”
Archer knew too well how to govern fools, to attempt to reason with them;and, instead of laughing any longer at Fisher’s ridiculous superstition,he was determined to take advantage of it. He affected to be persuadedof the wisdom of the measure; looked at his watch; urged him to be exactto a moment; conjured him to remember exactly the words of the oracle;and, above all things, to demand the lucky hour and minute when theBarring Out should begin. With these instructions Archer put his watchinto the solemn dupe’s hand, and left him to count the seconds, till themoment of his appointment, whilst he ran off himself to prepare theoracle.
At a little gate which looked into a lane, through which he guessed thatthe gipsy must pass, he stationed himself, saw her, gave her half a crownand her instructions, made his escape, and got back unsuspected toFisher, whom he found in the attitude in which he had left him, watchingthe motion of the minute hand.
Proud of his secret commission, Fisher slouched his hat, he knew not why,over his face, and proceeded towards the appointed spot. To keep, as hehad been charged by Archer, within the letter of the law, he stood_behind_ the forbidden building, and waited some minutes.
Through a gap in the hedge the old woman at length made her appearance,muffled up, and looking cautiously about her. “There’s nobody near us!”said Fisher, and he began to be a little afraid. “What answer,” said he,recollecting himself, “about my Livy?”
“Lost! lost! lost!” said the gipsy, lifting up her hands; “never, never,never to be found! But no matter for that now; that is not your errandto-night; no tricks with me; speak to me of what is next your heart.”
Fisher, astonished, put his hand upon his heart, told her all that sheknew before, and received the answers that Archer had dictated: “That theArchers should be lucky as long as they stuck to their manager, and toone another; that the Barring Out should end in woe, if not begunprecisely as the clock should strike nine on Wednesday night; but ifbegun in that _lucky_ moment, and all obedient to their _lucky_ leader,all should end well.”
A thought, a provident thought, now struck Fisher; for even he had someforesight where his favourite passion was concerned. “Pray, in ourBarring Out shall we be starved?”
“No,” said the gipsy, “not if you trust to me for food, and if you giveme money enough. Silver won’t do for so many; gold is what must cross myhand.”
“I have no gold,” said Fisher, “and I don’t know what you mean by ‘somany.’ I’m only talking of number one, you know. I must take care ofthat first.”
So, as Fisher thought it was possible that Archer, clever as he was,might be disappointed in his supplies, he determined to take secretmeasures for himself. His Aunt Barbara’s interdiction had shut him outof the confectioner’s shop; but he flattered himself that he could outwithis aunt; he therefore begged the gipsy to procure him twelve buns byThursday morning, and bring them secretly to one of the windows of theschoolroom.
As Fisher did not produce any money when he made this proposal, it was atfirst absolutely rejected; but a bribe at length conquered hisdifficulties; and the bribe which Fisher found himself obliged togive—for he had no pocket money left of his own, he being as much_restricted_ in that article as Archer was _indulged_—the bribe that hefound himself obliged to give to quiet the gipsy was half a crown, whichArcher had intrusted to him to buy candles for the theatre. “Oh,”thought he to himself; “Archer’s so careless about money, he will neverthink of asking me for the half-crown again; and now he’ll want nocandles for the _theatre_; or, at anyrate, it will be some time first;and maybe, Aunt Barbara may be got to give me that much at Christmas;then, if the worst comes to the worst, one can pay Archer. My mouthwaters for the buns, and have ’em I must now.”
So, for the hope of twelve buns, he sacrificed the money which had beenintrusted to him. Thus the meanest motives, in mean minds often promptto the commission of those great faults, to which one should thinknothing but some violent passion could have tempted.
The ambassador having thus, in his opinion, concluded his own and thepublic business, returned well satisfied with the result, after receivingt
The day appointed for the Barring Out at length arrived; and Archer,assembling the confederates, informed them, that all was prepared forcarrying their design into execution; that he now depended for successupon their punctuality and courage. He had, within the last two hours,got all their bars ready to fasten the doors and window shutters of theschoolroom; he had, with the assistance of two of the day scholars whowere of the party, sent into the town for provisions, at his own expense,which would make a handsome supper for that night; he had also negotiatedwith some cousins of his, who lived in the town, for a constant supply infuture. “Bless me,” exclaimed Archer, suddenly stopping in thisnarration of his services, “there’s one thing, after all, I’ve forgot, weshall be undone without it. Fisher, pray did you ever buy the candlesfor the playhouse?”
“No, to be sure,” replied Fisher, extremely frightened; “you know youdon’t want candles for the playhouse now.”
“Not for the playhouse, but for the Barring Out. We shall be in thedark, man. You must run this minute, run.”
“For candles?” said Fisher, confused; “how many?—what sort?”
“Stupidity!” exclaimed Archer, “you are a pretty fellow at a dead lift!Lend me a pencil and a bit of paper, do; I’ll write down what I wantmyself! Well, what are you fumbling for?”
“For money!” said Fisher, colouring.
“Money, man! Didn’t I give you half a crown the other day?”
“Yes,” replied Fisher, stammering; “but I wasn’t sure that that might beenough.”
“Enough! yes, to be sure it will. I don’t know what you are _at_.”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Fisher, “here, write upon this, then,” saidFisher, putting a piece of paper into Archer’s hand, upon which Archerwrote his orders. “Away, away!” cried he.
Away went Fisher. He returned; but not until a considerable timeafterwards. They were at supper when he returned. “Fisher always comesin at supper-time,” observed one of the Greybeards, carelessly.
“Well, and would you have him come in _after_ supper-time?” saidTownsend, who always supplied his party with ready _wit_.
“I’ve got the candles,” whispered Fisher as he passed by Archer to hisplace.
“And the tinder-box?” said Archer.
“Yes; I got back from my Aunt Barbara under pretence that I must studyfor repetition day an hour later to-night. So I got leave. Was not thatclever?”
A dunce always thinks it clever to cheat even by _sober lies_. How Mr.Fisher procured the candles and the tinder box without money, and withoutcredit, we shall discover further on.
Archer and his associates had agreed to stay the last in the schoolroom;and as soon as the Greybeards were gone out to bed, he, as the signal,was to shut and lock one door, Townsend the other. A third conspiratorwas to strike a light, in case they should not be able to secure acandle. A fourth was to take charge of the candle as soon as lighted;and all the rest were to run to their bars, which were secreted in aroom; then to fix them to the common fastening bars of the window, in themanner in which they had been previously instructed by the manager. Thuseach had his part assigned, and each was warned that the success of thewhole depended upon their order and punctuality.
Order and punctuality, it appears, are necessary even in a Barring Out;and even rebellion must have its laws.
The long expected moment at length arrived. De Grey and his friends,unconscious of what was going forward, walked out of the schoolroom asusual at bedtime. The clock began to strike nine. There was oneGreybeard left in the room, who was packing up some of his books, whichhad been left about by accident. It is impossible to describe theimpatience with which he was watched, especially by Fisher, and the ninewho depended upon the gipsy oracle.
When he had got all his books together under his arm, he let one of themfall; and whilst he stooped to pick it up, Archer gave the signal. Thedoors were shut, locked, and double-locked in an instant. A light wasstruck and each ran to his post. The bars were all in the same momentput up to the windows, and Archer, when he had tried them all, and seenthat they were secure, gave a loud “Huzza!”—in which he was joined by allthe party most manfully—by all but the poor Greybeard, who, the pictureof astonishment, stood stock still in the midst of them with his booksunder his arm; at which spectacle Townsend, who enjoyed the _frolic_ ofthe fray more than anything else, burst into an immoderate fit oflaughter. “So, my little Greybeard,” said he, holding a candle full inhis eyes, “what think you of all this?—How came you amongst the wickedones?”
“I don’t know, indeed,” said the little boy, very gravely: “you shut meup amongst you. Won’t you let me out?”
“Let you out! No, no, my little Greybeard,” said Archer, catching holdof him, and dragging him to the window bars. “Look ye here—touchthese—put your hand to them—pull, push, kick—put a little spirit into it,man—kick like an Archer, if you can; away with ye. It’s a pity that theking of the Greybeards is not here to admire me. I should like to showhim our fortifications. But come, my merry men all, now to the feast.Out with the table into the middle of the room. Good cheer, my jollyArchers! I’m your manager!”
Townsend, delighted with the bustle, rubbed his hands, and capered aboutthe room, whilst the preparations for the feast were hurried forward.“Four candles!—Four candles on the table. Let’s have things in stylewhen we are about it, Mr. Manager,” cried Townsend. “Places!—Places!There’s nothing like a fair scramble, my boys. Let everyone take care ofhimself. Hallo! Greybeard, I’ve knocked Greybeard down here in thescuffle. Get up again, my lad, and see a little life.”
“No, no,” cried Fisher, “he sha’n’t _sup_ with us.”
“No, no,” cried the manager, “he shan’t _live_ with us; a Greybeard isnot fit company for Archers.”
“No, no,” cried Townsend, “evil communication corrupts good manners.”
So with one unanimous hiss they hunted the poor little gentle boy into acorner; and having pent him up with benches, Fisher opened his books forhim, which he thought the greatest mortification, and set up a candlebeside him—“There, now he looks like a Greybeard as he is!” cried they.“Tell me what’s the Latin for cold roast beef?” said Fisher, exultingly,and they returned to their feast.
Long and loud they revelled. They had a few bottles of cider. “Give methe corkscrew, the cider sha’n’t be kept till it’s sour,” cried Townsend,in answer to the manager, who, when he beheld the provisions vanishingwith surprising rapidity, began to fear for the morrow. “Hangto-morrow!” cried Townsend, “let Greybeards think of to-morrow; Mr.Manager, here’s your good health.”
The Archers all stood up as their cups were filled to drink the health oftheir chief with a universal cheer. But at the moment that the cups wereat their lips, and as Archer bowed to thank the company, a sudden showerfrom above astonished the whole assembly. They looked up, and beheld therose of a watering-engine, whose long neck appeared through a trap doorin the ceiling. “Your good health, Mr. Manager!” said a voice, which wasknown to be the gardener’s; and in the midst of their surprise and dismaythe candles were suddenly extinguished; the trap-door shut down; and theywere left in utter darkness.
“The _Devil_!” said Archer.
“Don’t swear, Mr. Manager,” said the same voice from the ceiling, “I hearevery word you say.”
“Mercy upon us!” exclaimed Fisher. “The clock,” added he, whispering,“must have been wrong, for it had not done striking when we began. Only,you remember, Archer, it had just done before you had done locking yourdoor.”
“Hold your tongue, blockhead!” said Archer. “Well, boys! were ye neverin the dark before? You are not afraid of a shower of rain, I hope. Isanybody drowned?”
“No,” said they, with a faint laugh, “but what shall we do here in thedark all night long, and all day to-morrow? We can’t unbar theshutters.”
“It’s a wonder _nobody_ ever thought of the trap-door!” said Townsend.
The trap-door had indeed escaped the manager’s observation. As the housewas new to him, and the ceiling being newly white-washed, the opening wasscarcely perceptible. Vexed to be out-generalled, and still more vexedto have it remarked, Archer poured forth a volley of incoherentexclamations and reproaches against those who were thus so soondiscouraged by a trifle; and groping for the tinder-box, he asked ifanything could be easier than to strike a light again. {262} The lightappeared. But at the moment that it made the tinder-box visible, anothershower from above, aimed, and aimed exactly, at the tinder-box, drenchedit with water, and rendered it totally unfit for further service. Archerin a fury dashed it to the ground. And now for the first time he feltwhat it was to be the unsuccessful head of a party. He heard in his turnthe murmurs of a discontented, changeable populace; and recollecting allhis bars and bolts, and ingenious contrivances, he was more provoked attheir blaming him for this one only oversight than he was grieved at thedisaster itself.
“Oh, my hair is all wet!” cried one, dolefully.
“Wring it, then,” said Archer.
“My hand’s cut with your broken glass,” cried another.
“Glass!” cried a third; “mercy! is there broken glass? and it’s allabout, I suppose, amongst the supper; and I had but one bit of bread allthe time.”
“Bread!” cried Archer; “eat if you want it. Here’s a piece here, and noglass near it.”
“It’s all wet, and I don’t like dry bread by itself; that’s no feast.”
“Heigh-day! What, nothing but moaning and grumbling! If these are thejoys of a _Barring Out_,” cried Townsend, “I’d rather be snug in my bed.I expected that we should have sat up till twelve o’clock, talking, andlaughing, and singing.”
“So you may still; what hinders you?” said Archer. “Sing, and we’ll joinyou, and I should be glad those fellows overhead heard us singing.Begin, Townsend—
“‘Come now, all ye social Powers, Spread your influence o’er us’—
Or else—
“‘Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never will be slaves.’”
Nothing can be more melancholy than forced merriment. In vain theyroared in chorus. In vain they tried to appear gay. It would not do.The voices died away, and dropped off one by one. They had each providedhimself with a great-coat to sleep upon; but now, in the dark, there wasa peevish scrambling contest for the coats, and half the company, in verybad humour, stretched themselves upon the benches for the night.
There is great pleasure in bearing anything that has the appearance ofhardship as long as there is any glory to be acquired by it: but whenpeople feel themselves foiled, there is no further pleasure in endurance;and if, in their misfortune, there is any mixture of the ridiculous, themotives for heroism are immediately destroyed. Dr. Middleton hadprobably considered this in the choice he made of his first attack.
Archer, who had spent the night as a man who had the cares of governmentupon his shoulders, rose early in the morning, whilst everybody else wasfast asleep. In the night he had resolved the affair of the trap-door,and a new danger had alarmed him. It was possible that the enemy mightdescend upon them through the trap-door. The room had been built high toadmit a free circulation of air. It was twenty feet, so that it was invain to think of reaching to the trap-door.
As soon as the daylight appeared, Archer rose softly, that he might_reconnoitre_, and devise some method of guarding against this newdanger. Luckily there were round holes in the top of thewindow-shutters, which admitted sufficient light for him to work by. Theremains of the soaked feast, wet candles, and broken glass spread overthe table in the middle of the room, looked rather dismal this morning.
“A pretty set of fellows I have to manage!” said Archer, contemplatingthe group of sleepers before him. “It is well they have somebody tothink for them. Now if I wanted—which, thank goodness, I don’t—but if Idid want to call a cabinet council to my assistance, whom could I pitchupon? not this stupid snorer, who is dreaming of gipsies, if he isdreaming of anything,” continued Archer, as he looked into Fisher’s openmouth. “This next chap is quick enough; but, then, he is so fond ofhaving everything his own way. And this curl pated monkey, who isgrinning in his sleep, is all tongue and no brains. Here are brains,though nobody would think it, in this lump,” said he, looking at a fat,rolled up, heavy breathing sleeper; “but what signify brains to such alazy dog? I might kick him for my football this half hour before Ishould get him awake. This lank jawed harlequin beside him is a handyfellow, to be sure; but, then, if he has hands, he has no head—and he’dbe afraid of his own shadow too, by this light, he is such a coward! AndTownsend, why, he has puns in plenty; but, when there’s any work to bedone, he’s the worst fellow to be near one in the world—he can do nothingbut laugh at his own puns. This poor little fellow that we hunted intothe corner has more sense than all of them put together; but then he is aGreybeard.”
Thus speculated the chief of a party upon his sleeping friends. And howdid it happen that he should be so ambitious to please and govern thisset, when, for each individual of which it was composed, he felt suchsupreme contempt? He had formed them into a _party_, had given them aname, and he was at their head. If these be not good reasons, nonebetter can be assigned for Archer’s conduct.
“I wish ye could all sleep on,” said he; “but I must waken ye, though youwill be only in my way. The sound of my hammering must waken them; so Imay as well do the thing handsomely, and flatter some of them bypretending to ask their advice.”
Accordingly, he pulled two or three to waken them. “Come, Townsend,waken, my boy! Here’s some diversion for you—up! up!”
“Diversion!” cried Townsend; “I’m your man! I’m up—_up to anything_.”
So, under the name of _diversion_, Archer set Townsend to work at fouro’clock in the morning. They had nails, a few tools, and several spars,still left from the wreck of the playhouse. These, by Archer’sdirections, they sharpened at one end, and nailed them to the ends ofseveral forms.
All hands were now called to clear away the supper things, to erect theseforms perpendicularly under the trap-door; and with the assistance of afew braces, a _chevaux-de-frise_ was formed, upon which nobody couldventure to descend. At the farthest end of the room they likewise formeda penthouse of the tables, under which they proposed to breakfast, securefrom the pelting storm, if it should again assail them through thetrap-door. They crowded under the penthouse as soon as it was ready, andtheir admiration of its ingenuity paid the workmen for the job.
“Lord! I shall like to see the gardener’s phiz through the trap-door,when he beholds the spikes under him!” cried Townsend. “Now forbreakfast!”
“Ay, now for breakfast,” said Archer, looking at his watch; “past eighto’clock, and my town boys not come! I don’t understand this!”
Archer had expected a constant supply of provisions from two boys wholived in the town, who were cousins of his, and who had promised to comeevery day, and put food in at a certain hole in the wall, in which aventilator usually turned. This ventilator Archer had taken down, andhad contrived it so that it could be easily removed and replaced atpleasure; but, upon examination, it was now perceived that the hole hadbeen newly stopped up by an iron back, which it was impossible topenetrate or remove.
“It never came into my head that anybody would ever have thought of theventilator but myself!” exclaimed Archer, in great perplexity. Helistened and waited for his cousins; but no cousins came, and at a latehour the company were obliged to breakfast upon the scattered fragmentsof the last night’s feast. That feast had been spread with suchimprudent profusion, that little now remained to satisfy the hungryguests.
Archer, who well knew the effect which the apprehension of a scarcitywould have upon his associates, did everything that could be done by abold countenance and reiterated a
Fisher alone heard the manager’s calculations and saw the public fearsunmoved. Secretly rejoicing in his own wisdom, he walked from window towindow, slily listening for the gipsy’s signal. “There it is!” cried hewith more joy sparkling in his eyes than had ever enlightened thembefore. “Come this way, Archer; but don’t tell anybody. Hark! do yehear those three taps at the window? This is the old woman with twelvebuns for me. I’ll give you one whole one for yourself, if you will unbarthe window for me.”
“Unbar the window!” interrupted Archer; “no, that I won’t, for you or thegipsy either; but I have heard enough to get your buns without that. Butstay; there is something of more consequence than your twelve buns. Imust think for ye all, I see, regularly.”
So he summoned a council, and proposed that everyone should subscribe,and trust the subscription to the gipsy, to purchase a fresh supply ofprovisions. Archer laid down a guinea of his own money for hissubscription; at which sight all the company clapped their hands, and hispopularity rose to a high pitch with their renewed hopes of plenty. Now,having made a list of their wants, they folded the money in the paper,put it into a bag, which Archer tied to a long string, and, having brokenthe pane of glass behind the round hole in the window-shutter, he letdown the bag to the gipsy. She promised to be punctual, and havingfilled the bag with Fisher’s twelve buns, they were drawn up in triumph,and everybody anticipated the pleasure with which they should see thesame bag drawn up at dinner-time. The buns were a little squeezed inbeing drawn through the hole in the window-shutter; but Archerimmediately sawed out a piece of the shutter, and broke the correspondingpanes in each of the other windows, to prevent suspicion, and to make itappear that they had all been broken to admit air.
What a pity that so much ingenuity should have been employed to nopurpose!
It may have surprised the intelligent reader that the gipsy was sopunctual to her promise to Fisher, but we must recollect that herapparent integrity was only cunning; she was punctual that she might beemployed again, that she might be intrusted with the contribution which,she foresaw, must be raised amongst the famishing garrison. No soonerhad she received the money than her end was gained.
Dinner-time came; it struck three, four, five, six. They listened withhungry ears, but no signal was heard. The morning had been very long,and Archer had in vain tried to dissuade them from devouring theremainder of the provisions before they were sure of a fresh supply. Andnow those who had been the most confident were the most impatient oftheir disappointment.
Archer, in the division of the food, had attempted, by the mostscrupulous exactness, to content the public, and he was both astonishedand provoked to perceive that his impartiality was impeached. Sodifferently do people judge in different situations! He was the firstperson to accuse his master of injustice, and the least capable ofbearing such an imputation upon himself from others. He now experiencedsome of the joys of power, and the delight of managing unreasonablenumbers.
“Have not I done everything I could to please you? Have not I spent mymoney to buy you food? Have not I divided the last morsel with you? Ihave not tasted one mouthful to-day! Did not I set to work for you atsunrise? Did not I lie awake all night for you? Have not I had all thelabour, and all the anxiety? Look round and see _my_ contrivances, _my_work, _my_ generosity! And, after all, you think me a tyrant, because Iwant you to have common sense. Is not this bun which I hold in my handmy own? Did not I earn it by my own ingenuity from that selfish dunce”(pointing to Fisher), “who could never have gotten one of his twelvebuns, if I had not shown him how? Eleven of them he has eaten sincemorning for his own share, without offering anyone a morsel; but I scornto eat even what is justly my own, when I see so many hungry creatureslonging for it. I was not going to touch this last morsel myself. Ionly begged you to keep it till supper-time, when perhaps you’ll want itmore, and Townsend, who can’t bear the slightest thing that crosses hisown whims, and who thinks there’s nothing in this world to be minded buthis own diversion, calls me a _tyrant_. You all of you promised to obeyme. The first thing I ask you to do for your own good, and when, if youhad common sense, you must know I can want nothing but your good, yourebel against me. Traitors! fools! ungrateful fools!”
Archer walked up and down, unable to command his emotion, whilst, for themoment, the discontented multitude was silenced.
“Here,” said he, striking his hand upon the little boy’s shoulder,“here’s the only one amongst you who has not uttered one word of reproachor complaint, and he has had but one bit of bread—a bit that I gave himmyself this day. Here!” said he, snatching the bun, which nobody haddared to touch, “take it—it’s mine—I give it to you, though you are aGreybeard; you deserve it. Eat it, and be an Archer. You shall be mycaptain; will you?” said he, lifting him up in his arm above the rest.
“I like you now,” said the little boy, courageously; “but I love De Greybetter; he has always been my friend, and he advised me never to callmyself any of those names, Archer or Greybeard; so I won’t. Though I amshut in here, I have nothing to do with it. I love Dr. Middleton; he wasnever unjust to _me_, and I daresay that he has very good reasons, as DeGrey said, for forbidding us to go into that house. Besides, it’s hisown.”
Instead of admiring the good sense and steadiness of this little lad,Archer suffered Townsend to snatch the untasted bun out of his hands. Heflung it at a hole in the window, but it fell back. The Archersscrambled for it, and Fisher ate it.
Archer saw this, and was sensible that he had not done handsomely insuffering it. A few moments ago he had admired his own generosity, andthough he had felt the injustice of others, he had not accused himself ofany. He turned away from the little boy, and sitting down at one end ofthe table, hid his face in his hands. He continued immovable in thisposture for some time.
“Lord!” said Townsend; “it was an excellent joke!”
“Pooh!” said Fisher; “what a fool, to think so much about a bun!”
“Never mind, Mr. Archer, if you are thinking about me,” said the littleboy, trying gently to pull his hands from his face.
Archer stooped down, and lifted him up upon the table, at which sight thepartisans set up a general hiss. “He has forsaken us! He deserts hisparty! He wants to be a Greybeard! After he has got us all into thisscrape, he will leave us!”
“I am not going to leave you,” cried Archer. “No one shall ever accuseme of deserting my party. I’ll stick by the Archers, right or wrong, Itell you, to the last moment. But this little fellow—take it as youplease, mutiny if you will, and throw me out of the window. Call metraitor! coward! Greybeard!—this little fellow is worth you all puttogether, and I’ll stand by him against anyone who dares to lay a fingerupon him; and the next morsel of food that I see shall be his. Touch himwho dares!”
The commanding air with which Archer spoke and looked, and the beliefthat the little boy deserved his protection, silenced the crowd. But thestorm was only hushed.
No sound of merriment was now to be heard—no battledore andshuttlecock—no ball, no marbles. Some sat in a corner, whispering theirwishes that Archer would unbar the doors, and give up. Others,stretching their arms, and gaping as they sauntered up and down the room,wished for air, or food, or water. Fisher and his nine, who had suchfirm dependence upon the gipsy, now gave themselves up to utter despair.It was eight o’clock, growing darker and darker every minute, and nocandles, no light could they have. The prospect of another long darknight made them still more discontented.
Townsend, at the head of the yawners, and Fisher, at the head of thehungry malcontents, gathered round Archer and the few yet unconqueredspirits, demanding “How long he meant to keep them in this dark dungeon?and whether he expected that they should starve themselves for his sake?”
The idea of _giving up_ was more intol
It was at length resolved that at all events they _would hold out_. Withthis determination they stretched themselves again to sleep, for thesecond night, in weak and weary obstinacy.
Archer slept longer and more soundly than usual the next morning, andwhen he awoke, he found his hands tied behind him! Three or four boyshad just got hold of his feet, which they pressed down, whilst thetrembling hands of Fisher were fastening the cord round them.
With all the force which rage could inspire, Archer struggled and roaredto “_his Archers_!”—his friends, his party—for help against the traitors.But all kept aloof. Townsend, in particular, stood laughing and lookingon. “I beg your pardon, Archer, but really you look so droll. All aliveand kicking! Don’t be angry. I’m so weak, I cannot help laughingto-day.”
The packthread cracked. “His hands are free! He’s loose!” cried theleast of the boys, and ran away, whilst Archer leaped up, and seizinghold of Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly demanded “What he meant bythis?”
“Ask my party,” said Fisher, terrified; “they set me on; ask my party.”
“Your party!” cried Archer, with a look of ineffable contempt; “youreptile!—_your_ party? Can such a thing as _you_ have a party?”
“To be sure!” said Fisher, settling his collar, which Archer in hissurprise had let go; “to be sure! Why not? Any man who chooses it mayhave a party as well as yourself, I suppose. I have nine Fishermen.”
At these words, spoken with much sullen importance, Archer, in spite ofhis vexation, could not help laughing. “Fishermen!” cried he,“_Fishermen_!”
“And why not Fishermen as well as Archers?” cried they. “One party isjust as good as another; it is only a question which can get the upperhand; and we had your hands tied just now.”
“That’s right, Townsend,” said Archer, “laugh on, my boy! Friend or foe,it’s all the same to you. I know how to value your friendship now. Youare a mighty good fellow when the sun shines; but let a storm come, andhow you slink away!”
At this instant, Archer felt the difference between _a good companion_and a good friend, a difference which some people do not discover tilllate in life.
“Have I no friend?—no real friend amongst you all? And could ye standby, and see my hands tied behind me like a thief’s? What signifies sucha party—all mute?”
“We want something to eat,” answered the Fishermen. “What signifies_such_ a party, indeed? and _such_ a manager, who can do nothing forone?”
“And have _I_ done nothing?”
“Don’t let’s hear any more prosing,” said Fisher; “we are too many foryou. I’ve advised my party, if they’ve a mind not to be starved, to giveyou up for the ringleader, as you were; and Dr. Middleton will not let usall off, I daresay.” So, depending upon the sullen silence of theassembly, he again approached Archer with a cord. A cry of “No, no, no!Don’t tie him,” was feebly raised.
Archer stood still, but the moment Fisher touched him he knocked him downto the ground, and turning to the rest, with eyes sparkling withindignation, “Archers!” cried he. A voice at this instant was heard atthe door. It was De Grey’s voice. “I have got a large basket ofprovisions for your breakfast.” A general shout of joy was sent forth bythe voracious public. “Breakfast! Provisions! A large basket! De Greyfor ever! Huzza!”
De Grey promised, upon his honour, that if he would unbar the door nobodyshould come in with him, and no advantage should be taken of them. Thispromise was enough even for Archer. “I will let him in,” said he,“myself; for I’m sure he’ll never break his word.” He pulled away thebar; the door opened, and having bargained for the liberty of Melson, thelittle boy, who had been shut in by mistake, De Grey entered with hisbasket of provisions, when he locked and barred the door instantly.
Joy and gratitude sparkled in every face when he unpacked his basket, andspread the table with a plentiful breakfast. A hundred questions wereasked him at once. “Eat first,” said he, “and we will talk afterwards.”This business was quickly despatched by those who had not tasted food fora long while. Their curiosity increased as their hunger diminished.“Who sent us breakfast? Does Dr. Middleton know?” were questionsreiterated from every mouth.
“He does know,” answered De Grey; “and the first thing I have to tell youis, that I am your fellow-prisoner. I am to stay here till you give up.This was the only condition on which Dr. Middleton would allow me tobring you food, and he will allow no more.”
Everyone looked at the empty basket. But Archer, in whom half vanquishedparty spirit revived with the strength he had got from his breakfast,broke into exclamations in praise of De Grey’s magnanimity, as he nowimagined that De Grey had become one of themselves.
“And you will join us, will you? That’s a noble fellow!”
“No,” answered De Grey, calmly; “but I hope to persuade, or rather toconvince you, that you ought to join me.”
“You would have found it no hard task to have persuaded or convinced us,whichever you pleased,” said Townsend, “if you had appealed to Archersfasting; but Archers feasting are quite other animals. Even Cæsarhimself, after breakfast, is quite another thing!” added he, pointing toArcher.
“You may speak for yourself, Mr. Townsend,” replied the insulted hero,“but not for me, or for Archers in general, if you please. We unbarredthe door upon the faith of De Grey’s promise—_that_ was not giving up.And it would have been just as difficult, I promise you, to persuade orconvince me either that I should give up against my honour beforebreakfast as after.”
This spirited speech was applauded by many, who had now forgotten thefeelings of famine. Not so Fisher, whose memory was upon this occasionvery distinct.
“What nonsense,” and the orator paused for a synonymous expression, butnone was at hand. “What nonsense and—nonsense is here! Why, don’t youremember that dinner-time, and supper-time and breakfast-time will comeagain? So what signifies mouthing about persuading and convincing? Wewill not go through again what we did yesterday! Honour me no honour. Idon’t understand it. I’d rather be flogged at once, as I have beenmany’s the good time for a less thing. I say, we’d better all be floggedat once, which must be the end of it sooner or later, than wait here tobe without dinner, breakfast, and supper, all only because Mr. Archerwon’t give up because of his honour and nonsense!”
Many prudent faces amongst the Fishermen seemed to deliberate at theclose of this oration, in which the arguments were brought so “home toeach man’s business and bosom.”
“But,” said De Grey, “when we yield, I hope it will not be merely to getour dinner, gentlemen. When we yield, Archer—”
“Don’t address yourself to me,” interrupted Archer, struggling with hispride; “you have no further occasion to try to win me. I have no power,no party, you see! And now I find that I have no friends, I don’t carewhat becomes of myself. I suppose I’m to be given up as a ringleader.Here’s this Fisher, and a party of his Fishermen, were going to tie mehand and foot, if I had not knocked him down, just as you came to thedoor, De Grey; and now perhaps you will join Fisher’s party against me.”
De Grey was going to assure him that he had no intention of joining anyparty, when a sudden change appeared on Archer’s countenance. “Silence!”cried Archer, in an imperious tone, and there was silence. Someone washeard to whistle the beginning of a tune, that was perfectly new toeverybody present, except to Archer, who immediately whistled theconclusion. “There!” cried he, looking at De Grey, with triumph; “that’sa method of holding secret correspondence whilst a prisoner, which Ilearned from ‘Richard Cœu
“Yes, but we are barred out here.”
“Round to the window then, and fill our bag. We’ll let it down, my lad,in a trice; bar me out who can!”
Archer let down the bag with all the expedition of joy, and it was filledwith all the expedition of fear. “Pull away! make haste, for Heaven’ssake!” said the voice from without; “the gardener will come from dinner,else, and we shall be caught. He mounted guard all yesterday at theventilator; and though I watched and watched till it was darker thanpitch, I could not get near you. I don’t know what has taken him out ofthe way now. Make haste, pull away!” The heavy bag was soon pulled up.
“Have you any more?” said Archer.
“Yes, plenty. Let down quick! I’ve got the tailor’s bag full, which isthree times as large as yours, and I’ve changed clothes with the tailor’sboy; so nobody took notice of me as I came down the street.”
“There’s my own cousin!” exclaimed Archer, “there’s a noble fellow!there’s my own cousin, I acknowledge. Fill the bag, then.” Severaltimes the bag descended and ascended; and at every unlading of the crane,fresh acclamations were heard.
“I have no more!” at length the boy with the tailor’s bag cried.
“Off with you, then; we’ve enough, and thank you.”
A delightful review was now made of their treasure. Busy hands arrangedand sorted the heterogeneous mass. Archer, in the height of his glory,looked on, the acknowledged master of the whole. Townsend, who, in hisprosperity as in adversity, saw and enjoyed the comic foibles of hisfriends, pushed De Grey, who was looking on with a more good-natured andmore thoughtful air. “Friend,” said he, “you look like a greatphilosopher, and Archer a great hero.”
“And you, Townsend,” said Archer, “may look like a wit, if you will; butyou will never be a hero.”
“No, no,” replied Townsend; “wits were never heroes, because they arewits. You are out of your wits, and therefore may set up for a hero.”
“Laugh, and welcome. I’m not a tyrant. I don’t want to restrainanybody’s wit; but I cannot say I admire puns.”
“Nor I, either,” said the time serving Fisher, sidling up to the manager,and picking the ice off a piece of plum-cake, “nor I either; I hate puns.I can never understand Townsend’s _puns_. Besides, anybody can makepuns; and one doesn’t want wit, either, at all times; for instance, whenone is going to settle about dinner, or business of consequence. Blessus all, Archer!” continued he, with sudden familiarity; “_what a sight ofgood things are here_! I’m sure we are much obliged to you and yourcousin. I never thought he’d have come. Why, now we can hold out aslong as you please. Let us see,” said he, dividing the provisions uponthe table; “we can hold out to-day, and all to-morrow, and part of nextday, maybe. Why, now we may defy the doctor and the Greybeards. Thedoctor will surely give up to us; for, you see, he knows nothing of allthis, and he’ll think we are starving all this while; and he’d be afraid,you see, to let us starve quite, in reality, for three whole days,because of what would be said in the town. My Aunt Barbara, for one,would be _at him_ long before that time was out; and besides, you know,in that case, he’d be hanged for murder, which is quite another thing, inlaw, from a _Barring Out_, you know.”
Archer had not given to this harangue all the attention which itdeserved, for his eye was fixed upon De Grey. “What is De Grey thinkingof?” he asked, impatiently.
“I am thinking,” said De Grey, “that Dr. Middleton must believe that Ihave betrayed his confidence in me. The gardener was ordered away fromhis watch-post for one half-hour when I was admitted. This half-hour thegardener has made nearly a hour. I never would have come near you if Ihad foreseen all this. Dr. Middleton trusted me, and now he will repentof his confidence in me.”
“De Grey!” cried Archer, with energy, “he shall not repent of hisconfidence in you—nor shall you repent of coming amongst us. You shallfind that we have some honour as well as yourself, and I will take careof your honour as if it were my _own_!”
“Hey-day!” interrupted Townsend; “are heroes allowed to change sides,pray? And does the chief of the Archers stand talking sentiment to thechief of the Greybeards? In the middle of his own party too!”
“Party!” repeated Archer, disdainfully; “I have done with parties! I seewhat parties are made of! I have felt the want of a friend, and I amdetermined to make one if I can.”
“That you may do,” said De Grey, stretching out his hand.
“Unbar the doors! unbar the windows!” exclaimed Archer. “Away with allthese things! I give up for De Grey’s sake. He shall not lose hiscredit on my account.”
“No,” said De Grey, “you shall not give up for my sake.”
“Well, then, I’ll give up to do what is _honourable_,” said Archer.
“Why not to do what is _reasonable_?” said De Grey.
“_Reasonable_! Oh, the first thing that a man of spirit should think ofis, what is _honourable_.”
“But how will he find out _what is_ honourable, unless he can reason?”replied De Grey.
“Oh,” said Archer, “his own feelings always tell him what is honourable.”
“Have not _your feelings_,” asked De Grey, “changed within these fewhours?”
“Yes, with circumstances,” replied Archer; “but right or wrong, as longas I think it honourable to do so and so, I’m satisfied.”
“But you cannot think anything honourable, or the contrary,” observed DeGrey, “without reasoning; and as to what you call feeling, it’s only aquick sort of reasoning.”
“The quicker, the better,” said Archer.
“Perhaps not,” said De Grey. “We are apt to reason best when we are notin quite so great a hurry.”
“But,” said Archer, “we have not always time enough to reason _atfirst_.”
“You must, however, acknowledge,” replied De Grey, smiling, “that no manbut a fool thinks it honourable to be in the wrong _at last_. Is it not,therefore, best to begin by reasoning to find out the right _at first_?”
“To be sure,” said Archer.
“And did you reason with yourself at first? And did you find out that itwas right to bar Dr. Middleton out of his own schoolroom, because hedesired you not to go into one of his own houses?”
“No,” replied Archer; “but I should never have thought of heading aBarring Out, if he had not shown partiality; and if you had flown into apassion with me openly at once for pulling down your scenery, which wouldhave been quite natural, and not have gone slily and forbid us the houseout of revenge, there would have been none of this work.”
“Why,” said De Grey, “should you suspect me of such a mean action, whenyou have never seen or known me do anything mean, and when in thisinstance you have no proofs?”
“Will you give me your word and honour now, De Grey, before everybodyhere, that you did not do what I suspected?”
“I do assure you, upon my honour, I never, indirectly, spoke to Dr.Middleton about the playhouse.”
“Then,” said Archer, “I’m as glad as if I had found a thousand pounds!Now you are my friend indeed.”
“And Dr. Middleton—why should you suspect him without reason any morethan me?”
“As to that,” said Archer, “he is your friend, and you are right todefend him; and I won’t say another word against him. Will that satisfyyou?”
“Not quite.”
“Not quite! Then, indeed you are unreasonable!”
“No,” replied De Grey; “for I don’t wish you to yield out of friendshipto me, any more than to honour. If you yield to reason, you will begoverned by reason another time.”
“Well; but then don’t triumph over me, because you have the best side ofthe argument.”
“Not I! How can I?” said De Grey; “for now you are on _the best side_ aswell as myself, are not you? So we may triumph t
“You are a good friend!” said Archer; and with great eagerness he pulleddown the fortifications, whilst every hand assisted. The room wasrestored to order in a few minutes—the shutters were thrown open, thecheerful light let in. The windows were thrown up, and the first feelingof the fresh air was delightful. The green playgound opened before them,and the hopes of exercise and liberty brightened the countenances ofthese voluntary prisoners.
But, alas! they were not yet at liberty. The idea of Dr. Middleton, andthe dread of his vengeance, smote their hearts. When the rebels had sentan ambassador with their surrender, they stood in pale and silentsuspense, waiting for their doom.
“Ah!” said Fisher, looking up at the broken panes in the windows, “thedoctor will think the most of _that_—he’ll never forgive us for that.”
“Hush! here he comes!” His steady step was heard approaching nearer andnearer. Archer threw open the door, and Dr. Middleton entered. Fisherinstantly fell on his knees.
“It is no delight to me to see people on their knees. Stand up, Mr.Fisher. I hope you are all conscious that you have done wrong?”
“Sir,” said Archer, “they are conscious that they have done wrong, and soam I. I am the ringleader. Punish me as you think proper. I submit.Your punishments—your vengeance ought to fall on me alone!”
“Sir,” said Dr. Middleton, calmly, “I perceive that whatever else you mayhave learned in the course of your education, you have not been taughtthe meaning of the word punishment. Punishment and vengeance do not withus mean the same thing. _Punishment_ is pain given, with the reasonablehope of preventing those on whom it is inflicted from doing, _in future_,what will hurt themselves or others. _Vengeance_ never looks to the_future_, but is the expression of anger for an injury that is past. Ifeel no anger; you have done me no injury.”
Here many of the little boys looked timidly up to the windows. “Yes, Isee that you have broken my windows; that is a small evil.”
“Oh, sir! How good! How merciful!” exclaimed those who had been mostpanic-struck. “He forgives us!”
“Stay,” resumed Dr. Middleton; “I cannot forgive you. I shall neverrevenge, but it is my duty to punish. You have rebelled against the justauthority which is necessary to conduct and govern you whilst you havenot sufficient reason to govern and conduct yourselves. Withoutobedience to the laws,” added he, turning to Archer, “as men, you cannotbe suffered in society. You, sir, think yourself a man, I observe; andyou think it the part of a man not to submit to the will of another. Ihave no pleasure in making others, whether men or children, submit to my_will_; but my reason and experience are superior to yours. Your parentsat least think so, or they would not have intrusted me with the care ofyour education. As long as they do intrust you to my care, and as longas I have any hopes of making you wiser and better by punishment, I shallsteadily inflict it, whenever I judge it to be necessary, and I judge itto be necessary _now_. This is a long sermon, Mr. Archer, not preachedto show my own eloquence, but to convince your understanding. Now, as toyour punishment!”
“Name it, sir,” said Archer; “whatever it is, I will cheerfully submit toit.”
“Name it yourself,” said Dr. Middleton, “and show me that you nowunderstand the nature of punishment.”
Archer, proud to be treated like a reasonable creature, and sorry that hehad behaved like a foolish schoolboy, was silent for some time, but atlength replied, “That he would rather not name his own punishment.” Herepeated, however, that he trusted he should bear it well, whatever itmight be.
“I shall, then,” said Dr. Middleton, “deprive you, for two months, ofpocket-money, as you have had too much, and have made a bad use of it.”
“Sir,” said Archer, “I brought five guineas with me to school. Thisguinea is all that I have left.”
Dr. Middleton received the guinea which Archer offered him with a look ofapprobation, and told him that it should be applied to the repairs of theschoolroom. The rest of the boys waited in silence for the doctor’ssentence against them, but not with those looks of abject fear with whichboys usually expect the sentence of a schoolmaster.
“You shall return from the playground, all of you,” said Dr. Middleton,“one quarter of an hour sooner, for two months to come, than the rest ofyour companions. A bell shall ring at the appointed time. I give you anopportunity of recovering my confidence by your punctuality.”
“Oh, sir! we will come the instant, the very instant the bell rings; youshall have confidence in us,” cried they, eagerly.
“I deserve your confidence, I hope,” said Dr. Middleton; “for it is myfirst wish to make you all happy. You do not know the pain that it hascost me to deprive you of food for so many hours.”
Here the boys, with one accord, ran to the place where they had depositedtheir last supplies. Archer delivered them up to the doctor, proud toshow that they were not reduced to obedience merely by necessity.
“The reason,” resumed Dr. Middleton, having now returned to the usualbenignity of his manner—“the reason why I desired that none of you shouldgo to that building,” pointing out of the window, “was this:—I had beeninformed that a gang of gipsies had slept there the night before I spoketo you, one of whom was dangerously ill of a putrid fever. I did notchoose to mention my reason to you or your friends. I have had the placecleaned, and you may return to it when you please. The gipsies wereyesterday removed from the town.”
“De Grey, you were in the right,” whispered Archer, “and it was I thatwas _unjust_.”
“The old woman,” continued the doctor, “whom you employed to buy food,has escaped the fever, but she has not escaped a gaol, whither she wassent yesterday, for having defrauded you of your money.
“Mr. Fisher,” said Dr. Middleton, “as to you, I shall not punish you; Ihave no hope of making you either wiser or better. Do you know thispaper?”—the paper appeared to be a bill for candles and a tinder-box.
“I desired him to buy those things, sir,” said Archer, colouring.
“And did you desire him not to pay for them?”
“No,” said Archer, “he had half a crown on purpose to pay for them.”
“I know he had, but he chose to apply it to his private use, and gave itto the gipsy to buy twelve buns for his own eating. To obtain credit forthe tinder-box and candles, he made use of _this_ name,” said he, turningto the other side of the bill, and pointing to De Grey’s name, which waswritten at the end of a copy of one of De Grey’s exercises.
“I assure you, sir—” cried Archer.
“You need not assure me, sir,” said Dr. Middleton; “I cannot suspect aboy of your temper of having any part in so base an action. When thepeople in the shop refused to let Mr. Fisher have the things withoutpaying for them, he made use of De Grey’s name, who was known there.Suspecting some mischief, however, from the purchase of the tinder-box,the shopkeeper informed me of the circumstance. Nothing in this wholebusiness gave me half so much pain as I felt, for a moment, when Isuspected that De Grey was concerned in it.” A loud cry, in whichArcher’s voice was heard most distinctly, declared De Grey’s innocence.Dr. Middleton looked round at their eager, honest faces, with benevolentapprobation. “Archer,” said he, taking him by the hand, “I am heartilyglad to see that you have got the better of your party spirit. I wishyou may keep such a friend as you have now beside you; one such friend isworth two such parties. As for you, Mr. Fisher, depart; you must neverreturn hither again.” In vain he solicited Archer and De Grey tointercede for him. Everybody turned away with contempt; and he sneakedout, whimpering in a doleful voice, “What shall I say to my AuntBarbara?”