The Camp in the Woods.--Weapons of War.--An Interruption.--An old Friend.--A Mineral Bod.--Tremendous Excitement.---Captain Corbet on the Rampage.--A Pot of Gold.
THE spring recess was over, and the boys of the Grand Pré School were now to turn from play to study. The last day of their liberty was spent by the “B. O. W. C.” at their encampment in the woods. They found it in so good a condition, that it was even more attractive than when they left it. The dam had proved water-tight; the pool was full to the brim; the trees overhung with a denser foliage, while all around the fresh-turned earth was covered with young grass, springing forth with that rapidity which marks the growth of vegetation in these colder regions.
It was early in the day when they came up, and they were accompanied by the Perpetual Grand Panjandrum, who carried on his woolly head a basket crammed to the top with a highly-diversified and very luxurious lunch, which it had been the joy of that aged functionary to gather for the present occasion.
“Dar!” he exclaimed, as he put down his burden. “Ef you habn’t enough to feed you dis time, den I’m a nigga. Dar’s turkeys, an mutton pies, an hoe-cakes, an ham, an ginger-beer, an doughnuts, an de sakes ony knows what. All got up for de special benefit ob de Bee see double bubble Bredren, by de Gran Pan dandle drum. You’ll be de greatest specims ob chil’en in de woods dat ebber I har tell on. You gwine to be jes like wild Injins, and live in de wilderness like de prophets; an I’m gwine to be de black raven dat’ll bring you food. But now,” he added, “de black crow must fly back agen.”
“O, no, Solomon,” said they, as he started. “Don’t go. The ‘B. O. W. C.’ won’t be anything without you. Stay with us, and be the Grand Panjandrum.”
“Darsn’t!”
“O, yes, you must.”
“Can’t, no how.”
“Why not?”
“Darsn’t, De doctor’d knock my ole head off. De doctor mus hab ole Solomon. Can’t get along widout him. Yah, yah, yah! Why, de whole ’Cad-emy’d go to tarnal smash ef ole Solomon clar’d out dat way. Gracious sakes! Why, belubbed bred-ren, I’m sprised at you. An’ me de Gran Pandrum!”
“True,” said Bart, gravely. “Too true. It was very thoughtless in us, Grand Panjandrum; but don’t say that we asked you. Keep dark.”
“Sartin,” said old Solomon, with a grin. “Dar’s no fear but what I’ll keep dark. Allus been as dark as any ole darky could be. Yah, yah, yah!” And he rolled up his eyes till nothing could be seen but the whites of them, and chuckled all over, and then, with a face of mock solemnity, bobbed his old head, and said,--
“Far well, mos wos’ful, an’ all de res ob de belubbed breddren.”
And with these words he departed.
After this, the boys gave themselves up to the business of the day. And what was that? O, nothing in particular, but many things in general.
First and foremost, there was a grand jubilation to be made over the encampment of the “B. O. W. C.;” then a grand lamentation over the end of the recess. Then they talked over a thousand plans of future action. In these woods there were no bears, nor were there any wild Indians; but at any rate, there were squirrels to be shot at, and there were Gaspereaugians to be armed against.
It was certainly necessary, then, that they should have arms of offence and defence.
To decide on these arms was a matter that required long debate. One was in favor of clubs; another, of Chinese crackers; a third had a weakness for boomerangs; a fourth suggested lassos; and a fifth thought that an old cannon, with Bart’s pistol, and the gun, would form their most efficient means of defence. But in the course of a long discussion, all these opinions were modified; and the final result was in favor of the comparatively light and trifling arms--bows and arrows. In addition to these, whistles were thought to be desirable, in order to assist in decoying the unsuspecting squirrel, or in warning off the prowling Gaspereaugian.
One powerful cause of their unanimous decision was the pleasing fact, that bows, arrows, and whistles, could be manufactured on the spot by their own jackknives. Ash trees were all around, from which they could shape the elastic bow; tall spruce trees were there, from which they could fashion the light, straight shaft; and there, too, were the well-known twigs, from which they could whittle the willow whistle.
It was jolly--was it not? Could anything be more so? Certainly not. So they all thought, and they gave themselves up, therefore, to the joy of the occasion. They bathed in the pool. They dressed again, and lay on the grass in the sun. They gathered ash, and spruce, and willow. They collected also large quantities of fresh, soft moss, which they strewed over the floor of the camp, in which they at length sought refuge from the sun, and brought out their knives, and went to work.
Here they sat, then, working away like busy bees, two at bows, two at arrows, and one at whistles, laughing, singing, talking, joking, telling stories, and making such a general and indiscriminate hubbub as had never before been heard in these quiet woods; when suddenly they were startled by a dark shadow which fell in front of the doorway, and instantly retreated, followed by the crackling sound of dried twigs.
In a moment Bart was on his feet.
“_Who goes there?_” he cried, in a loud but very firm voice, while at the same instant the thought flashed into his mind, and into the minds of all the others,--The Gaspereaugians!--
Full of this thought, they all arose, even while Bart was speaking, with their souls full of a desperate resolution.
“_Who goes there?_” cried Bart a second time, in still louder tones.
A faint crackle among the dried twigs was the only respose that came.
“_Who goes there?_” cried Bart a third time, in a voice of deadly determination. “_Speak or--I’ll fire!_”
At this menacing and imperative summons there came a response. It came in the shape of a figure that stole forward in front of the doorway, slowly and carefully; a figure that disclosed to their view the familiar form, and the meek, the mild, the venerable, and the well-remembered face of Captain Corbet! Greeted with one universal shout of joy.
“Here we air agin, boys,” said the venerable commander, as he stepped inside, and looked all around with a scrutinizing glance. “We’ve ben together over the briny deep, an here’s the aged Corbet, right side up, in good health, and comes hopin to find you in the same.”
“Corbet! Corbet! Captain Corbet! Three cheers for the commander of the great expedition to Blomidon!”
And upon this there rang out three cheers as loud and as vigorous as could be produced by the united lungs of the five boys.
Captain Corbet regarded them with an amiable smile.
“Kind o’ campin’ out?” said he at last. “I thought by what you told me you’d be up to somethin like this, an I come down thinkin I’d find you; and here we air.”
“How’s the baby, captain?” asked Bart.
“In a terewly wonderful good state of health and sperits--kickin an crowin like mad; ony jest now he’s sound asleep--bless him. I’ve ben a-nussin of him ever sence I arrove, which I feel to be a perroud perrivelege, an the highest parental jy.”
“That’s right; and now sit down an sing us a song.”
“Wal, as to settin, I’ll set; but as to singin, I hain’t the time nor the vice. The fact is, I come down on business.”
At this Captain Corbet’s face assumed an expression of deep and dark mystery. He had a stick in his hand about a yard long, rather slender, and somewhat dirty. He now held out this stick, looked at it for a few moments in indescribable solemnity, then closed his eyes, then shook his head, and then, putting the stick behind his back, he drew a long breath, and looked hard at the boys.
“Business?” said Arthur; “what kind of business?”
Captain Corbet looked all around with an air of furtive scrutiny, and then regarded the boys with more solemnity than ever. He held out his stick again, and regarded it with profound earnestness.
