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Riverpark Rebellion

<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/cover.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="756" alt="cover" title="" /></div> <hr class="chap" /> THE RIVERPARK REBELLION <hr class="chap" /> <div class="adbox"> The Sunshine Library for Young People This admirable line of books for young people contains some of the choicest stories for children ever written. The volumes are well printed, illustrated with frontispieces, and attractively bound in new styles, with separate designs by the best artists for each cover. 8 vo.     Per vol.        $0.50 </div> <div class="adbox"> <ul> <li class="hang">AUNT HANNAH AND SETH. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">BLIND BROTHER. By Homer Greene.</li> <li class="hang">CAPTAIN’S DOG. By Louis Énault.</li> <li class="hang">CAT AND THE CANDLE. By Mary F. Leonard.</li> <li class="hang">CAXTON CLUB. By Amos R. Wells.</li> <li class="hang">CHILD AND THE TREE. By Bessie K. Ulrich.</li> <li class="hang">CHRISTMAS AT DEACON HACKETT’S. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">CHRISTMAS TREE SCHOLAR. By Francis Bent Dillingham.</li> <li class="hang">DADDY DARWIN’S DOVECOT. By Mrs. J. H. Ewing.</li> <li class="hang">DAISIES AND DIGGLESES. By Evelyn Raymond.</li> <li class="hang">DAYS BEFORE HISTORY. By H. R. Hall.</li> <li class="hang">DEAR LITTLE MARCHIONESS. The Story of a Child’s Faith and Love.</li> <li class="hang">DICK IN THE DESERT. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">DIVIDED SKATES. By Evelyn Raymond.</li> <li class="hang">GOLDEN KEY. By George MacDonald.</li> <li class="hang">GOLD THREAD. By Norman MacLeod.</li> <li class="hang">HALF A DOZEN THINKING CAPS. By Mary F. Leonard.</li> <li class="hang">HOW THE TWINS CAPTURED A HESSIAN. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">HOW TOMMY SAVED THE BARN. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">INGLESIDE. By Barbara Yechton.</li> <li class="hang">J. COLE. By Emma Gellibrand.</li> <li class="hang">JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER. By Hesba Stretton.</li> <li class="hang">KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER. By John Ruskin.</li> <li class="hang">LADDIE. By Evelyn Whitaker.</li> <li class="hang">LITTLE PETER. By Lucas Malet.</li> <li class="hang">LITTLE SUNSHINE’S HOLIDAY. By Miss Mulock.</li> <li class="hang">MASTER SUNSHINE. By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.</li> <li class="hang">MISS DE PEYSTER’S BOY. By Etheldred B. Barry.</li> <li class="hang">MISS TOOTSEY’S MISSION. By Evelyn Whitaker.</li> <li class="hang">MOLLY. By Barbara Yechton.</li> <li class="hang">MUSICAL JOURNEY OF DOROTHY AND DELIA. By Bradley Gilman.</li> <li class="hang">OUR UNCLE THE MAJOR. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">PAIR OF THEM. By Evelyn Raymond.</li> <li class="hang">PLAYGROUND TONI. By Anna Chapin Ray.</li> <li class="hang">PLAY LADY. By Ella Farman Pratt.</li> <li class="hang">PRINCE PRIGIO. By Andrew Lang.</li> <li class="hang">SHORT CRUISE. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">SMOKY DAYS. By Edward W. Thomson.</li> <li class="hang">SNAP DRAGONS. By Mrs. J. H. Ewing.</li> <li class="hang">STEPHEN. A Story of the Little Crusaders. By Eva A. Madden.</li> <li class="hang">STRAWBERRY HILL. By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.</li> <li class="hang">SUNBEAMS AND MOONBEAMS. By Louise R. Baker.</li> <li class="hang">TALE OF THE TOW PATH. By Homer Greene.</li> <li class="hang">THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA CLAUS. By Charlotte M. Vaile.</li> <li class="hang">TWO AND ONE. By Charlotte M. Vaile.</li> <li class="hang">RIVERPARK REBELLION. By Homer Greene.</li> <li class="hang">WHISPERING TONGUES. By Homer Greene.</li> <li class="hang">WONDER SHIP. By Sophie Swett.</li> <li class="hang">WRECK OF THE CIRCUS. By James Otis.</li> <li class="hang">YOUNG BOSS. By Edward W. Thomson.</li> </ul></div> <div class="adbox"> THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO., Publishers, 426-428 West Broadway, New York </div> <hr class="chap" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image01.jpg" width-obs="419" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /> <div class="caption">“Anything else I can git for ye, young gentlemen?”</div> </div> <hr class="chap" /> <h1>The Riverpark Rebellion</h1> BY HOMER GREENE AUTHOR OF “THE BLIND BROTHER,” “BURNHAM BREAKER,” ETC. <div class="pad6"><div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/logo.jpg" width-obs="38" height-obs="38" alt="logo" title="" /></div> </div> NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. PUBLISHERS <hr class="chap" /> Copyright, 1889, By Perry Mason & Co. Copyright, 1892, By T. Y. Crowell & Co. <hr class="chap" /> This Volume is Reverently Inscribed to the Memory OF Colonel OTIS BISBEE, Who, in his lifetime, was Principal of the Riverview Military Academy at Poughkeepsie, N. Y., and under whose guidance and instruction, long ago, two happy years were spent By the Author. <hr class="chap" /> <h2>CONTENTS.</h2> <table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> <col style="width: 20%;" /> <col style="width: 70%;" /> <col style="width: 10%;" /> <tr> <th class="smfontr">CHAPTER</th> <th class="tdl"></th> <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">I.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">A Loss of Temper</td> <td class="tdrb">7</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">II.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">Changing the Record</td> <td class="tdrb">28</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">III.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">An Impertinent Petition</td> <td class="tdrb">49</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">IV.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">The Order of the Black Star</td> <td class="tdrb">70</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">V.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">A Hapless Holiday</td> <td class="tdrb">89</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">VI.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">Quartered on a Haymow</td> <td class="tdrb">109</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">VII.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">The Return of the Fugitives</td> <td class="tdrb">128</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdrt">VIII.</td> <td class="tdl smcap">A General Amnesty</td> <td class="tdrb">148</td> </tr> </table> <hr class="chap" /> <h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> <div class="blockquot"> <table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> <tr><td class="tdl">“Anything else I can git for ye, young gentlemen?”</td></tr> <tr><td class="tdl">“These figures are correct. That is my true standing.”</td></tr> <tr><td class="tdl">He lay staring into the deep shadows, until it became impossible for him longer to remain quiet.</td></tr> </table></div> <hr class="chap" /> [7] </div> THE RIVERPARK REBELLION. <h2>CHAPTER I. A LOSS OF TEMPER.</h2> “Battalion, right forward, fours right, march! Guide left!” The command was sharp, distinct, soldierly. The first set of fours moved straight to the front with unhesitating firmness and uniformity of step; the orderly sergeant took his place to the left of the set with ease and rapidity. The remainder of the battalion broke into fours, wheeling to the right with promptness and precision, and in the next moment the entire column was on the march. The Riverpark Academy corps of cadets were the best-drilled troops outside of West Point. The uniform was dark blue; the belts, gloves, and shoulder-belts[8] were white, and the breastplates were of polished brass. The barrels of the cadets’ muskets glittered in the April sunlight, as they marched and counter-marched, wheeled to the right and left, marked time, and halted. There was a short interval of rest. The boys in the ranks talked freely, laughed, shouted at one another, leaning out from the line to do so, making strenuous efforts, nevertheless, to keep one foot in place, according to the rule. Major Drumlist, the drill-master, wiped the perspiration from his face, exchanged a few words with the members of his staff, and then called the troops to attention. He divided the battalion into four platoons, and placed each platoon in charge of an officer, with directions to instruct the men more thoroughly in the art of wheeling. Upton’s infantry tactics, which had recently been adopted in the United States Army, had but lately come into use at Riverpark; and as the excellence of the new system depended largely on the perfection attained in the wheelings, it seemed[9] necessary to give much time and attention to that particular branch. The third platoon, in the absence of Lieutenant Smeath, of Company B, was placed in charge of Adjutant Brightly, who marched his men to the southerly part of the parade-ground, and began a systematic drill, as directed. The adjutant was a lad of sixteen years. He was well-proportioned, stood erect, and looked the typical soldier throughout. He was well versed in the tactics and an excellent drill-master, but it was apparent that to-day he had little heart in his task. The men in the ranks noticed his indifference, and took advantage of it. The major came down to them in his round of inspection. “Lieutenant Brightly,” he said, “you are too easy with your men to-day. Give your commands as though you meant they should be obeyed, and see that strict discipline is maintained in the ranks.” This admonition roused the lad’s spirit,—not so much a spirit of emulation as of impatience at reproof. As the major passed on to the next platoon, Brightly became[10] more strict; but his severity was now apparently without effect. The loose discipline of the first ten minutes had so demoralized the men that they were awkward and slow, and it seemed impossible to keep them in good alignment while they were in motion. Now the centre would bow out and then in; now the pivot would turn too rapidly, or the flank break away and come crowding up with broken step. Nothing went well. The adjutant became heated, annoyed, impatient, and finally quite lost his temper. There was one man near the centre of the line who particularly vexed him. He was constantly either too far to the front or to the rear, or breaking touch toward the guiding flank. Brightly had spoken severely to him several times. At last he said,— “Belcher, if you don’t do better, I shall send you to the awkward squad. You are a disgrace to your company.” The boy looked out angrily from the ranks, and made as if to reply. [11] “Stop!” exclaimed the officer. “Not a word! There’s no possible excuse for you. You have eyes; you can see. You have arms; you can keep touch. Now pay attention to your duties.” Again the platoon was wheeled, and again Belcher pushed out ahead of the line, and broke it hopelessly in the centre. Brightly, who was at the pivot, watching the alignment, was exasperated beyond endurance. He passed swiftly down the front, and struck the flat of his sword against Belcher’s breastplate with force enough to make it clatter. “Keep back!” he shouted; “keep back! An idiot would know enough to keep the line!” The platoon was no sooner halted than Belcher stepped one pace to the front, and brought his hand up against his musket at the shoulder with a force that made it rattle, thus signifying his desire to speak. “Step back into the ranks, sir!” ordered Brightly. “Take your place, I say!” as the lad hesitated. “I’ll do what talking’s to be done, and you’ll obey orders!” [12] Belcher stepped back, muttering angrily, his face pale with passion and his eyes flashing fiercely. Up by the color-staff the bugle sounded the recall. The officers marched their platoons to common ground, wheeled them into line, and reported to the major. The battalion was then broken into companies, and these were marched to company grounds and dismissed by the first sergeants. Lieutenant Brightly crossed the parade-ground leisurely, entered the academy building, mounted three flights of stairs, and passed to his room in the southwest angle. He threw his cap, gloves, and sword on the bed, drew a chair to the window, seated himself, and looked listlessly out. The beautiful landscape, with the Hudson River in the distance, had little attraction for him. Indeed, nothing interested him that he could see either on land or water. It was evident that his mind was preoccupied, and the look of discontent and discouragement on his face showed that his thoughts were not pleasant ones. [13] There was a quick step in the hall, and presently Harple came into the room. Harple was Brightly’s room-mate. He and Brightly had roomed together for nearly two years, and aside from little wordy encounters carried on in jest rather than in earnest, they had never had a quarrel. Harple was captain of Company B. He was a good soldier, a good student, a good fellow, and as fond of Brightly as if they had been brothers. “Come on, Bright!” he exclaimed, as he entered. “Roberts and I are going to get a permit for a walk, and we’re going down to the pine grove. Come along with us; it’s a charming day, and we’ll have a good time.” “Oh, I don’t care about going out this afternoon, Charley; I’m too indolent. Besides, I have some letters to write;” and Brightly threw his arms up and locked his fingers behind his head with a yawn. “I’ll tell you what it is,” responded Harple, earnestly, “you’ll get indolent and careless and everything else if you keep on in this way. You haven’t been out[14] of the grounds for a week; you haven’t studied a lesson with vim for a fortnight; you haven’t cared for three months whether school kept or not. I tell you, Bright, you’ve got to brace up. If you keep this thing going much longer, you’ll wake up some day and find yourself—” The speaker paused for an appropriate word; then snapping his thumb and forefinger high in the air in such a way as to indicate something being sent whirling into space, he continued, “eliminated. Now you know what that means.” Brightly looked up, evidently annoyed. “I haven’t asked you for any advice, have I, Charley?” he said. “No, but I propose to give you some, all the same,” responded Harple, throwing his red-silk officer’s sash across the foot of his bed, and seating himself astride the only other chair in the room. “I’ve had this thing on my mind for some time,” he continued; “and to-day, when I saw you make such a fool of yourself with Belcher—pardon the expression—I concluded to let out on you. [15] “I can’t conceive what you’re thinking of, Bright! For a year and a half you were the A No. 1 fellow in this school; but for four months, without any reasonable cause, you’ve stood still in your tracks. You’ve kept up with your classes because you couldn’t help it; but you’ve sat and moped and growled till you’re fossilized and moulded, and the moss is growing on you. To-day you woke up long enough to get into an undignified squabble with a private in the ranks, and now you’re going to drop off to sleep again. Brace up, Bright! For goodness’ sake, brace up, and don’t let yourself go to the dogs this way!” Brightly looked a little surprised at first, then slightly indignant, and then, with a forced air of weariness, he replied,— “Don’t worry about me, Charley. I feel fully competent to take care of myself.” After a moment’s pause, he continued with more vigor: “But I will be obeyed in the ranks. Belcher was obstinate and ugly. I lost all patience with him, and I went further than I ought; I[16] admit that, but the circumstances were a sufficient excuse.” “No, they were not. They were aggravating; so much the more reason why you should hold your temper. You remember Colonel Silsbee warned us, when we were commissioned, to exercise patience as well as firmness, and to—” “Oh, don’t quote Colonel Silsbee to me! If he doesn’t want me to reprove his blockheads he’s not obliged to keep me in commission. He might as well have left me in the ranks in the first place, so far as that is concerned.” Harple drew his chair a trifle nearer. “Bright, look here! I know what the trouble is; it’s all about that matter of the appointments. You ought to have been captain of Company A,—I admit that freely; you deserved it on every account; but what’s the use in giving up to disappointment? You have a good thing as it is. There isn’t a more showy, responsible, soldierly position in the battalion than that of adjutant. And then there are only two of us who out-rank you,[17] Brede and I; and as for me, you know I’d lay down my sword and shoulder-straps and go back into the ranks to-morrow if it could help you, or bring you to yourself again.” “Oh, yes, I know that. I don’t care so much about your ranking me, Charley; that’s all right. You’re fitted to fill any position you get, and you deserve the best. It simply occurs to me that after a fellow has been here two years, and has stood at the head of the school in study-marks, and has behaved himself reasonably well, he shouldn’t be insulted by having such an egotistical fool as Brede is placed over him in rank.” “Well, Brede can’t really help being stuck up and silly; it’s in him. But he makes a good officer in many respects; he doesn’t get easily embarrassed, has plenty of self-esteem—” “Oh, yes, lots of it; struts around in his shoulder-straps as though he owned the school; is constantly showing his infinite superiority over everybody in general and me in particular. It’s a good thing I’m[18] on the staff and not under his immediate command. I wouldn’t stand his insolence for an hour. I detest the fellow,—absolutely detest him!” “Well, I’ll admit that he’s not a lovable character; but Colonel Silsbee had some good reason for making him the ranking cadet-officer, you may be sure, and it’s our duty as soldiers to accept the situation and make the best of it.” “Good reason, did you say? Good reason! Harple, I’ll tell you why Brede is captain and I’m only lieutenant; it’s because his father is a general in the army and worth a hundred thousand dollars, and my mother has to stint herself in order to pay for my schooling. Now, that’s what hurts me; it’s the rank injustice of it!” Brightly had risen to his feet, and was pacing the floor savagely. “Bright,” exclaimed his friend, “Bright, don’t say that! You do wrong to believe it; you can’t believe it. I tell you if it isn’t all a mistake there’s some good reason for it, and one that does no discredit to you, or to Colonel Silsbee either. Why can’t you[19] let it rest at that, Bright, and brace up. Get back to where you were three months ago, and stay there, and don’t give Brede and his set the chance to see you go to pieces. “And there’s another thing, too,” continued Harple, as Brightly seated himself again in the chair by the window. “I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble here before the term is over. There’s a kind of uneasiness among the boys; they’ve been up to a good deal of mischief lately, and the colonel’s drawing the lines pretty tight, and they’re chafing under ’em. It gets that way every year,—it seems to come in with the spring air; but I’ve never seen it so bad before as it is now. It wouldn’t take much to start a first-class insurrection. If such a storm comes, Bright, I don’t want you to get swept away in it. I’d be awfully sorry to see you lose your head entirely.” Brightly appreciated his friend’s unselfish anxiety and earnestness on his account, but he was not deeply impressed with Harple’s argument. There was a tender pitch[20] to his voice though, as he laughed a little, said he guessed there was no danger, and continued, more earnestly: “But I’m much obliged to you, Charley; you mean well by me, and you’re a good fellow. I’ll try not to disgrace you anyway.” “All right! I must go now; Roberts’ll wonder what’s become of me. Say, Bright,” turning back into the room, “look out for Belcher! He’s breathing out threatenings and slaughter against you. Keep your temper; don’t let him draw you into a quarrel,—he’s a bad lot. That’s all to-day. No charge. Good-by.” “Good-by.” At six o’clock, when the signal for retreat was sounded, a steady storm had set in, and the line was formed in the drill-hall. Brightly came down while the roll was being called, and, in the absence of the major, received the salutes and reports of the inferior staff-officers. It grew to be so dark in the hall that the wall lamps were lighted. After retreat the boys usually remained downstairs until the supper-bell[21] was rung; and to-night, on account of the storm, nearly every one was in the drill-hall. Some were gathered in groups, some promenaded up and down the hall, some ran about playing jokes on their companions. Among these last was a boy of twelve or fourteen, whom capricious nature had rendered so extravagantly obese that he resembled a great, overgrown baby. He had a round, good-natured face, a complexion as fair and rosy as a girl’s, and a voice that would have done credit to a miss of fifteen. When he walked or ran, the flesh on his body shook and tumbled about like jelly. Those upon whom his pranks were being played turned on him at last, a dozen of them, and backing him up against the wall, amused themselves by running full tilt against him and rebounding from his elastic body. Finally they dragged him to a corner of the drill-hall, where a large box stood on end, and hoisting him to the top of it with much roughness, they bent before him in mock reverence, hailing him as “His Fatness[22] the King of Hogland.” He beamed down upon them good-naturedly for a moment, and then replied, in his peculiar, falsetto voice,— “I thank you kindly, my dear little pigs. You shall have an extra allowance of pig-feed to-night to pay you for these marks of high esteem.” The next moment his round face took on a look of feigned horror; he rolled awkwardly down from his perch, and fled with ludicrous haste across the hall, followed by an increased crowd of tormentors. Brightly stood in a corner watching the rude play, and laughing listlessly. Captain Brede and Cadet Belcher were walking up and down the south side of the drill-hall, conversing together in low tones. “I wouldn’t stand it,” said Brede, looking furtively at Brightly as they passed. “I’d let him know he couldn’t insult me if I was in the ranks. And he struck you with his sword; why, I heard the blow myself. It’s an outrage,—it’s a brutal outrage. He wouldn’t use a man that way the second time that belongs to my company,[23] I can tell you; but Harple, your captain, why Harple’d lie down and roll over to let Brightly stamp on him. No, sir! You’ll never get any satisfaction unless you take it yourself.” Belcher looked across to where Brightly was still standing, as if measuring with his eye the muscular strength of the young adjutant. “I’ve a mind to tackle him now,” he said. “I can tell him what I think of him, anyway.” “I would; I’d do it. And if he gives you any of his impudence, slap his face for him. You’ve got a right to; he’s no better than you are, out of ranks. He deserves a good thrashing, anyway, and I’d like to see him get it.” They were crossing the hall now, toward Brightly. Belcher was working himself into an appropriate frame of mind for the attack on his intended victim. “Give it to him, Belch!” urged Brede again, in a whisper; “give it to him! I’ll stand by you. I’ll see you through it.” Thus encouraged, Belcher loosed his[24] hold on the captain’s arm and walked directly up to Brightly, while Brede, standing at a little distance from them, looked on with a cruel light in his gray eyes and a cruel smile on his thin lips. He did not care so much that Belcher should be protected as he did that Brightly should be punished. He was shrewd and unscrupulous; he was proud and boastful. By his craft he had gained standing in his studies; by his self-laudation he had gained a following in the school. But Brightly had seen through him, had measured him, had disliked him from the start. Brede knew it, and it angered him. He employed every means in his power to hurt Brightly without incurring the risk of a personal encounter. His triumph when he obtained the ranking cadet-office was great but short-lived. Brightly ignored him and snubbed him more after that than he ever had before, and this engendered hate in his heart. He longed to see this fellow humbled, subdued, punished, degraded. This was why he was urging Belcher on. He knew[25] that Belcher would probably get worsted in an encounter; he did not care for that if only Brightly were disgraced. Belcher stepped before the adjutant in a threatening attitude, with his hands clinched at his side. “I want to know,” he said, “what right you had to insult me in the ranks to-day, and to strike me with your sword?” Brightly folded his arms, and looked coolly at his antagonist. “I do not,” he replied, “explain my conduct as an officer to a private in the ranks.” “Your conduct as a bully!” exclaimed Belcher. “An officer who is a gentleman wouldn’t be guilty of doing what you did to-day. You were given the office of adjutant because it was a place where you could do the least mischief, and you wouldn’t have got that if your mother hadn’t come here and begged it for you. You got it out of pity.” Brightly’s eyes began to flash, but his arms still remained folded. “That’s a lie,” he said deliberately. [26] Already a crowd had gathered around the two boys. Some had heard Belcher’s loud words, others had scented the trouble from afar. They swarmed to the scene of conflict, as boys always do, like honey-bees to a field of clover. They were pressing in wildly toward the two disputants. They had expected a quarrel between them, and now it was on. They were bound to see and hear the whole of it. Belcher had worked himself into a white heat. “Officer!” he exclaimed sarcastically; “officer! You’re nothing but a cowardly bully!” Brightly’s arms were loosed and dropped to his side. His face grew pale. His fingers twitched convulsively, the veins on his forehead stood out dark and prominent. “One more word,” he said slowly, “and I’ll strike you.” “A hundred words if you like,” replied Belcher, passionately, “and strike if you dare! I repeat it that you’re a cowardly bully and a disgrace to—” [27] He had not time to finish the sentence. Brightly’s hand came up like a flash; but his stroke was parried and returned. Blows fell from each in quick succession; then the combatants clinched, and the next moment they were struggling in each other’s arms with the fury of wild beasts. <hr class="chap" /> [28] </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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