Chapter Five
The New Captain is discussed on Land and Water
The doctor’s announcement was not long in taking effect. As soon as third school was over that afternoon the monitors assembled in the Sixth Form room to discuss the situation. Fortunately for Riddell’s peace of mind, he was not present; but nearly all the others, whether friendly or otherwise, were there.
Game, with his usual downrightness, opened the ball.
“Well, you fellows,” said he, “what are you going to do?”
“Let’s have a game of leapfrog while the fags aren’t looking,” said Crossfield, a schoolhouse monitor and a wag in a small way.
“It’s all very well for you to fool about,” said Game, ill-temperedly. “You schoolhouse fellows think, as long as you get well looked after, Willoughby may go to the dogs.”
“What do you mean?” said Fairbairn. “I don’t think so.”
“I suppose you’d like to make out that Riddell is made captain because he’s the best man for the place, and not because the doctor always favours the schoolhouse,” snarled Wibberly.
“He’s made captain because he’s head classic,” replied Fairbairn; “it has nothing to do with his being a schoolhouse fellow.”
“All very well,” said Tucker, of Welch’s, “but it’s a precious odd thing, all the same, that the captain is always picked out of the schoolhouse.”
“And it’s a precious odd thing too,” chimed in Crossfield, “that a head classic was never to be got out of Welch’s for love or money!”
This turned the laugh against the unlucky Tucker, who was notoriously a long way off being head classic.
“What I say is,” said Game, “we want an all-round man for captain — a fellow like Bloomfield here, who’s well up in the Sixth, and far away the best fellow in the eleven and the boats. Besides, he doesn’t shut himself up like Riddell, and give himself airs. I can’t see why the doctor didn’t name him. The only thing against him seems to be that he’s not a schoolhouse gentleman.”
“That’s the best thing about him in my opinion,” said Ashley.
If Game and his friends had determined to do their best to gain friends for the new captain, this constant bringing-up of the rivalry between Parrett’s house and the schoolhouse was the very way to do it. Many of the schoolhouse monitors had felt as sore as anybody about the appointments, but this sort of talk inclined not a few of them to take Riddell’s side.
“I don’t want any row made on my account,” said Bloomfield. “If Paddy thinks Riddell’s the best man, we have no choice in the matter.”
“Haven’t we, though!” said Wibberly. “We aren’t going to have a fellow put over our heads against our will — at any rate, not without having a word in the matter.”
“What can you do?” asked Coates.
“We can resign, I suppose?” said Tucker.
“Oh, yes!” said Crossfield. “And suppose Paddy took you at your word, my boy? Sad thing for Welch’s that would be!”
“I don’t know why you choose to make a beast of yourself whenever I speak,” said Tucker, angrily; “I’ve as much right—”
“Shut up, Tucker, for goodness’ sake!” said Bloomfield; “don’t begin by quarrelling.”
“Well, then, what does he want to cheek me for?” demanded Tucker. “He’s a stuck-up schoolhouse prig, that’s what he is!”
“And if I only had the flow of costermonger’s talk which some people possess—” began Crossfield.
“Are you going to shut up or not?” demanded Bloomfield.
“Hullo! you aren’t captain yet, old man!” replied the irrepressible Crossfield; “but if you want to know, I am going to shut up now till I want to speak again.”
“We might get up a petition to the doctor, anyhow,” suggested Game, returning to the subject; “he’d have to take notice of that.”
“What will you say in the petition?” asked Porter.
“Oh! easy enough that. Say we don’t consider Riddell fit to be captain, and we’d sooner have some one else.”
“Better say we’d sooner have Bloomfield at once,” said Wibberly.
“No; please don’t mention my name,” said Bloomfield.
“Wouldn’t the best thing be to send Riddell back with a label, ‘Declined, with thanks,’ pinned on his coat-tail?” suggested Crossfield.
“Yes; and add, ‘Try again, Paddy,’” said Coates, laughing.
“And just mention no schoolhouse snobs are wanted,” said Tucker.
“And suggest, mildly, that a nice, clever, amiable, high-principled Welcher like Tom Tucker would be acceptable,” added Crossfield.
“Look here,” said Tucker, very red in the face, advancing towards his tormentor, “I’ve stood your impudence long enough, you cad, and I won’t stand any more.”
“Sit down, then,” replied Crossfield, cheerfully, “plenty of forms.”
“Look here, you fellows,” said Bloomfield again, “for goodness’ sake shut up. Have it out afterwards if you like, but don’t fight here.”
“I don’t mind where I have it out,” growled Tucker, “but I’ll teach him to cheek me, see if I don’t.”
So saying, much to the relief of every one, he turned on his heel and left the room.
After this the discussion again got round to Riddell, and the question of a petition was revived.
“It would be quite easy to draw something up that would say what we want to say and not give offence to any one,” said Ashley.
“But what do you want to say?” asked Fairbairn. “If you want to tell the doctor he’s wrong, and that we are the people to set him right, I don’t see how you can help offending him.”
“That’s not what we want to say at all,” said Game. “We want to say that the captain of Willoughby has always been a fellow who was good all round, and we think the new captain ought to be of the same sort for the sake of the school.”
“Hear, hear,” said one or two of Parrett’s house; “what could be better than that?”
“Well,” said Porter, “I don’t see much difference between saying that and telling the doctor he doesn’t know what he’s about.”
“Of course
“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Fairbairn, warmly; “you know that as well as I do, Wibberly.”
“I know it is,” retorted Wibberly; “you’d put up with anybody as long as he wasn’t a Parrett fellow.”
And so the wrangle went on; and at the end of it the company was as near agreeing as they had been at the beginning.
Finally one or two of the schoolhouse fellows, such as Fairbairn, Coates, and Porter, withdrew, and the Parrett faction, having it then pretty much their own way, drew up the following petition:
“We the undersigned monitors respectfully hope you will reconsider your decision as to the New Captain. The captain has hitherto always been an ‘all-round man,’ and we think it would be best for the discipline of the school to have a fellow of the same sort now. We wish to say nothing against Riddell except that we do not think he is the best fellow for the position. We hope you will excuse us for stating our opinion.”
To this extraordinary document all the monitors of Parrett’s and Welch’s houses present put their names, as well as Gilks and one or two others of the schoolhouse, and after deciding not to present it till next day, by which time it was hoped other signatures might be procured, the august assembly broke up.
The reign of Riddell had not, to say the least of it, opened auspiciously as far as his fellow-monitors were concerned. And outside that body, in Willoughby at large, things did not look much more promising.
The feeling in Parrett’s house was of course one of unmingled wrath and mutiny. When once the heads of the house were known to have declared so unmistakably against the new captain, it was not much to be wondered at that the rank and file followed their lead in a still more demonstrative manner.
It happened that Parson and his friends, Telson (who, though a schoolhouse boy, seemed to live most of his life in Parrett’s), King, Wakefield, and Lawkins, had planned a little expedition up the river between third school and “call-over” that afternoon, and the present state of affairs in the school formed a rather lively topic of discussion for these worthies as they pulled the Parrett’s “Noah’s Ark”—by which complimentary title the capacious boat devoted to the use of the juniors of the house was known — lazily up on the tide towards Balsham.
The river was pretty full, as usual at that time of day, and as one form which the wrath of the youthful Parretts took was to insult, and if opportunity arose, to run down the craft of either of the other houses, the discussion on the condition of Willoughby was relieved by more than one lively incident.
“Think of that chap being captain,” said Parson, standing up on the back seat, with the rudder-lines in his hands so as to command a good view of the stream ahead. “He couldn’t row as well as old Bosher there.”
As “old Bosher” was at that moment engaged in super-human efforts to keep his balance with one hand, and extricate his oar, which had feathered two feet under the surface of the water, with the other, this illustration was particularly effective and picturesque.
“Oh, he’s an awful cad,” said Wakefield, who was rowing bow. “He reported me to Wyndham last term for letting off crackers in bed.”
“What a beastly shame!” was the sympathising chorus.
“And you know—” added King.
But as Bosher fell rather violently backward into his lap at this instant, and let his oar go altogether, what King was going to say did not come out.
After a vast amount of manoeuvring, back-watering, shouting, and reaching to recover the lost oar, the voyage proceeded.
They had not proceeded far when the racing-boat of their house, manned by Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Ashley, and coached from the bank by Mr Parrett himself, spun past them in fine style and at a great rate. As became loyal Parretts, the juniors pulled into the bank to let the four-oar pass, and, not content with this act of homage, they volunteered a round of vehement applause into the bargain.
“Bravo! Well rowed, our house! Two to one on Parrett’s! Three cheers for Bloomfield! Three cheers for the captain! Hooroo!”
With this gratifying salute the boat darted out of sight round the bend, leaving the juniors once more to continue on their festive way.
“Isn’t old Bloomfield a stunner?” said Lawkins. “He’s the sort of fellow for captain! Not that schoolhouse idiot, Riddell.”
“Easy all there about the schoolhouse,” shouted down Telson from his place at stroke. “I’ll fight you if you say it again.”
“Hurrah! let’s land and have a mill!” cried King. “I back you, Telson, old man.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to cheek you, Telson,” said Lawkins, humbly. “I’ll apologise, you know.”
“Jolly good job,” said Telson, grandly, “or I’d have licked you.”
“All the same,” said Lawkins, “old Bloomfield’s—”
“Look out now!” suddenly broke in Parson, who had been gradually getting excited where he stood; “there’s the Welchers coming! Pull hard, you fellows, or they’ll cut us out. Now then! Row, Bosher, can’t you, you old cow? Yah! hoo! Welchers ahoy!” he cried, raising his voice in tones of derisive defiance. “Yah! boo! herrings and dough-nuts, jolly cowards, daren’t wait for us! Booh, funk-its!”
With such taunts the Hector of Parrett’s endeavoured to incite the enemy to battle. And the enemy, if truth must be told, needed very little persuasion, especially as the crew in question consisted of Cusack, Pilbury, and the three other ill-starred victim of the raid of two days ago.
They lay on their oars and waited for the foe to come up, Cusack shouting meanwhile, “Who’d be afraid of a pack of thieves like you!
A few strokes brought the two boats level, and then, as they lay side by side at oar’s distance, ensued a notable and tremendous splashing match, which was kept up with terrific vigour on both sides, until not only was every combatant splashed through, but the two boats themselves were nearly swamped.
Then, after either side had insultingly claimed the victory, the boats separated, and the dripping warriors parted with a final broadside.
“There you are, take that, and go and tell the captain!” shouted Parson.
“You wouldn’t dare do it if Bloomfield was captain,” retorted the Welchers. “We’ll have him captain, then see how you’ll smile! Yah! bah!”
And, amid terrific cat-calling on either side, the crews parted.
This last taunt was a sore one for the young Parretts. It had never occurred to them that Bloomfield, if he were captain, might perhaps spoil their sport more than Riddell. But it was only a passing annoyance. After all they were Parretts, and Bloomfield was their man, whether he spoiled their sport or not. Telson had no objection to this sentiment as long as no one presumed “to cheek the schoolhouse” in uttering it. Whenever that was done he insisted on his unalterable determination to fight the offender unless he swallowed his words, which the offender usually did.
The tide was getting slack, and it was time for them to turn if they were to be in for “call-over.” Just, however, as they were about to do so, a shout behind attracted them, and they became aware of another four-oared boat approaching with the schoolhouse flag in the prow. It came along at a fair pace, but with nothing like the style which had marked the Parretts’ boat.
The crew consisted of Fairbairn, Porter, Coates, and Gilks, with Crossfield steering: the first time a complete schoolhouse crew had appeared on the river this year.
The blood of the young Parretts was up, and the credit of their house was in question.
“Put it on now,” said Parson to his men, as the schoolhouse boat came up. “Show ’em what you can do! Now then, slide into it! Race ’em!”
And the young heroes laid into their work and made Noah’s Ark forge along at an unwonted pace. Parson busily encouraged them, varying his exhortations by occasional taunts addressed to the other boat.
“Now then,” he shouted, “two to one on us. Come on, you there, jolly schoolhouse louts—”
“Parson, I’ll fight you if you say it again,” interposed Telson by way of parenthesis.
“Oh, beg pardon, old man. Pull away, you fellows! Parretts for ever! No Riddell for us! Three cheers for Bloomfield! You’re gaining, you fellows. Oh, well pulled indeed our boat!”
The schoolhouse boat had slackened speed, and paddling gently alongside, was taking careful note of these audacious youngsters, who, puffing and plunging along, fully believed they were beating the picked four of the rival house by their own prowess.
The big boys seemed amused on the whole, and good-humouredly kept up the semblance of a race for about half a mile, taking care to give the challenging crew a wide berth.
At last, after about ten minutes had been spent in this way, and when the young champions were all, except Parson, fairly exhausted, Crossfield took out his watch and said to his crew, winking as he did so, “Time we turned, you fellows; it’s five o’clock. Easy all, pull bow side! back water, stroke!”
And so saying, the schoolhouse boat suddenly turned round and started off at a smart pace down stream, where it was soon out of reach of the parting taunts and opprobrious noises which Parson, for the credit of his house, continued to hurl at its crew till they were beyond earshot.
Then it suddenly began to occur to these elated young navigators that if it had been time for the four-oar to turn three minutes ago it was possibly time for them to turn also.
“What did he say the time was?” asked King.
“Five o’clock!” said Lawkins.
“Five o’clock! and call-over is at 5:20! We can’t do it in the time!” exclaimed Parson, aghast.
“My eye, what a row there’ll be,” groaned Telson. “I’ve been late for call-over twice this week already, and I’m certain to get reported now!”
“So shall I be,” said Bosher.
“It’s all a vile dodge of those schoolhouse cads,” exclaimed King. “I mean,” said he (perceiving that Telson was about to make a remark), “of those cads. They did it on purpose to make us late. I see it all now. And then they’ll report us. Ugh! did you ever know such blackguards?”