The Riverpark Rebellion
leaped over, and passed into the fields beyond. He was too greatly astonished by the act to realize at once what it meant. Then it occurred to him that these lads had broken into open rebell
r fifty of them-have leaped the south fence, and
m his chair, and the blood
sible!" he
If you'll step this way, you can see
inking back into his chair. The blood had already
f us to hurry out and intercept their fl
repent of it sooner if allowed to take their own course. I
and to take no notice of the affair until the boys return. They will doubtless be with us again before night, and then we will consult
r a few more words, the other teach
ndows of the building to watch the fleeing rebels; others were examining the fence where the runaways had leaped over or crawle
n hand, as was his custom, to conduct the morning service. He took his seat at the desk, laid his book down in front of him, and looked around over the half-empt
his lips. Harple was in his accustomed place; he was glad of that,-he had placed much confidence in Harple.
er. They saw that he was suffering; they feared that he was trying to suppress intense anger; and th
t, and, after a moment's silence, went on with the morning Scripture lesson and prayer. After this he went back to his office, and
and whispering groups. Where had the fugitives gone, and what punishmen
rous. The rebellion and flight were spoken of in hushed t
ee them come straying back in time for dinner; but the dinner-hour passed, and they did not come. The afterno
hered in the south windows, to watch for the return of the holiday-seekers. No one dreamed that they would not come back before nightfall. There
t to let them return at will. Consequently he had sent no messengers for them, and no message
ad heard of them in the afternoon,-that they were on the high-road going toward New Hornbury. He thought they would probably return in the same
sounded, and again only the boys who had remained
h the boys thought they had seen on his face in the morning had now given way to one of
se younger boys who have been led away thoughtlessly into this folly I have much anxiety and pity; but for those who are older, and who ought to be wiser, I know of no excuse. There must come a day of retribution for them, and their punishment will be seve
have never experienced anything like this before. It is not I alone who suffer; there are fathers and mothers who will be
s be with us again, and in the hard, unhappy days that must come for them, we shall look to you, you wh
ion from the Psalms; but in the prayer his voi
d the boys, some of them furtively wiping tear
d and somewhat amusing account of the rebellion and flight. A special telegram to the paper from New Hornbury, dated the previous night, was to the effect that the rebe
ontaining the runaways had been swamped, and several of the boys drowned; but t
ny longer improbable. But how desolate it seemed at the school! How funereal everything was, how quiet! There were no games going on; there was no sound of merry voices, no boisterous la
surprise at the sudden departure of the rebellious company had given way to pain and consternation when he learned that Brightly was a member o
r whom, indeed, he would have laid down his sword and shoulder-straps any day, if that would have saved him,-Brightly was lo
narrow floor of his room. At last he dashed from his eyes the tears that had star
llen irregularly during the morning hours, had now set in again more steadi
in the hall below him. There were quick steps and excited voices. Outside
p from the street leading to the river, and clim
ebellious glee. Their torn clothes were drenched with the rain and splashed with red mud. Their soiled faces were haggard and weatherbeaten, and bore
approval. Those who saw them come and were waiting to welcome them, were too greatly sh
, with his face in his hands, and waited for his friend.
" he said, as he entered th
r, took one of Brightly's hands in his, put his arm around Brightly's neck, and laid his face against Brightly's wet, cold chee
's been terrib
d spoken, that no admonition was needed from him. He helped Brightly to remove his w
sleeves. Then he took these, and his sword and sash, and went downstairs. He crossed through the private hall to Colonel Silsbee's office door
them any more. I have worn them unworthily. There was no excuse for
t before. I did not change them; I don't know, certainly, who did. I would like to have them put back as they were. I hope it won't be necessary to send me away. I look at things very differently from wh
He had spoken with painful
olonel Silsbee again he knew there was no danger of it. The man, with his sympathetic nature, had divined t
r with the rest, but-I am glad you came. I sha
too. He turned his face away and resumed his seat, and
and prayer as usual, but made no remarks. He merely gave to the officer of the day, for record, a slip of paper which
utant, reducing permanently to the ranks all officers, both comm
rk. He had not been seen by any one connected with the academy since his departure northward on the train from New Hornb
ht, that those of the boys who were not yet asleep heard an unusual commotion downstairs. There w
was in the guard-house. This was a cell-like room, on the second floor, in a remote corner of the building, with one
had even so much as seen it. The guard-house was always spoken of with an indefinable shiver, and an unpleasant thought of bread and water and
lled with the keeper of the place, had been taken in charge by the police and marched to the station-house, where the police captain had recognized him; and on account of his youth and the disgrace which w
f vice and crime, spoke of it in whispers. Indeed, there were some who har
n upon him that he was obliged to ask for an excuse before the evening session was half through, that he might go to his
he transom over the door, a flickering light. He thought it
ght of fire. He darted to the door, pushed it
hted candle in his hand, and the mattress in
ned. Seeing who confronted him, he dropped the candle and made a savage spring towa
heir struggles they reached the landing at the head of the stairs,