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  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  BEFORE THE BOAT-RACE--CLUMP'S STORY.

  The _day_ before the eighteenth was a Monday. In consideration ofbeginning a week's study to have it broken off again on Tuesday, andbecause of the many preparations there were to make for the great day,Mr Clare gave us the two holidays. We had our swim and boat-practiceon Monday morning, and then set to work to make arrangements for thenext day, every one taking a part with real zest. First the boat wascarefully hauled up on the shore, and turned over on a way of joists wehad prepared for her. The bottom was then carefully washed, and, afterthat, thoroughly rubbed with the sand-paper--about an hour's work, atwhich we all had a hand. Having got the sides and keel beautifullysmooth in that way, Clump brought a kettle of pure grease, which wasplaced over a little fire of driftwood, and when the grease had becomeliquid, Walter, with a large fine paint-brush, anointed the entireboat's bottom in a most painstaking manner. We boys stood by, enteringinto the operation, which was supposed to prove wonderfully efficaciousin increasing our boat's speed, with great interest, and Clump bent overthe kettle, stirring the oil, and puffing at the short stern of his pipeeagerly.

  Grouped with such absorbing concern about the body of the boat, Waltermoving slowly from stem to stern, and stern to stem, laying on the magicoil, (unctuous of victory to our noses), with steady sweeps, and thebent figure of black old Clump beside the caldron, from which rose acurling smoke, we must have made a tableau of heathen offeringsacrifice, or some other savage mystery.

  The all-important job was at length completed, and we left our ark ofmany hopes to rest until the exciting hour of the morrow.

  Clump was a sharer in our great expectations. His heart was set uponour success. He had to fill his pipe again before we left the boat, andpulled at it nervously and wrinkled his black skin into countlesspuckers as he walked beside us, thinking of the vast interests at stakeand listening to our excited conversation. As we left him to go over tothe town for a small cannon we had borrowed to fire the signals, hetouched Walter on the sleeve, and said in the most slow and earnestmanner, as he drew the pipe from his mouth and knocked its ashes on theground--

  "An I'se to be judge an' udder ting you'se talk of, Massa Walter, eh?An I'se to fire de gun, eh? W-a-all, I'se an ole nigger, an my heartees shree-veled up like, I s'pose, but my gorry, young massas, ef youdon't beat, old Clump will jist loaden up do musket again an'--an'--an'_but_ 'is 'ed agin de rock! Yah, fur sure!"

  Having delivered himself of that tragical decision in a manner mixed ofsadness and frenzy, he hobbled off, amidst our laughter and assurancesthat we should never allow him to injure the rock in that way, toconsult with Juno, and probably load his pipe again.

  No noble lord, with his thousands of pounds wagered on the Derby orSaint Leger, or perhaps, rather, I should say on some of the crackyachts of the day, was ever half so excited as was this good old darkyabout our boat-race.

  Under the escort of Walter, Harry, Alfred, and Drake, the cannon arrivedin the afternoon, and, by their united efforts and the assistance of theCaptain, was mounted before sundown on a heavy piece of timber in the_Clear the Track's_ bow.

  By night the flags, ammunition, and many other necessaries for themorrow's undertaking were in order and readiness for service.

  After the day's work, and filled with anticipations of the eventfulmorrow, we felt no desire for our usual outdoor games that evening, butfound seats on the great boulder beside our house, where Mr Clare wasresting, and the Captain was enjoying his smoke. Old Clump, too, havingfinished his tea and swept out Juno's kitchen, loitered toward us withhis comforter--the pipe--and edged up respectfully within hearing of ourconversation. So we boys leaned on our elbows, looking out at the dimlydefined water, sometimes lighted in streaks by gleams of phosphorescencewhere shoals of fish were jumping; or, stretched on our backs, wewatched the shooting-stars hurrying with speed quick as thought from onepart of the immeasurable blue to another; while our tutors talkedearnestly of former times, and we heard the shrill calls of gulls andother sea birds, the occasional tender bleating of the lambs in thedistant sheepfold, and the soft regular splash of a summer sea on therocks, until the delicate young crescent had dozed slowly down to itsbed in the ocean,--and we, profiting by example, sought slumber in theold dreamful attic.

  Harry Higginson was the first one up in the morning. He shook us to oursenses, and whispered to get out of the house quietly, that we mightcall our tutors with the cannon's voice. That was an acceptableproposition, and we were soon stealing down the creaking stairs, shoesin hand. Having put those on, seated by the door-stone, we started on arun for the _Clear the Track_. It was just light, the soft dawn of awarm summer's day--not yet half-past four. Walter said he would bet oldSol had already fired a gun in honour of the glorious battle won thatday by England and her Allies, but so far off we could not hear it.

  We got on board the wreck as carefully as we had quitted the house, andI, being delegated to descend to the Captain's cabin and steal one ofthe flannel powder cartridges, was soon creeping by the snoring Captainwith my booty secured. It took but a moment to ram home the charge andpack it over with pockets full of wadding; and then Harry, our gunner,touched it off. As the old brig shook with the report, Alfred jumped tothe bell, and the way that clanged was splendid.

  "Boys," said Drake, who was shaking with the fun, "can't you see oldtopgallant sail down below springing up in his berth with a lurch andcracking his head against the beams, and our dignified fresh tutejerking those long, thin legs out of bed, and wondering what's about tohappen this fine morning, and old Clump and Juno groaning out `O deLord!' and knocking their black pates together as they both try to getout of bed at the same instant. How jolly!"

  An immense red bandanna handkerchief at that moment popped above thecompanionway--then a hearty, weather-marked face we well knew--then aportion of an ample East Indian nightshirt, which threw up a pair ofarms and fired off a couple of boarding-pistols. The discharge wasfollowed by a stentorian "Three cheers for the great and glorious battlewon this day!--hip! hip! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" in which we fellowsjoined with a yell.

  "Ah! you young rascals have got before me this morning, but thisafternoon it will be my turn--mine and Mr Clare's, you roysteringmiddies!" and the Captain popped down again to finish his toilet.

  We were soon joined by the Captain, and a little while after by MrClare, who was in the best of spirits, complimented us on our display ofzeal and patriotism, and touched off the old gun once himself--"forpractice," he said.

  "But," continued the jolly old Captain, having taken Mr Clare's arm,"suppose we visit Ethiopia and see if a hot breakfast is not waiting forus there. These boys would rather stay here and load this cannon."

  "No sir, no sir!" replied Harry, "we must load our own personal guns,for we mean to make our _report_ this afternoon."

  Laughing over that threat to our tutors, we went with them to breakfast,which we found ready as soon as our morning prayers were read. Clumpbrought in the dishes--Clump in uniform--and I never saw a funnierfigure in my life. The coat was once my grandfather's--a colonel ofWest India Militia, I believe. Now my grandfather had been a rathershort man, but very broad and stout, particularly round the stomach.Old Clump was tall and thin as a spectre, so the epaulettes fell overhis shoulders, the waist flapped loosely eight inches above histrousers, and the short swallow-tails did not sufficiently cover thespot which the venerable darky usually placed on the chair to hide apatch, the bigness of a frying-pan and of a different material from thebreeches themselves, that Juno's affectionate care had strengthened herliege lord's garments with--which garments, far more pastoral thanmilitary, and forced by suspenders as near the coat as Clump's anatomyotherwise would allow, failed by three inches of woollen stocking tomeet his shoes. When you think how comical the excellent, old,white-woolled darky appeared, remember, too, that he was perfectlyunconscious, until our laughter startled him, that he was not becominglyattired.

  A
s our irrepressible appreciation of the fun was shouted out, Clump didnot realise at first that he was its cause, but when he did all thepride and alacrity died from his face in an instant. In a bewildered,palsied way he put down the dish he carried, and, heaving a sad sigh,drew himself up until the rheumatic spine must have twinged, and, fixinghis eyes on some point far above our head, stood in motionless dignity.

  Even Mr Clare had laughed, but, recovering equanimity immediately thathe saw how deeply Clump was wounded, he said:

  "Boys, stop that laughing." He might have addressed his reproof to theCaptain, too, for he was in paroxysms, and had his face buried in thecountless flags of that great red silk bandanna of his. "Is it so veryfunny to see Clump doing honour to a day once so big with the fate ofEngland and the world? Had the Allies been beaten at Waterloo, whatmight not have become of our beloved country? Instead of Napoleon beingan exile in Saint Helena, he might have carried out his darling projectof invading and humbling England to the dust. Though he cares no morefor the Pope of Rome than does the Sultan of Turkey or the Shah ofPersia, he would probably have established Popery with all its horrorsand impositions, for the sake of more completely bringing our countryinto subjection to his will; and, once established, it would have been ahard matter to throw off its iron shackles. Boys, you do notsufficiently value your privileges as Englishmen and Protestants--orrather, I should say, as inhabitants of this free and favoured island ofGreat Britain. We are free to read our Bibles; we are free to worshipGod as we think fit; we are free to go and come as we list; we have agood constitution and good laws; we may think freely, speak freely, andact freely."

  "Yes, Massa Clare; you may tell de young gemmen dey may laff freelytoo," broke in Clump. "I laff freely, I know, when I first set foot onde English land. I no longer slave, I free man, and so dey may laff asmuch as dey likes at ole Clump, perwided dey laffs wid him. I know oneting, dey would not have laff if dey had been in deir grandfather's coatwhen dis hole was made right through it into his arm." Clump held uphis right arm and showed the bullet-hole in the coat, and what hedeclared to be the stain of blood still on it; and he then continued ina triumphant strain--

  "Dis ole man Clump was 'is body-sarvant: but Clump was not ole den, andhe follow his massa to de war--dat was long, long before dose younggemmen was born--afore dey was tinked of--and Massa Tregellin deir faderwas young gemmen like dose, but more politer. We was sent wid de seamento take de island of Martinique; and so we landed and looked beryfierce, and de Frenchmen thought we had come to eat dem; so dey say, nouse fighting; and so, after firing a great many shot at us; but doing noharm, dey say when we land, `We give in, we no fight more.' So we takede island, and no one hurt except one man scratch anoder's nose wid hisbagonet, and make blood come. When de generals and de admirals see wedone so well, dey say we go and take anoder island; so we all sets sailfor to take Guadeloupe. Some of de ships got in one day, some anoder,and anchored in Grozier Bay. Ah, de enemy thought we come to eat himup, but dis time he stop. Dere was de frigate _Winchelsea_, of whichLord Garlies was de cap'en. He tun in, and bring his guns to bear on deshore, and under deir cover de soldiers and de bluejackets landed. Derewas a high hill, wid de fort full of French soldiers on de top of it.`Dere, my brave fellow, we have to go up dere,' said de Kunnel. Deseamen was commanded by Cap'en Robert Faulkner. He bery brave man. Icould just tall you how many brave tings he did; how he lash de bowspritof de enemy to his own mainmast, and neber let her go till he took her,and den was shot through de heart in de hour of victory. Well, degen'ral say to us--`Now, boys, we don't want firing, but just let deenemy feel de cold steel. Dey don't like dat. Soldiers, use bagonets.Bluejackets, use your pikes and cutlashes.' `Ay, ay, sir,' we shout;and den up de hill we go--up! up! De faster we go de better for us, forde French bullets come down peppering pretty sharp. We just near detop, and de enemy begin to look bery blue, when I see de Kunnel's rightarm drop--he was only a cap'en den--his sword fell from his hand, but heseize it wid de oder hand, and wave it above his head, shouting, `On,boys, on.' We reach de fort: de Frenchmen fire wid de guns, and poke atus wid de pikes, and swear at us wid deir mouds, and grapeshot andmusket-balls come rattling down about our heads; but dat no stop us; andon we went till we got into de fort, and trou de gates, and den deFrenchmen, who had fought bery well, but could fight no more, rushedaway. Just den I see de Kunnel look bery pale, just like one niggerwhen he frightened, and he goed round and round, and would hab fallen,but Clump caught him in de arms, and den Clump put him on de ground, andshouted for de doctor, and ran and got some water, and de doctors cameand splashed water in de Kunnel's face, and he oped his eyes, and hesay, `Tank you, Clump.' Yes, de Kunnel, dis ole nigger's massa, tankhim on de field of battle. When de dear Massa got better, he one daytake de coat and say to me, `Here, Clump, you and I went up dat hill,and it's a mercy we eber came down again. It's my belief if you hadn'tgot de water dat day to throw in my face, I should never have come roundagain; and so, Clump, here, take dis coat, I'll gub tur you to r'memberdis fite.' And now dese gemmen laff at deir gran'pa's coat! but blackClump, ole nigger, _lub_ it! Yaas, he'll lub it till he's 'posited inde bowels ob de arth."

  The remembrance of my grandfather and that proud day for Clump, thekeenness with which he had felt our rudeness, and the excitement ofrecital were, all together, too much for our good old castellan. Theerectness of his figure gave way as he concluded, the enthusiasm in hisfeatures faded into dejection, and, as he turned from the table to leavethe room, I saw a big drop, that had trickled down his wrinkled face,fall on his extended hand.

  The cruelty of boys is an idiosyncrasy in their otherwise generouscharacter. Of course there are mean boys, hard-hearted boys, cowardlyboys; but Boyhood is more generous, open, tender-hearted, daring, thanManhood, yet its cruelty stands out a distinguishing trait. An oldFrench teacher, loving children, wanting in dignity, broken in English,irritable in disposition; a sensitive young stranger, fresh from home,charming in innocence, sad with thoughts of a dear mother; a poor,frightened kitten, are all objects for boys' cruelty to gloat over.

  And so, too, on the oddities of that dear old Clump, that excellent,noble-hearted old black man, who loved us with surpassing pride andtenderness, we delighted to prey on as vultures on a carcass, and yet, Iam sure, we were neither vicious nor hard-hearted, but simply andentirely--Boys.

  All this time, since our Saturday afternoon, when the fight overset ourboat, Alfred Higginson and Drake had not spoken to one another. Thiseighteenth of June, even, Drake did not wake Alfred, but left others ofus to do so. Thrown together so intimately every minute of the day, andso often on the point of speaking--often almost necessitated to do so bycircumstances, and frequently through forgetfulness--their unfortunatedifficulty and enmity stole the freshness from their sports, and actedas a check and damper on the spirits of all our little company.However, the _finale_ was not far-distant, but it was postponed untilafter the boat-race.