great excitement.—what is it?—pat busy among the small boys.—a great supper, and a sudden interruption.—the midnight knell.—general uproar.—flight of the grand panjandrum.—a solemn time.—in the dark.—bold explorers.—the cupola, and the abyss beneath.—the discovery.
that afternoon pat was very busy among the smaller boys. he asked them many questions about the noise in the attic, and found there was great terror among them. for the noises had been heard both on saturday night and sunday night by those who were in that building; and they were so terrified that they would not have staid there a third night if the other boys had not come back. a superstitious awe had settled down deep into their minds, and they conversed with one another on this subject in subdued whispers.
pat found them in this condition, and managed to make them still more terrified before he left them. some of them were anxious to tell one of the teachers about it all; but pat dissuaded them by declaring that it would be of no use, and that they would only be laughed at for their pains.
many of the other boys also, on coming back, felt a return of their former fear, and looked forward to the approach of night with some uneasiness. pat made himself quite busy with these boys, too; and although he said nothing very directly, yet he made many mysterious hints that implied a great deal. he alluded to his own fearful position, with his bed in that very garret, separated by only a board partition from the dark haunts of the mystery. he spoke of his past experience; and it seemed as though, if he only chose, he could easily unfold a tale whose lightest word would harrow up their souls. only he didn’t. the boys begged him to tell all. but pat wouldn’t. he shook his head with deep and solemn meaning. and the boys looked on him with a profounder awe. and pat, when he went up to his haunted chamber, was regarded as some poor victim on his way to his doom.
pat, however, was not regarded in this light by all. some there were who held aloof from this feeling of awe. among these was bart, who could not help noticing pat’s movements, and was very much impressed by them, though in a way very different from that in which the other boys were affected. he saw how pat managed to stimulate the excited imaginations of others without saying anything directly, and heard him lament most lachrymosely his hard fate in having to occupy a room in so fearful a place. he happened to be near the group to which pat was talking, and could not help saying,—
“well, pat, my room’s just underneath yours, and if anything happens, you can take refuge with me. i’ll give you a sofa for the night.”
“deed, thin, an you’ll find me comin down some night,” said pat, “ony maybe i mightn’t iver git down there. maybe the same thing that would dhrive me down might prevint me goin down.”
“well, then, i’ll tell you what to do: you yell like old harry, and i’ll go up.”
“you’d niver get up.”
“never get up? why not?”
“it wouldn’t let you.”
“it? what it?”
“why, it—the wan that walks.”
“the one that walks? that’s just what it doesn’t do. it’s very bad at walking.”
“you’d soon see, if ye’d iver find him. any how, he’d shtop yer comin till my room.”
“stop me? nonsense! how can it stop me, when it’s in the cupola?”
as he said this, bart looked in an expressive manner at pat.
pat looked away, and shook his head. whether he suspected that bart know all or not, he did not give him back any look of intelligence, or show any confusion. he simply looked away, and said,—
“well, well,—aich wan must have his own opinion. well know betther perhaps some day.” bart smiled, and turned away. soon he joined bruce and arthur.
“i’ve given pat one or two hints already,” said he, “that i saw through the business, and i’ve just given him another. it’s a shame for him to go frightening the small boys that way. i was going to arrange it all to-morrow, or next day, so that they would look on it as a joke. but pat is keeping up the gloomy, tragic character, and there’ll be more disturbance. only he’d better look out. i’ve given him fair warning. there’s poor little harry thompson, with his face as pale as a sheet. it isn’t fair. it’ll have to be stopped.”
“shall we stop it to-night?”
“well, no; we had better wait till we see if it goes on, and whether pat’s hand can be discerned in it. if we do find it so, i really don’t see any reason why he should be spared.”
from this it will be seen that bart had already made his friends acquainted with the discovery which he had made in the garret, and that they had decided upon some general plan of action. they did not wish to put an end to the affair too prematurely or clumsily, but rather to terminate it in as brilliant a manner as possible.
as this day was positively the last of the holidays, the “b. o. w. c” determined to celebrate it by a modest supper in the rawdons’ rooms. solomon was accordingly called upon, and, as always, he showed himself equal to the occasion, personally, he was all smiles and joyousness. his little black beads of eyes twinkled incessantly, his face actually shone, and his complexion was a rich, oily sepia. he made desperate efforts to preserve an air of profound solemnity; but occasionally a short, sharp snort of a laugh would burst forth, after which his face would at once regain its mask of gravity.
“dar!” said he, as he put the last dish on. “dar! blubbed breddern, dis heah’s all in hona ob dis great an shinin casium. you hab now finished your high an mighty ventures. dar you hab bess ob ’cad’my fare; none but de brave, you know, deserb dat fare. off you go to lib on lasses an pork, an come back to vive you healt by de neficient car ob ole solomon. den off you clar agin, jes like mad, an git half starbed, so hab to come back agin to de tractions heah. an now, blubbed breddern, pitch in. heah’s turkey, an chicken, an sass, an mince pies, an apple tarts, an pickled ’ysters, an red-hot coffee, an cream, an fifty oder tings too noomrous to mentium. fur fudda ticulars, gemmen, see small bills. yours, truly.”
with these words solomon welcomed them to the feast that he had prepared. the boys seated themselves around the groaning board, and gave themselves up to the joy of the occasion. they fought their battles o’er again. they went over all the events of the holidays. again they drifted through the dense fog, or wandered through the trackless forest; again they waded through deep waters, or dug deep in the solid ground.
as they thus chattered and laughed, solomon stood surveying them with a beaming smile illuminating all his dark but expressive features; and all the time he kept whispering to himself words expressive of his feelings on “dat ar casium.”
suddenly all this was interrupted.
it was late. all was still. all the other boys seemed to have gone to bed. outside, the night was quite dark. and then and there, amid that stillness and in that darkness, it rang out right over their heads.
it was again that peculiar sound which they had once before heard, a long, shrill, abrupt, discordant shriek, repeated again and again, and echoing dismally throughout the gloomy extent of the long, unfinished garret, and dying away in the far distances with low and melancholy intonations. the ceiling above them only intervened between this room and the garret, so that they could hear it very plainly.
as the sound rang out, solomon started. he was that moment lifting a plate, and the plate fell from his nerveless hands crashing on the floor. his face seemed to turn to a sickly greenish-brown; he staggered back, and leaned against the wall.
at that moment there was a knock at the door.
this completed solomon’s horror. his knees gave way, his teeth chattered, his eyes rolled fearfully. he sank upon the floor, and remained there in a sitting posture.
“come in,” shouted bruce. “hallo, solomon! what’s the matter? get up. are you faint? here, take a drink of water. why, man, what’s the matter?”
encouraged by bruce’s words, solomon made a great effort, and got up, edging away behind the boys as far from the-door as he could get.
no one had come in. and so arthur went to the door, and opened it. nobody was there.
as he stood wondering, jiggins’s door opened, and jiggins made his appearance, clad in the habiliments of the night.
“hallo, jiggins!” said arthur. “did you knock?”
“me? knock? me? no,” said jiggins. “i—i was just in bed, and asleep, and heard that howl above; and then there came a knock. i thought it was you, wanting to see me.”
“no; none of us knocked.”
“somebody did, then.”
“and some one knocked at our door, too,” said arthur.
“what does it all mean?” said jiggins.
by this time the other boys were out in the hall, and were looking at one another. bart looked along the floor, to see if the knock could have been produced by a stone thrown. behind tom might be seen solomon, afraid to be too far behind, and yet not daring to venture forward.
“it’s queer,’ said arthur.
“i don’t like it,” said jiggins, solemnly. “it somehow don’t seem right. i feel really uncomfortable. there’s something about that—is—not—right.”
“well, boys,” said bart, “shall we go up again?”
“i suppose we may as well.”
“o, it’s no use,” said arthur. “there’s nothing more. still, this knock ought to be investigated.”
“let’s go, then.”
“o, no,” groaned solomon. “no—don’t—doo-on’t go; don’t go an leab dis pore ’stracted nigga ’posed to sich clamties. don’t leab a ’flicted ole darky to de powers of darkness.”
“nonsense! solomon. don’t be afraid. you wait here till we come back.”
“couldn’t! darsn’t!” cried solomon. “neb-ber, nebber lib troo dat ar speriment. no, mas’r bart, you won’t leab a ole fool; you’ll stan by a ole man.”
“all right,” said bart. “i’ll see you down stairs, if you like. come.”
at that instant there sounded out a deep toll from the great bell in the cupola. it was one single toll, but so profound, so awful, and so solemn, did that solitary knell peal forth through the still night air, that even those who felt no fear could not avoid an involuntary sensation of awe.
solomon clutched at bart’s arm, and looked as though he had no life left in him.
“that settles it,” said bart. “that’s a little too much, boys. we’ll have to wind this thing up—won’t we? bring along a light, phil.”
“o, mas’r bart! get me home,” groaned solomon. “i member you when you wor a chile. i used to give you candy. don let me be gobbled up.”
“nonsense! solomon. come along; i’ll see you safe down, and then you can run for it to your room. wait a minute, boys.”
down went bart, with solomon, shuddering and quaking, at his heels, and finally reached the door.
“now, then, solomon,” he said, “run for it.”
away went solomon, in a frenzy of fear, his whole frame shuddering in vague superstitious terror, his brain reeling with excitement, his fancy crowded with images of horror. away he went; he burst into the boarding-house, he raced up the stairs, he rushed into his room as before, banged all the furniture against the door, and lay crouched in a corner, and quaking till morning.
bart returned at once.
“boys,” said jiggins, “it’s a solemn time—a deeply solemn time!”
“won’t you come up, jiggins?”
“no, boys,” said jiggins; “and i warn you not to go up. that’s a solemn place—a deeply solemn place.”
“well, come up, and help us to feel the solemnity,” said bart.
jiggins shook his head.
“i don’t like the looks of it,” said he. “it’s too solemn. there’s a certain something about it that makes me feel a—kind of a—a degree of a—solemnity—that—a—”
but jiggins’s voice died away upon the ears of the boys, as they ascended the stairs, before he could finish what he was trying to say.
the object of the boys in going up now was, first, to find the cause of the knock, and secondly, to find the cause of the tolling bell. they thought that perhaps some one might be concealed in the attic, and so they looked about very carefully in all directions. tom stood at the head of the attic stairs, so as to bar the way to any possible fugitive. the others then went all over the attic most carefully, beginning at the end next pat’s room, and so on over to the open space under the cupola. crossing this, they searched all over the farther end. they peeped into every nook and corner, they left nothing unexamined. but at length they were forced to give up this search, for nothing could be found. coming back, therefore, they stood in silence by the open space under the cupola, and looked down into the gloomy, yawning chasm over which went the narrow plank pathway, and tried to peer through the deep gloom of this place.
after standing here for some time, they crossed to the other side, on their way back, and were hero joined by tom.
“boys,” said bart, “we can’t get at the bottom of that knock; that’s evident; but we oughtn’t to go till we find out about the bell. what do you say to going up?”
“very well,” said bruce; “only we can’t take the lamps.”
“of course not; and even if we did, the wind would blow them out. but it don’t make any difference about that. we can feel about, you know. if any one’s in the cupola, we’ll have him, and find out who he is.”
“i’ll put the lamp on the plank here,” said tom, “and it will throw some light up.”
“no,” said arthur; “it might get shaken off, and then good by to the old academy. in a quarter of an hour, that old tinder-box below would be in flames. put it over there on the floor. never mind whether it throws up any light or not. we can all go up in the dark just as well.”
tom thereupon put his lamp on the solid floor of the garret; and after this the whole party walked the plank, and reached the foot of the ladders that ran up to the cupola. there were two of these, and in climbing up, one had to work his way through a net-work of beams. in the daytime this was troublesome enough to an unpractised hand, and in the dark would have been impossible. but these boys knew every inch of the way, and could go up almost as easily in the dark as in the light.
bart went first, bruce next, then arthur, then phil, and tom came last. the first ladder was slightly slanting in one direction, and terminated at a narrow board, from which the second ladder went up slanting in an opposite direction to the cupola. they went up quite nimbly and rapidly, considering the total darkness, and soon reached the cupola.
bart was up there first.
in the middle of the cupola, and hanging immediately over the opening through which they came up, was the great bell, whose deep, solemn tones were familiar enough to them from the summons which it hourly sent forth during term time, but whose solitary knell, sounding as it lately did in the stillness of the night, had struck such sudden awe into their hearts. all around the bell was room enough to walk, and to look out of the windows of the cupola.
bart had reached the cupola first, and he at once walked round it to find if any one was concealed here. the circuit was made by the time bruce had come up, who immediately went round, as bart had done. then the others came up.
“well,” said phil, “what’s the luck?”
“there’s no one here,” said bart.
“have you felt everywhere?”
“yes.”
“he couldn’t get up above there—could he?”
“o, no.”
“perhaps he’s outside,” said arthur.
at this suggestion they all flung open the shutters which surrounded the cupola, and as it was too dark to see, they felt in all directions with their hands. they soon found, however, that no one was there.
“now,” said phil, “the question is, how in the world-could that bell have tolled?”
all were silent for a few minutes, trying to conjecture some possible way.
it will be seen that on this occasion bruce had not a vestige of his former superstitious feeling. the affair with the donkey had taught him a salutary lesson, and the discovery that bart had made, when communicated to him, had made him angry with himself for the fear which he had felt before. he was perfectly convinced now that there was some trick, which was the only cause of the knock and the toll of the bell, and this he tried to discover.
suddenly he stooped down and felt under the bell.
“boys,” said he, after a pause.
“well.”
“do you think a fellow could ring the bell without coming up into the cupola, by some very simple process? do you think a string tied to the tongue could do it?”
“what!” cried all, in great excitement; and all of them sprang forward to feel for themselves.
but bruce warded off their hands.
“wait,” said he. “the string’s here. stand back. i want to see where it goes to.”
the boys fell back now in greater excitement than ever. the string was a common piece of twine. bruce followed it, and found that it went across to the side of the cupola, facing their end of the building, and then it was passed through a crevice close to the floor, and passed outside.
but where?
bruce pulled the string. the other end was fastened; but by the resistance he could tell that it ran for a long distance.
“there’s only one place that it goes to, of course,” said bart, “and that is pat’s room. but why in the world he should get up this, passes my comprehension. we’ll have to teach him a lesson, boys.”
