Gunpowder Treason and Plot, and Other Stories for Boys

"GUNPOWDER, TREASON, AND PLOT."

"There will be no fireworks this year."

From the consternation depicted on the faces of the sixty odd boys to whom this announcement was made, it might have been supposed that they had just heard there would be a famine in the land, or that some other calamity of an equally serious nature was about to befall them.

Mr. Chard, the headmaster of Yatby Grammar School, was the speaker. He had held this position since the commencement of the winter term, and it was now the 2nd of November.

"I don't intend there should be any more of these firework displays," he continued. "They are dangerous, and often result in accidents, the consequences of which have to be suffered for a lifetime. As you know, I am anxious to encourage healthy outdoor sport, and in fact any kind of rational amusement; but I see no object in these gunpowder carnivals, and the subscription which Brookfield says you received on former occasions from the headmaster I will hand over to the treasurer of the Games Club. Pass on in order."

Desk after desk, the boys filed out of the big schoolroom into the square, gravelled playground at the back of the school buildings, where, freed from the enforced silence of assembly, the air was immediately filled with a babel of voices.

"No fireworks!" cried one; "what rot!"

"Well, I do call this beastly shabby!" exclaimed another. "Old Gregory never objected to our having fireworks on the Fifth, and why should Chard?"

Away in one corner Brookfield, the captain of the football club, and a leading spirit among the boarders, stood addressing a little group of his companions.

"I stopped him in the passage this morning," said Brookfield, "and asked him if he would give us something towards our fireworks, as Mr. Gregory used to. He said at once that he didn't intend there should be any fireworks this year, and that he would mention it at the close of morning school."

"I call it a bit too thick," continued the speaker, working himself up into a great state of excitement. "He's been altering rules ever since he came until the place is becoming a regular dame's school. I believe, if he had his way, we should do nothing but work, and go out walking two and two."

"He isn't quite so bad as that," said Collins. "You must admit he's taken more interest in footer than Gregory ever did. He saw that we had a new set of goal-posts, and made better arrangements for the matches."

"Ye-es," admitted Brookfield reluctantly. "But he's made no end of vexatious little rules that we never had before. Why shouldn't we go into town when we like, instead of having to ask permission, and have our names entered in a book? Then what's the object in our being obliged to go into certain shops only? and why should we have half an hour's extra work before breakfast?"

The audience nodded. That having to get up half an hour earlier, especially on cold winter mornings, was certainly a sore point with everybody.

"Now," went on Brookfield, "we aren't to have any more fireworks; and why? Just because he chooses to think we're such babies that we should blow ourselves up with a pinch of powder. I tell you he's come here with the notion that this place is an old dame's school, and it's high time we showed him it isn't."

"How?" inquired Shadbury, moodily grinding his heel into the damp gravel.

"How? Why, all take a stand, and show him we don't mean to put up with any more of this humbug."

"Oh yes," answered Shadbury, with a smile of incredulity. "I fancy I see us doing it, and then getting packed off home next morning."

"Not a bit of it!" returned Brookfield, whose ideas were fast shaping themselves into a definite line of thought. "The only thing is, we must all pull together. Take, for instance, a strike. If one workman came and said he wouldn't work unless he had higher wages, why, he'd simply be told to take his hat and go; but if all the hands in a factory agree to go out at the same time, their employer's bound to listen, for if he sacked the whole lot, why, his business would come to a standstill. It's the same in this case: Chard might expel one fellow, but he couldn't send every chap in the place going, or the school would cease to exist, and he'd get into trouble with the governors."

"Yes," answered Collins, "that's all very well; but in instances of this kind they have a way of picking out the ringleaders and making an example of them, and giving all the others a milder punishment."

"Pish!" retorted Brookfield. "There'd be no ringleaders. What I should say is, let every chap buy some fireworks, and then on the Fifth we'll rush out and let them off after prep., whether Chard says we may or not. He can but keep us all in for an afternoon, and it'll teach him not to interfere with our privileges. I'll do it if any one else will."

Among the bystanders was Jarvis, a reckless young ne'er-do-weel. "All right; I'm game," he cried. "Now then, we must get the other fellows to promise."

There is a certain flavour of romance in a rebellion which has brought about the undoing of many a hot-headed youth, who perhaps had no deep concern in the cause of the rising; and the scheme mooted by Brookfield appealed to the more adventurous spirits among his school-fellows. In addition to this, it was a fact that the school, as a whole, were highly indignant at the headmaster's edict. As far back as any boy of the present generation could remember, there had always been fireworks on the Fifth; and to rob a boy of a legitimate excuse for burning gunpowder is to touch him on his tenderest place.

The afternoon which followed the conversation which has just been recorded was, in itself, conducive to the spread of any mischief which might be afoot. It was too wet for football; the rain fell in a steady downpour, and the boys were confined to the schoolroom and passages, or the gymnasium shed in the yard.

Brookfield and Jarvis moved from one group to another; they buttonholed classmates in out-of-the-way corners, and joined themselves to the little crowd that had collected before the schoolroom fire. In each case they commenced a conversation with some remark about the fireworks; the talk would grow more confidential, and be carried on in lower tones until it probably ended in nods and winks. Even Mr. Wills and Mr. Draper, the two assistant masters, were boldly questioned as to whether they didn't consider it a shame that the fireworks should be forbidden; but both gentlemen were too discreet to offer any opinion. Mr. Chard had said there was not to be a display this year, and that was enough for them.

By the end of the afternoon all the boarders had been sounded. Some were never expected to share in any act of lawlessness or bad behaviour, but the majority had proved themselves ripe for mischief by agreeing to take an active part in the conspiracy.

At tea, though several of the small boys' faces were flushed with excitement, there was an ominous calm, the meal being partaken of in a silence which, to a keen observer, might have suggested the thought that something was going to happen.

On the following afternoon Brookfield and Jarvis, together with two other boys named Perry and Roden, who had both fallen in heartily with the scheme, held a consultation just before tea in a corner of the shed.

By this time things had progressed so far that it was tacitly understood that all arrangements for the execution of the plot should be left in the hands of the four boys mentioned, one of whom, it was agreed, should purchase the fireworks, and thus lessen the risk which would be run if a number of boys entered the shop at different times. Meeting thus in the darkness made the business in hand seem almost as exciting as if it were some part of the original Gunpowder Plot, and the conspirators conversed in tones raised little above a whisper.

"Now look here," began Brookfield. "All the fellows have given me what money they mean to subscribe, and the first question is, Who's to get the fireworks?"

"Draw lots," suggested Perry.

"Oh no!" broke in Jarvis. "You get them, Brookfield; and while you're in the shop I'll keep cave at one end of the street, and Perry and Roden can at the other. Get the things done up in three packets, and we can stick them under our jackets."

"All right. And what am I to get?"

The question was one which, on former occasions, had been a difficult one to answer; the proper proportion of rockets, Roman candles, coloured fire, and other combustibles which should be procured to make up a proper display, always needing a good deal of discussion before anything like a satisfactory conclusion could be arrived at. Certain boys had always clamoured for a set piece, while others had yearned to fire shells from a mortar. This year, however, it seemed likely that the display would not be of the kind previously attempted, but would probably be subjected to an abrupt interruption before it had progressed many minutes.

"Get something that will go off easily," said Jarvis – "mostly squibs and crackers, I should say. It's more for the lark of the thing, and to show Chard we don't mean to knuckle under, than for the sake of a show. I should say, get it all over in ten minutes, and hook it. Then there'd be some chance of escaping without being collared."

"There's one other thing," said Brookfield. "Where shall we keep the fireworks when we've got them? It won't do to put them in desks and lockers; they might be seen."

"I'll tell you what," said Roden. "Put them in that chest over there in the corner. It's got nothing in it but dumb-bells, and they won't be touched again before we have drill on Monday."

There was a pause as the four conspirators stood considering whether there was any other matter which it would be well for them to discuss before separating. As they hesitated, somewhere in the darkness there was a slight shuffle.

"Hush! What's that?" whispered Perry.

The exclamation was followed by a patter of feet outside in the playground.

"Some young beggar must have been hiding away here," muttered Jarvis, "and has just bolted. Let's see after him."

"Bother it! He must have heard what we have been talking about. He may let the cat out of the bag."

"No fear," answered Roden. "Every one knows now what's going to happen, and nobody would dare to go and sneak to Chard."

"I hope it wasn't that little rascal Downing," said Brookfield uneasily, as he prepared to return to the schoolroom. "He's such a dirty young toady, always trying to curry favour with Draper or Wills; and of course if it got to their ears, it's as bad as if any one had told old Chard himself."

"Oh, there's no danger of that!" said Jarvis, as the quartet sauntered slowly across the gravel. "Young Downing has too much regard for his own skin to do a thing of that kind. He'd know too well what he might expect. Besides, there's no reason to suppose it was Downing."

"No, only it's just like one of the little wretch's sly, sneaking tricks," answered Brookfield, and so the conversation ended.

As might have been expected, those day boys to whom the project was mentioned displayed no great readiness to take part in the rebellion. Most of them had private celebrations of the Fifth at their own homes, or were invited to assist at similar undertakings at the houses of friends, and for this reason were unwilling to go out of their way to join in a spree which might be followed by serious results. Only one, an arrant duffer nicknamed "Sloper," from some supposed facial resemblance to that popular hero, volunteered to assist, and that in a manner which could scarcely be said to entail any special display of courage.

"Let me know what time it happens," he said, "and I'll come outside, and chuck squibs over the wall."

One boy alone tried to use his influence in such a manner as to prevent the revolt taking place, and he was a senior named John Oliver, who sat next in form order to the head of the school. The conspirators had not taken him into their confidence, feeling pretty certain that he would not approve of the project; but from remarks let fall by one and another, he could form a pretty shrewd guess as to what was intended.

"Look here," he said, encountering Brookfield as the latter stood warming his hands at a coil of hot-water pipes in the hall. "What's all this nonsensical talk about letting off fireworks to-morrow?"

"Who's talking about it?" asked the football captain with a grin.

"Oh, nearly everybody; and they say you're at the head of it all. Don't think I'm such a deaf and blind old moke that I don't know what's going on in the place."

Brookfield liked Oliver, who played full back with him in the team; he might have resented another boy's right to cross-examine him, but Oliver was an old friend, and could never be regarded as strait-laced or a prig.

"Well, what if I am at the head of it? I haven't asked you to join," was the laughing retort.

"Now don't you be a fool, Brooky!" said Oliver earnestly. "There's no sense in it, I tell you. Chard'll be frightfully angry about it. Some of you will get expelled before you've finished, and we can't afford to lose our football captain."

"Oh, don't you fret yourself, old man," was the careless rejoinder. "I know how to take care of myself – of that you may be certain."

The eventful Fifth dawned as any other dull November day might, and by the end of the afternoon all preparations had been made. A good stock of explosives had been obtained and stowed away under an old bit of sacking in the chest with the dumb-bells. Out of the thirty-four boarders, twenty-six had promised to take part in the demonstration, and all had been carefully instructed how to act. As Brookfield explained, only united action on the part of all would prevent vengeance being taken on individuals. It would be impossible for Mr. Chard to expel twenty-six boys in a lump, and an imposition or the loss of a half-holiday would not be too heavy a price to pay for the lark and excitement.