Contents

THE “B. O. W. C."

I.

The “B. O. W. C.,” with their History, Mystery, and Wonderful Doings; and how an aged African became elevated to the Dignity of “Grand Panjandrum.”

II.

Grand Pré and Minas Basin.—An astonishing Procession.—Encampment of Brigands.—Break-up of Encampment and Flight of the Inmates.

III.

Another extraordinary Procession.—An eccentric Crew.—A flighty Shipper.—Wonderful Attachment of Captain, Corbet to his Offspring.—Stealing a Stone Fence, and raising the Black Flag.

IV.

Blomidon.—Tides and Fogs.—Songs and Seasickness.—The Five Islands, and a Race up a Précipice.

V.

Exploring a desert Island.—Tumbling over a Cliff.—Peril of Bruce.—A mad Row over the waves.—Adrift in the Fog.

VI.

Up Anchor and after them.—Blast of the Foghorn.—A long Search amid Mists, and Darkness, and Storms.

VII.

Lost in the Fog.—At the Mercy of the Tide.—The last Rock.—Wanderings on a lonely Shore.—A great Discovery.—A new Mode of Cooking.

VIII.

Blue Sky.—Building a House.—The Signal Staff.—A fatal Disgust.—Mournful Forebodings.

IX.

Exploring.—A wild Walk.—On the Lookout for Prey.—What is it?—Is it a wild Goose?—Tremendous Sensation, the Explorers being as much astounded as Robinson Crusoe was when he discovered the human Footprints in the Sand.

X.

New Attempts at Cookery.—Phil on the Lookout.—A Sail! A Sail!—The Signal of the red Shirt.—The Home of the O’Raffertys.

XI.

Pratt’s Cove.—A Dinner Party.—The faithless Cook and Steward.—Songs.—Sudden and startling Interruption.—Stealing a Wood-pile.—Overwhelming Piece of Intelligence.

XII.

On the Track again.—Fishing for a Duck.—Asking for Bread, and getting Stones.—Pat shines as Cook.

XIII.

Adrift.—Skilful Navigators.—Breakers ahead.—A narrow Scratch.—Stuck in the Mud.

XIV.

In Mud and Water.—A Sea Monster.—A terrific Fight.—Wonderful Pluck of the “B. O. W. C.”—Swallowing a Sculpin.—The Trophy.—Waiting for Deliverance.

XV.

Scratching for Clams.—How not to eat them.—Fearful Consequences of Folly.—A formidable Medicine Chest.—Prevention better than Cure.

XVI.

New Hopes and Plans.—A Sail!—A bitter Disappointment.—A hazardous Adventure, and a Fright.—Quilts for Togas.—Another tremendous Casualty.

XVII.

On the briny Deep, and on the muddy Shore.—The Fisherman’s Boat.—Reappearance of old Friends.—Remonstrances, Explanations, and Confessions.

XVIII.

Wanderings about the Beach.—Science and Sport.—Back Home.—Frightful Tale of Poison.—A Visit to the Afflicted.

XIX.

Complaints of a disappointed Savant.—The humble Confession of Pat.—A buried Treasure, and a great Search after it by Torchlight’.

XX.

How to waken a Sleeper.—Off Home.—A weary Way.—Baffled like the Flying Dutchman.—Corbet pines for his Bobby.—“The Wind at last! Hurrah!”

XXI

Blomidon, insulted, avenges himself.—A Victim devotes himself to appease his Wrath.—Original Views of Captain Corbet with regard to the Archaeology and the Science of Navigation.

XXII.

Being jolly under creditable Circumstances.—Songs, Medleys, Choruses, Cheers, Laughter, Speeches, Responses.—The Mud again.—Hard and fast.—What’ll you do now, my Boy?

XXIII.

A wild Undertaking.—A Race for Life.—The lost Boot.—The Quicksands.—The Isle of Safety.—The Mud Gulch.—Crossing the Abyss of Mud.—Bruce’s Doldrum.—Two forlorn Figures.—Rapturous Welcome.—Speech by the Grand Panjandrum.

I.

The “B. O. W. C.,” with their History, Mystery, and Wonderful Doings; and how an aged African became elevated to the Dignity of “Grand Panjandrum.” AFTER the long winter session, the approach of the spring vacation had been eagerly welcomed at the Grand Pré School. It was only a short recess, and the majority of the boys would not be able to go home; but such as it was, its advent created the greatest delight. On a pleasant evening in May the examinations were over; little knots of boys were gathered jubilantly in various places, bonfires were blazing, squibs fizzing, crackers snapping, and everything and everybody were as noisy and as jolly as possible.

In the midst of all this, and immediately after tea, the “B. O W. C.” had called a meeting in the Rawdons’ rooms. Who or what the “B. O. W. C.” is, or was, will be explained on a future occasion; let it suffice for the present that the “B. O. W. C.” called a meeting, and the Rawdons’ rooms had the honor, of receiving that august assemblage. Not that it was very numerous. Only four or five could be counted; but then what they lacked a number, they made up in quality and in style. The utmost had been done to bring the rooms up to the level of so great an occasion. The table had been turned upside down, and transformed into a dais; the book-case had been, covered over with the table-cloth; the couch had been placed on one end in the corner; and in the middle of the room was a flour barrel covered with red flannel, on which was placed a phrenological bust. Added to this, the room was darkened—a smoky lamp shedding a feeble and fitful ray over the scene, and dimly disclosing four figures at one end.

These four figures were all dressed in white. The costume was a simple, but a highly effective one. It consisted apparently of a sheet thrown over the head and falling to the feet, with two holes for the eyes. In this attire the four figures bore not a little resemblance to some of those orders of monks which exist in Europe. The table, which lay on the floor, legs upward, with the addition of the ottoman, served as a dais, on which stood a figure with an immense militia captain’s sword in his hand. On each side was also a figure holding a huge wooden battle-axe, while the fourth stood between the dais and the bust.

Soon the silence was disturbed by a knock at the door communicating with the bed-room. The boy near the bust gave it three smart raps, upon which the door opened, and a figure entered clothed like the others in the room. On entering he made a low bow, and then stood erect.

The four figures in the room raised their hands to their faces with a peculiar gesture.

“Blood!” said they in solemn tones.

“Thunder!” said the boy at the door, making the same gesture.

“Is the Grand Panjandrum with you, Venerable Warden?” said the figure on the dais.

“He is, Most Venerable Patriarch.”

“Let him enter.”

At this the Venerable Warden left the room, and in a few moments reappeared, ushering in the personage alluded to as the Grand Panjandrum.

The Grand Panjandrum was an aged gentleman of color, whose wrinkled face was enlivened by an irrepressible comicality of expression, which not even the solemnity of this occasion could quell. He was arrayed in a college cap and gown, with a Master’s red hood and long bands. His face was a study. He was evidently doing his best to exhibit the deepest solemnity of expression, but his droll, keen, twinkling eyes darted furtively about, with an intense relish of the scene before him, and his efforts at gravity were sadly disturbed by the broad grin which, from time to time, would flash out irrepressibly over the dark background of his face. After a few furtive glances he bowed; and then, with an audible chuckle, he awaited further proceedings.

“Grand Panjandrum,” said the figure on the dais, in an impressive voice.

“Yes, sah.”

“Yes, what?” said the other, in a tone of rebuke.

“Yes, sah,—yes, mos’wossifle,” he added, correcting himself. A grin broke out over his face, which, however, was instantly checked by a demure cough.

“Grand Panjandrum, you have heard our map-dates.”

“Mandates?” said the other, in a puzzled tone.

“Yes,—orders.”

“Yes, sah, mos’ wossifle.”

“Have you carried out the instructions of the Venerable Brethren?”

“Yes, sah, mos’ wospeful.”

“Did you get the turkeys?”

“Yes, sah.”

“How many? Six?”

“No, sah.”

“What! not six?”

“No, sah.”

“How many, then?”

“Ten,” said the other, with a chuckle and a grin of triumph.

“O-h!” said the first speaker; while a titter ran round among the others. “H’m! Very well, and what else?”

“Spring chickens.”

“How many?”

“Twenty.”

“Ah! Very well. And how?”

“Broiled, sah.”

“Any tongue?”

“Yes, sah, three.”

“And the ham?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Nuts?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Raisins?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Crackers? Cheese? Figs? Cake?” “Yes, sah, mos’ wossifle.”

“And what about the drink? Have you prepared the lemonade?”

“No, sah.”

“No! Why not?”

“No lemons, sah.”

“That’s bad. And there is no drink, then?”

“Yes. sah. Ginger beer.”

“Ginger beer. H’m! that will do,” said the Venerable Patriarch, solemnly. “How much have you?”

“Ten gallons, mos’ wossifle.”

“What else have you?”

“Ten mince pies, twelve apple pies, a basket of tarts, a tin dipper, an iron pot, an iron spoon,” said the Grand Panjandrum, rapidly enumerating the various items. “Fact,” he continued, carried away by the ardor of the moment, “I’se got most nigh eberyting. Gracious sakes! you’ll open your blessed eyes, mind I tell you! But what are you gwine to do about de bread and butter? Tell you what, boys! you’ve clean forgot de most ’portant of all.”

“Silence!” cried the Venerable Patriarch, in an indignant voice, rapping his sword against the leg of the table.

“The sakes now! how you do go on!” said the Grand Panjandrum, with a broad grin.

“No levity,” said the Venerable Patriarch, in a stern voice.

“Yes, sah,” said the other, assuming an expression of awful solemnity.

“Venerable Warden!”

“Yes, Most Venerable Patriarch.”

“The audience, is over! Escort the Grand Panjandrum to the outer world.”

The Venerable Warden bowed, and led the way out, followed by his sable companion.

Scarcely had the door closed behind them than the scene underwent a sudden change. With a shout, the four figures flung off their white draperies, and kicked them into a corner of the room. Then they drew back the curtains, replaced the table and couch, while the light that now came into the room showed the laughing faces of four boys, which had nothing in common with the sepulchral figures that had taken part in the late scene.

Two of these boys were big, brawny, broad-shouldered fellows, with Roman features, and dark, curling hair. They very closely resembled one another. These were the two Rawdons, to whom the rooms belonged. The elder was named Bruce, and the younger Arthur. Of the others, one was tall and slight, Tom Crawford by name; and the other was small and slight, and was called Phil Kennedy.

“Hurrah, boys!” said Phil. “Isn’t old Solomon a perfect brick of an old darkey? Do you fairly realize the fact that we are to have ten turkeys,—ten, my boys, instead of six?”

“And the spring chickens!” said Tom Crawford.

“And the mince pies!” said Bruce.

“And the ginger beer!” cried Arthur.

“The encampment, of the ‘B. O. W. C.’ is going to be a grand success,” said Bruce. “It will be memorable forever in the history of the school.”

“We ought to have a grand bonfire, and burn our Latin Grammars, before starting,” said Tom Crawford.

“Yes,” said Phil Kennedy, “and our Arithmetics too. I’d like to burn all the Arithmetics in the world.”

“No, no,” said Arthur, “don’t let us have a bonfire. Let us have a burial, with a solemn procession, and a real burial service.”

“Well, what’ll we bury?”

“The Latin Grammar.”

“No, Cæsar.”

“No, the Arithmetic.”

“Let’s bury them all; that is the best plan,” said Phil.

“Yes,” cried all; and a confused medley of proposals arose, in which all were talking together. In the midst of the uproar the door opened, and the Venerable Warden made his appearance. Throwing off his white robe, he disclosed the fair, round face of a fresh, handsome boy, with merry, mischievous eyes, and curling golden hair. That busy brain of his had been prolific in all sorts of plans dear to boys, while his generous nature and frank, pleasant manner made Bart Darner the favorite of Grand Pré School.

“O, Bart,” said Tom Crawford, “what about that powder?”

Bart left the room for a moment, and returned with a package under his arm.

“The powder?” said he. “It’s all right. I’ve got it in my room.”

“And the rods?”

“Yes, I’ve got the rods too.”

“Any matches?”

“Matches? Of course not.”

“Why, what’ll we do for lights and fires?”

“I hope you don’t mean to say that you would dream of taking matches,” said Bart, in a voice of solemn rebuke.

“Why not?”

“Why not? Who ever heard of matches in an Encampment of Knights? No, boys, flint and steel is the thing for us. That’s what I’ve got; and I’ve made some first-rate tinder, and a lot of sulphur lights. Besides, I’ve got something to surprise you.”

“What’s that?”

“The dresses.”

“Dresses?”

“Yes; come to my room, and I’ll show you what I’ve got. It wouldn’t do for us to go out and be brigands in ordinary jackets and trousers, I hope. Why,” he concluded, in a tone of rebuke, “it would be infamous.”

“And have you got any dresses in your room?” said Bruce.’

“Yes; come along and take a look at them.”

Off went the five with a shout, and going up a flight of stairs, they soon entered Bart Darner’s room. Here Bart brought out a bundle from the bed-room, and opening it, he proudly displayed its contents. There were five red shirts, each of which had a huge white cross on the back; five belts; and five felt hats, each of which was decorated with a feather. As he displayed these articles one by one, the boys were struck dumb with admiration, while Bart’s eyes glowed with delight.

“Don’t say anything,” said he, “but try them on.”

Bart locked the door carefully, and then they all arrayed themselves in the new costume. Soon five figures stood there with their red shirts and plunged hats, looking like so many juvenile Garibaldians.

“You see, these belts will do first rate for pistols, and daggers, and that sort of thing,” said Bart.

The other boys said nothing. Astonishment and delight deprived them of words; but each stood looking, first at himself, and then at his companions, in mute admiration.

“But how in the world did you manage it, Bart? Where did you get them all?” asked Tom Crawford.

“O, I found the shirts down in Brown’s,” said Bart, “and picked out the smallest ones. I had them altered, and got Maggie Lunt to sew on the crosses. I begged some old ostrich feathers from. Mrs. Porter, and of course the hats could be got anywhere. They’re rather large, but we can put bits of paper inside the lining, you know, and make them fit well enough. They’ll do for the woods.”

“Do for the woods!” cried Bruce Rawdon. “I should think they would, and for other places, too. Boys, don’t let’s hide our light under a bushel. I move that we have a grand procession at once.”

“Yes, yes,” cried all. “Let’s go down now. The fellows are all out on the grounds.”

“How they’ll stare!” cried Phil. “The ‘B. O. W. C.’ will become more famous than ever,” said Tom Crawford.

“Come, then,” said Arthur, “let us go down now.”

“No,” said Bart. “That would spoil all.”

“Why, don’t you want the ‘B. O. W. C.’ to show themselves?”

“Of course, but not now. I’ll tell you what to do. Let’s wait till to-morrow, and then we’ll get Jiggins’s cart, and make Solomon drive, dressed as Venerable Warden, up to the woods. We’ll follow as brigands.”

“Hurrah! That’s splendid!” said Bruce Rawdon.

“And I’ll show you something else,” said Bart, taking up the parcel which he had under his arm in the Rawdons’ room. “I’ve got something else.” And he proceeded to open the parcel, while the others looked on with eager expectation. He opened it, and drew out a folded cloth. Unfolding this, he shook it out, and spread it on the table. It was a black flag., Upon this was stitched something round, which close examination showed to be a desperate effort to represent a skull. To the ordinary observer, however, it looked exactly like an elderly gentleman’s face, quite bald, and with a benevolent grin. Beneath it were the mysterious initials “B. O. W. C.” At sight of this, the long-repressed feelings of the boys burst forth without restraint. With wild shouts they waved their hats in the air, and at last gave three cheers for Bart. It was long before their wild excitement could be quelled. Until late that night they sat in their wonderful dresses, admiring their wonderful flag, and waiting, with eager impatience, for the next day.

But who or what was the “B. O. W. C.”? That I must now proceed to answer.

The “B. O. W. C.” arose from the genius of Bart Darner, who, in some respects, was the most remarkable boy at Grand Pré School. His career there had been a highly eventful one. His father was a merchant of the town of St. John, and Bart had gathered, from the atmosphere of his native place, a passionate desire to go to sea. With the idea of curing him of this fancy, his father had taken him to Grand Pré School. Bart had gone very good naturedly, and had been formally entered as a scholar. The first acquaintances which Bart made were the Rawdon boys; and on the very first evening after his arrival he confided to them his determination to quit the school immediately. This determination Bart was not very long in putting into execution. Two days after his father had left, Bart was among the missing. Inquiries were made everywhere, but in vain. At length the worthy head master, Dr. Porter, conjectured that he might have gone home; so he sent in the direction in which he supposed it most likely that the fugitive would go. The conjecture proved to be well founded. Bart was

found, on the following day, at an inn about forty miles away. He made no objection to returning, confessed that he was on his way home, and made light of the whole affair. Dr. Porter extorted from him a promise that he would make no further attempts to go home, and Bart began his school life.

His restless disposition soon caused a new interruption. At the end of three weeks it was found that Bart was again missing. Dr. Porter was deeply hurt, for he feared that Bart had broken his word. Search was made everywhere, but in vain. A week passed away, but no discovery had been made. At the end of that time, Old Solomon, the cook of the boarding school, affected perhaps by Dr. Porter’s deep anxiety, came to him and disclosed the hiding-place of the fugitive. It appeared that Bart had struck up an eternal friendship with Solomon, and had gained his assistance in a new scheme of flight. This time he did not seek to go home, for he had promised Dr. Porter not to do so. His plan was to escape to the woods, and build a hut, while Solomon was to bring him provision and news from the outer world. The Rawdons had been taken into the secret, and Bart had been enjoying the life of a hermit, and thoughtlessly amusing himself with baffling the search that was going on for him. Dr. Porter at once made Solomon accompany him to the hiding-place; and finding Bart

there, he sent Solomon back, and had a long conversation with the youthful hermit. What he said or did no one else knew; but his mode of treatment was so effectual, that Bart from that time forward gave up his wandering ways. A long composition was allotted him as a punishment, and Bart bore the penalty of his misdeeds like a man.