"It's Morris ! " The words flew from mouth to mouth. One or two of the older boys remembered him when he was at the school.
A hush fell as the noise of the engine ended abruptly and the nose of the aeroplane tilted down. The propeller could be seen spinning behind the engine. "He's falling ! " shouted someone.
"I think he must be coming down," said the Head. " He's going towards the cricket field."
In an instant a hundred boys were streaming towards the cricket field. The Head had been right, for when the field was reached there stood the machine, with the pilot, clad from head to foot in leather, standing beside it. He pushed up his goggles with a gauntleted hand. when he saw the boys coming. " Yes, it's Morris," said the Head, who had run to the field with the rest.
For a little while the Head stood and talked to the old Maltonian, while the boys stood in a circle at a respectful distance trying to hear what the super-man had to say.
Said Biggles to Smith, in a tone of veneration : " It must be wonderful to be able to do that."
"Yes," agreed Smith reverently. "Those chaps must be jolly brave. You wouldn't catch me going up in one of those things, I can tell you."
"Why not ? " inquired Biggles.
Smith looked at him curiously. "Do you mean you'd go up if you got the chance ? "
"I can't think of anything I'd like to do more," replied Biggles, simply.
"Yes, and suppose you fell out, what then ? " sneered Smith.
"I should be killed," admitted Biggles.
The pilot waved to the boys and climbed back into his seat.
"Stand away, everybody ! " shouted the Head.
The engine roared again, the wind from the propeller sending caps flying. After bumping for a little way the machine left the ground, and, climbing slowly, disappeared from view.
"Everyone back to school now ! " cried the Head.
Deep in thought, Biggles made his way back to his desk. In his heart had been born an ambition, but at that moment its achievement seemed as far away as the moon. He was not to know, on that sunny autumn morning, how much of his life he was to spend doing what then seemed an impossible attainment.
His second adventure of the day occurred in the afternoon. To him it was the lesser of the two.
As he stepped out into the quad after dinner, he was at once aware of an atmosphere of excitement. Normally, at that hour only a few boys would have been about, but now the whole school seemed to be moving in a crowd towards the main gates, with a lot of loud talking, as if everyone was bent on a definite errand.
Biggles ran after the crowd to discover what was afoot. Finding Smith, he asked : "What'
s going on ? "
"There's a bear," answered Smith, vaguely, in a voice shrill with anticipation. " Come on.
Let's go and see it."
"A bear ! " exclaimed Biggles, who, having seen plenty, both tame and wild, saw in this no reason for excitement. " What sort of bear ? "
"A dancing bear."
" Where is it ? "
" In the town. It belongs to an Arab."
"Don't talk rot," sneered a voice. " He's not an Arab, he's a Turk."
" Hark at him," chipped in another voice. "He's an Afghan. I've seen a picture of one."
" Bosh ! The man's an Indian," said someone else.
"They say he's got the bear on a pole, so it can't get at you," contributed Smith, comfortingly, as the general move towards the gate was continued. " It's an enormous brute, they say," he added.
" Who says ? "
" Somebody—I don't know," admitted Smith. " Lipscombe says it's at least ten feet high."
Biggles turned to the boy named. "Have you seen it ? " he asked.
"Then how do you know ? " inquired Biggles. "Don't be funny, it doesn't suit you," was the retort.
The entire procession of boys was now moving through the gates, bound for the town and its visitor. It did not go far. It had got about half-way down the conker avenue when from the opposite direction, cap in hand, head back and elbows in his sides, running like a hare, appeared the small boy, Page. So fast was he travelling that his legs appeared to twinkle, throwing up behind them a wake of dead leaves. As he drew near it became evident that he was beside himself with excitement. In a face as white as chalk his eyes were round and staring. Drawing still nearer, he burst into hysterical shouting. "Cave I Cave ! Run for your lives ! It's coming I" He did not stop, or even slow down, until some boys grabbed him.
"What's coming ? " asked somebody.
"The bear," gasped Page. " It's escaped. Its eyes are bloodshot and it's foaming at the mouth." The boy tore himself clear and raced, hair on end, towards the school. It was clear that whether the bear had escaped or not he had lost all desire to see it.
There was a brief hesitation in which everyone in the crowd talked at once. It was followed by a general withdrawal, slow at first, but fast gathering impetus. It ended in a panic flight in which several small boys were knocked down. They were soon on their feet again, and, without waiting to pick up their caps, sped on.
Biggles stood still. Smith stayed with him, several yards nearer the school, and with reluctance judging from his attitude, which was that of a runner waiting for the pistol to start a sprint. " Come on," he urged. "What are you waiting for ? Do you want to be torn to pieces and eaten ? "
"Eaten by a tame bear ? " Biggles laughed scornfully. " I used to have one once, but it was only a cub."
At this stage of the affair another boy burst into view. He came round the corner so fast that in his swerve to straighten out into the avenue he collided with a tree with such violence that he spun like a top. By a miracle he kept his feet, and without pause came on as if nothing had happened.
Biggles opened his arms and caught him. "Wait a minute ! "he cried. "What's the matter
? "
"The bear," panted the boy, straining at his arm. "It's escaped. It's coming. It's rushing about, roaring and killing people. They're going to
shoot it."
why ?
The boy's jaw dropped.
Why ? Because it's a
bear. Let me go ! "
"How did it escape ? " demanded Biggles.
"It was dancing in the street when the baker's van came along. When the horse saw the bear it shied. The man holding the bear was knocked down. They've taken him to the doctor's. The bear ran away. I saw the whole thing. It was frightful. The police and people are out with guns to shoot the bloodthirsty beast." The words poured out in a spate. The boy's eyes never left the direction from which he had come.
"What colour is this bear ? " asked Biggles.
" Brown."
"How big is it ? "
"Enormous. Three times as big as a man. Let me go ! " The boy jerked his arm free and ran on towards the school gates, which, having been closed, were opened for a moment to let him in. Biggles could see a line of white faces peering through the iron bars.
"What a confounded shame ! " he said indignantly. "What's a shame ? " asked Smith, watching the drive.
"To shoot the poor old bear."
"What else can they do with it ? "
" Catch it, of course."
"Catch it ? " Smith looked incredulous. "Who's going to catch a ravening, bloodthirsty bear ? "
Biggles smiled condescendingly. " Bloodthirsty ! " he scoffed. " It's a tame bear. I've seen plenty in India. I'll bet it's an ordinary brown bear. The wretched beast has probably been standing in crowds all its life, making a fool of itself to amuse a lot of bigger fools.
I should say its scared out of it's wits by this time."
"I don't care what sort of bear it is," said Smith coldly. "A bear's a bear," he added, with undeniable logic. "I'm going back to school."
"I'm going to catch the poor beast before some silly ass shoots it," declared Biggles, and walked on.
From the school gate came a great shout of warning, but he ignored it. He could hear Smith screaming : "He's going to catch the bear ! He's going
to capture it with his bare hands ! "
The road to the town was deserted. So, too, was the town when he reached it, although there were terrified faces at every window. Voices shouted warnings. The word" bear"
echoed from street to street. Biggles took no notice. Reaching the baker's shop, he stopped. The door was locked. He knocked. A distraught woman let him in. Biggles put three pennies on the counter. "Three pennyworth of buns, please," he ordered. " I'll have stale ones if I can have more."
With trembling hands the woman put some buns in a bag. "Surely you're not going back out there ? " she breathed.
"Which way did the bear go ? "inquired Biggles. "Up the Hayford Road," whispered the woman, as if afraid that the animal might hear her.
"Thank you," said Biggles and, going out, set off at a trot on the trail of the bear. He had the street to himself, except for a man on one knee behind a lamp-post, a gun at the ready. "There's a mad bear up there ! " shouted the man.
" I don't wonder it's mad," replied Biggles contemptuously.
Leaving the houses behind him, he walked on up the Hayford Road. He saw a man, with a rifle, in a tree. Another was crouching in a ditch. Both shouted to him to go back. They were, they said, going to shoot the bear.
"Mind you don't shoot me," Biggles told them seriously, for he saw there was some risk of this. He walked on, now keeping a sharp look-out for the animal.
He had gone less than half a mile when he came upon it. It was, as he suspected, an ordinary brown bear. Standing against the hedge, it was apparently eating blackberries.
The pole still dangled from its muzzle. It looked round when it heard Biggles coming, regarded him for a moment without interest, and then resumed its harmless occupation.
Biggles walked on, slowly now, towards it. The bear took no notice until he was about twenty yards away, when it ceased munching for a moment while it had a good look at him.
Biggles spoke gently. " Hello, Bruin, what are you doing ?—having a day off ? I don't blame you."
The bear, ignoring the remark, bit off a cluster of wild rose-hips and chewed them with evident satisfaction.
When Biggles took the paper bag from under his arm, causing it to rustle, the bear became interested. It was apparent that it knew what paper bags sometimes contained.
Dropping on all fours, it shuffled towards the object of its interest. Biggles tossed a bun.
The bear caught it with the adroitness of long practice and ate it noisily. The bun finished, it came nearer.
"They were going to shoot you," Biggles told it as he tossed another bun and the performance was repeated. Bear and boy were now only a couple of yards apart. Biggles, talking all the time in a low voice, held out the next bun. The bear reared up, took it carefully from his fingers with its paws and conveyed it to its mouth. Biggles picked up the pole. The bear made no protest. Indeed, with its eyes on the bag, it appeared not to notice the movement.
Biggles still had one bun left, and this he broke into small pieces before parting with it.
When it had been consumed, he rolled the bag into a ball to show that it was empty. The bear sniffed it to satisfy itself on the point.
"Come on, old man, it's time you came home," said Biggles. " If you stay here you'll get hurt." Turning, he walked back the way he had come, the bear following obediently. In the distance he could see a crowd that stretched across the road from side to side. When he reached the man in the tree the man shouted to him to stand aside, as he was going to shoot the bear.
Biggles' anger was genuine when he answered. "What's the matter with you ? Can't you see the animal is as docile as a lamb ? It's got a lot more sense than you have." He
walked on.
When he reached the crowd, which, he observed, contained a number of boys from the school, it gave way before him. Only one man stood his ground, and that was the Head.
He, too, had a rifle, and seemed to be in a state of considerable agitation. Indeed, his first words confirmed this. "Bear, what are you doing with that boy ? " he cried. He corrected himself quickly above the titter. "Boy, what do you think you are doing with that bear ? "
" Doing with it, sir ? "returned Biggles wonderingly. "Don't repeat what I say," thundered the Head. "I'm rescuing it from a crowd of bloodthirsty humans," said Biggles simply.
" Put it down."
" But I've nowhere to put it, sir," complained Biggles.
" Then release it."
"But if I let it go it won't know what to do," protested Biggles. " If it bolts there'll be a stampede and then someone'll be hurt."
"Do as you're told, boy."
" Let me put it in a stable somewhere," pleaded Biggles. " You can see it's perfectly harmless. It'll
do anything I tell it. Watch." Turning, he threw up a hand and began to sing a song in Hindi.
At once the bear rose up on its hind legs and began to dance.
There was a roar of delight from the crowd, whereupon Biggles danced a few steps himself before turning back to the Head. " You see, sir ! " he cried. " Has nobody got a biscuit for the poor old bear ? "
" I've got a caramel," said Smith, stepping forward.
"That'll do," replied Biggles. "Give it to him. He won't hurt you."
"Not me. You can give it to him," returned Smith, and held out the sweet.
Biggles put it in the bear's mouth, which brought more applause from the crowd.
How the affair was to end was still in doubt, but while the bear was still dribbling over the sticky caramel, a coloured man, with his head swathed in bandages, pushed his way through the throng. Laughing with relief, he ran to the bear and put his arm round its neck. The bear licked his ear—to another burst of applause. When the union had been effected Biggles handed over the pole to its rightful owner and turned away.
The Head gave him a curious look, and with his rifle at the slope bounced away towards the school.
Biggles, surrounded by boys clamouring to be told the details of the encounter, accompanied the bear back to the town, where it was housed in a barn which its master had hired for the purpose. The man, it turned out, was from India, and they had a talk before Biggles departed with the man's blessing for saving his bear, which was his only means of livelihood.
The matter concluded, Biggles had an ovation that made him blush.
"That boy's got nerve to tackle a savage beast like that single-handed," said a man in the crowd.
" Pah ! Savage ! " sneered Hervey, who had now appeared on the scene. "Why, the brute'
s as tame as an old sheep."
"Then, why didn't you catch it instead of bolting back to school ? "inquired Biggles.
Hervey scowled and took a step forward. But, whatever he intended doing, he thought better of it. Turning, he strode away, while several small boys, well hidden in the crowd, took up the chant, "Hervey is a funk."
The excitement over, the crowd dispersed its several ways. Biggles walked back to school accompanied by Smith, and escorted by a swarm of admiring boys of the lower forms.
The day ended on a tragic note. After evening prayers the Head stood up and cleared his throat. "Those of you who knew Morris, or saw his aeroplane this morning, will be sorry to learn that he was killed shortly after leaving us when his aeroplane fell out of control into a wood." With that, the Head turned away quickly, took the steps to the floor in one stride and disappeared through the swing doors, leaving the boys to gaze at each other with horrified eyes.
Smith came over to Biggles. "There you are," he said earnestly, in a low voice," What did I tell you ? "
"I'd still go up if I had the chance," returned Biggles.
V
THE FIELD DAY
ANOTHER incident that occurred about this time must be recorded because it was Biggles' first essay in the art of war, and although not everyone shared his view, he was satisfied with it. Whatever opinions may have been at the time, the affair reveals, at all events, that even at this early age Biggles possessed that faculty for st
ratagem which was to be displayed to a greater extent in the years to come. A tendency towards individual effort, in which he afterwards excelled, rather than acceptance of the role of a small cog in a big machine, is also to be observed.
As stated earlier, there was at the school a cadet corps to which every boy and master had to belong, for it was the Head's own creation and had become his pride and j6y. He was, of course, the commanding officer, and obviously took a delight in demonstrating his knowledge of the military matters he had acquired when he himself was a soldier. At least one half day a week was devoted to drill, and for the last hour of Saturday morning it was his custom to lecture the whole school on the art of war, as approved at that time by the War Office. He laid stress constantly on the initiative which the British soldier possessed. "A soldier without initiative," he was fond of saying, "is a mere machine."
The class ended with the singing of the school marching song which the Head himself had composed.
The uniform was as simple and inexpensive as could be devised, consisting of a navy blue sweater, blue breeches, blue puttees and black boots. The headgear was a blue forage cap. The accoutrements were a white belt, with two ammunition pouches (which were never used for anything but carrying sweets) and a dummy rifle made of wood. On the shoulders, in white letters, in the form of a semi-circle, was the cypher M.H.S. O.T.C.
, which stood for Malton Hall School, Officers' Training Corps. There were, it must be admitted, two real service rifles in the Head's study that were sometimes used by the older boys for target practice on the local Volunteer rifle range.
Biggles was in the cadet corps with the rest, and it was with anything but pleasure that he looked forward to the weekly drill parade, which he held to be largely a waste of time and energy. The customary procedure was for the four companies of twenty-five boys each to parade in the quad, where a slow and extremely boring inspection took place.
The troops, each company under a master who for the time being became an officer, then marched to the football field, where two hours was spent quick marching, slow marching, double marching, lying down, getting up, and marching on again. Afterwards the troops came home at the double to prove they were not tired. All this Biggles suffered in silence as part of the price he had to pay for his education.
39 Biggles Goes To School Page 4
