# Boys' Life/Volume 1/Number 1/Faversham's Scouts

THROUGHOUT the whole term there had been fewer lines and impositions arising from dormitory irregularity than had been known throughout the whole modern history of Hailsham. It arose from no increase of virtue among the fellows themselves. On the contrary, dormitory feuds and raids as well as dormitory banquets had grown even more general than they had ever been before.
If any Hailsham fellow had been asked the reason of this welcome state of affairs he undoubtedly would have attributed it solely to Faversham's scouts. Faversham himself, the originator of this renowned body, had an elder brother, who, after several years' residence at the cape, had served his country throughout the late Boer War in the ranks of the National Scouts. The romance surrounding the elder brother's career had so impressed itself upon the younger Faversham that during the next term he instituted at Hailsham such an extensive system of sentinels and espionage as to reduce the danger of surprise visits, both to the authorities and of rival dormitories, to a minimum. The corps that bore his name did not wait long to establish its reputation.
It was at a somewhat extensive supper given by Bellingham in the large dormitory, when at an early hour in the morning, the festivities being then at their height, a strange figure quietly opened the door and casually announced that there was no possible need to hurry, but that things should be put quietly in their places, and that there should be a return to bed.
"I'll give you about three minutes, but don't fluster," he remarked—and vanished.
Some three or four minutes later, when the majority were emitting different notes from their nostrils to represent a snore, and four or five of the more restless were grumbling about false alarms, the door noiselessly opened, and Mr. Dunbrough himself, in stockinged feet, made a systematic perambulation of the room.
From that night the fame of the corps was established. Application for admission was made from all directions—and refused. Small stealthy figures, flitting by night silently along corridor and staircase, became a frequent sight to the sixth form fellows on patrol duty. In many a dormitory a door would open—causing some of its inmates to start round in fear of a surprise visit from a master, and others to seize their bolsters in dread of an advancing foe—only to reveal a small fellow with bare feet and trousers drawn over his nightshirt. Upon his breast would be a large red S painted on a piece of paper. This badge was his security. Fellows recognized that he formed their protection against their common foe—the authorities—in their prohibited amusements, and he came and went peacefully, and at will.
The sixth-formers at first were chary of allowing these midnight wanderers, but, finding ​that fewer breaches of regulations—for which they were responsible—were discovered at headquarters, owing to the diligence of this small body, they became more tolerant.
After a time, however, one section of the community waxed less enthusiastic. This was especially so when dormitory No. 4 attempted a midnight raid upon the occupants of No. 2, over which ruled Hamilton, a friend of Faversham. After stealing noiselessly to the attack, and bursting upon the unsuspecting victims, they were greeted from above by a substantial shower of boots, which had been balanced between the top and the lintel of the door. These, after greeting them, fell upon a mattress arranged beneath for their reception, so that as little noise should be made as possible. At the same time out of the darkness came the galling fire of two football-pumps filled with water, which were carefully aimed so as to empty their contents outside in the passage. When thereupon the invaders sounded a retreat, and found that their own beds had in the meantime been "ragged," they were unanimous in classifying it as the handiwork of Faversham's Scouts. Thenceforth scouting became a work of danger as well as of honor. Once or twice a scout returned in doleful condition, having been ducked in cold water and tossed in a blanket by persons unknown. But this is no wise damped the ardor either of the few limited members of the corps or of the many candidates for admission to its ranks. The danger added a yet greater spice of romance to an already romantic calling, In fact, many reputable authorities were heard to declare that they would rather be a scout than in the Eleven itself.
One afternoon Favcrsham sent for the subaltern of his corps.
"Fawcett, you will remember my entertainment in the dormitory next Saturday night?" he remarked.
Fawcett nodded familiarly.
"It's to he a large affair," continued his chief, somewhat pompously. "Hamilton and Atherlye are giving comic recitations in costume, and I am staging that dialogue Bellingham has written."
"And the grub is to be tremendous, I hear?" interposed his lieutenant.
"Yes, the refreshments will be plentiful," continued the future host, complacently. "But there is a matter on which I want your advice. Nicols was on duty last night and reports to me that Tupper and his crew are up to mischief."
Fawcett nodded again and sat down.
"I have been expecting it for a long time." said Favcrsham. "All those beasts in No. 4 are awfully jealous of the Scouts. Now, on Saturday they want to disgrace the corps by either raiding us in force, or else by getting the whole show held up by the authorities.”
"You may put your buttons on it," characteristically assented the second in command. "Shall we balk them by altering the date?" asked Faversham.
Fawcett produced a note-book with an official air.
"No, Saturday would be the best date for it," he observed. "Dunbrough is going into town that night, and Schofield is dining with Mrs. and Miss Pussy, so that disposes of both the masters. As for old Pussy himself," he continued, referring to the Rev. A. F. Purcell, "it is his turn to preach on Sunday, so he will be safe in his study writing his sermon." "Which of our men are on duty that night?"
"Nicols and Allen, but we can have all the force of sentry go if you like," Fawcett answered.
"No, that won't do," returned Faversham quickly. "I can only have the usual number. The rest I am training to put the stage away and make things ship-shape at a moment's notice. Each one is to have his own special part to do, like firemen working a fire-engine. When the alarm comes I can't have all my men dashing about aimlessly like young buffaloes. You must give us at least four minutes' warning, Fawcett."
"Very good," he answered. "I'll be on duty myself."
"By the way," remarked his superior, motioning to a small fair boy who was standing behind his chair, "this is my cousin Clifford. I daresay you know him. However, I have long promised him our next vacancy, and also to take him on if we ever want any extra help. Take him round with you and try him, Fawcett, next Saturday night. He may be of some use, for he hits well and uses all his weight."
Fawcett inspected the recruit critically.
"Very good. Be ready next Saturday night," he said, turning to Clifford, "and in the meantime,” he continued meaningly, "keep your tongue quiet.”
Scarcely had the dormitory bell rung "lights out" the following Saturday night, when Clifford, lying partially dressed under the clothes, felt someone steal up to his bed out of the darkness. It was Fawcett.
"Are you ready?" he whispered. "No, put on your coat and black socks, if you please. I want to have you as dark as possible," he explained, as Clifford crept noiselessly out of bed.
In a couple of minutes they were creeping out of the quiet small dormitory in which Clifford slept into the passage beyond.
The secrecy, the darkness, and the whole mystery of the thing exhilarated Clifford like a stimulant.
The passage was cold and dimly lighted.
Softly in his stockinged feet he followed the noiseless footsteps of his companion along the stairs and corridors.
At the other end of the long lighted passages they perceived a tall figure walking away from them.
Fawcett held Clifford back. "A sixth-form chap on patrol duty," he whispered; "it doesn't matter, but it's no use him seeing us."
"Won't he interrupt the feed?" questioned Clifford.
His companion shook his head. "He won't mind. Most likely going himself. Come on," he added, and flitted down some back staris.
They came at length to the beginning of a corridor in utter darkness. "Tupper’s crew live up there," Fawcett whispered again, and ​kneeling down flipped the skirting-board sharply with his nail, and bent low his head.
Faintly out of the darkness came two answering taps.
"That's Nicols up there," he explained. "He's shadowing them."
Thence they quietly made their way to the door of Faversham's dormitory—now temporarily converted into a banqueting hall. The guests were beginning to arrive in guilty-looking twos and threes, and from within there sounded a clatter of plates and other busy preparations. Outside the door stood the door-keeper—the sturdy sergeant of the corps.
With him Fawcett softly conversed for a few moments, and at length. borrowed a chair. Bearing this article of furniture between them, Clifford and his leader took their departure farther along the passage to a point where, fixed high upon the wall, was a powerful electric
He flipped the skirting board sharply with his nail
bell which communicated with, and was set in motion by, a press button in Mr. Purcell's own study. Standing upon the chair, Fawcett quietly unscrewed and removed the gong on which the hammer sounded. Then he returned the chair to the dormitory he had borrowed it from.
"Now," he whispered, "we are ready. Come on," and followed by Clifford descended the big dark staircase which led to the silent, deserted class-rooms.
"Nicols is shadowing Tupper, and Allen is billowing Mr. Schofield. We watch the great Pussy himself," volunteered the guide. "Tupper dare not try an attack himself," he continued. "He would be recognized by all the big fellows, and fairly slain tomorrow. What they will do, I am sure, is to try and rouse cither Mr. Schofield or Old Pussy to make a raid. We must be careful."
The staircase was of stone, and felt cold to their unshod feet. Only by following the banisters could they proceed through the intense darkness. Another turn, however, brought them to a broad flagged hall, faintly lighted by an oil lamp. But from beneath a door upon the left bright streaks of light shone steadily upon the floor. This was Pussy's study.
"He's in there, so be careful," murmured Fawcett, and beckoned his companion along the hall to a door beneath the flight of stairs they had just descended.
The upper panels of the door were glazed, but whitewashed from within to render them opaque. Clifford knew it at once as the housekeeper's storeroom. From his pocket Fawcett produced a key which he fitted into the lock.
"This is one of our sentry-boxes," he whispered; "in you go!"
A spacious cupboard lined with shelves of tins and jam-pots was revealed.
"What a lot of grub!" Clifford could not help remarking softly.
His guide reproved him.
"The Scouts are not thieves," he remarked sententiously. "Now let me point out the strategical importance of this position. Firstly, you see this bolt. I put it on myself. We can fasten ourselves in—so! Secondly, through that little bit of pane where the whitewash has been scratched away, we can watch Pussy's door; and lastly, you can see those two white strings running up that corner? Those are the wires connecting the push in Pussy's study and the electric bell upstairs, which I manipulated just now. Observe that here the isolating covering of non-conducting grease and cotton has been stripped off the two wires, thus exposing the copper strands. Press the two wires together in that place—no, don't do it now, whatever you do! However, if you did the bell upstairs would ring just the same as if you pressed the push in Pussy's study, for the circuit is thus completed by the junction of the two wires, and the current would run. If Pussy leaves his study to go upstairs, I should press them. As there is no bell, the hammer would merely vibrate by itself, with only enough noise to attract the attention of the doorkeeper on the watch. I ring three times for an ordinary warning, but only once if very urgent."
"But we meanwhile—?" questioned Clifford.
"Would remain here!"
"But our empty beds?"
"My dear fellow," replied Fawcett, "if you were to see your bed now you would find it occupied by a pile of things with the bed-clothes tastefully arranged over them, and a dark object on the pillow half covered with the sheet. Allen makes it his specialty. It’s not an infallible trick, of course, but quite sparky enough to pass in a scrum."
"Wonderful!" admitted Clifford, but his admiration was cut short by his leader. "Don't talk," he ordered. "Listen."
How long it was that they watched Clifford did not know. But still no sounds came from the study, nor did the gleams of light die away under the door. At length, however, a noise reached them, faintly, as if from upstairs. It sounded like a shuffle far up in the dormitory corridors.
"What is that?" whispered Fawcett, and they both listened.
There was no further sound in the dark, silent house, however.
"I must go and see what it is,” said Fawcett, at length. "It may be old Schofield on the ​ramp. Remember, the honor of the corps depends on us. Here, let me out. You stop here, and don't bolt the door in case I come back."
Then Fawcett rose, glided out into the dim hall, and disappeared noiselessly.
Clifford remained crouching in a dark corner of the store cupboard among the jampots.
Minutes passed slowly, with leaden wings. The absolute silence oppressed him. Far away he could hear the heavy ticking of a grandfather clock. He knew where it stood—opposite the Head's drawing-room door. He wouldn’t have thought he could have heard it all that way. Still Fawcett did not return.
He heard faintly the hundred and one soft, inexplicable noises that occur in old houses at night.
At length—it seemed to him after an age—he heard stealthy footsteps descending the stairs above his head. Fawcett returning, no doubt.
But there seemed more than one—doubtless some more Scouts were with him.
Clifford peered anxiously through the glass spy-hole. Three tall fellows stood whispering together at the foot of the stairs, and he saw at a glance none of them wore the Scout's badge—in fact, they were Tupper and two of his friends.
The door of the store-room was ajar for Fawcett's return—to close it now would be to reveal himself.
The trio conversed together softly but anxiously; at length they all advanced to the door of the store-cupboard in which Clifford was hidden. The would-be Scout turned up his coat-collar, rammed his hands into his pockets, so as to show as little white as possible, and crouched lower in the dark comer. Fawcett's foresight in making him wear a coat was apparent. Tupper pulled open the door. In his hand he held a key.
"I found this in Fawcett's pocket," he said softly to his companions, "and as there was a label on it I discovered the brute's retreat."
"Are you sure you have got all the Scouts?" asked Doyle, one of his followers.
"Every man Jack tied up in our dormitory, except the door-keeper," answered Tupper gleefully. "We didn't dare tackle him, because he could call for help. Fawcett gave the most trouble."
"Having collared all the Scouts, what now?" asked the third of the band.
"To rouse old Pussy on the trail when they have no Scouts to warn them," returned the chief softly.
"It is too far a run up the staircase afterwards,” he added solemnly, as if calculating the distance, "so this will be a good retreat. Doyle will hold this door open for us while we make a real picnic of a din outside Pussy's door. Then we skip back here for shelter. The old man will get in no end of a rage at such a row, and will fly upstairs to the dormitories, and Faversham's feasters, having no Scouts left to warn them, will be nicely copped."
"Good!" agreed one of his companions, chuckling. "The Scouts can't scheme against you, Tupper."
"Come on," said the chief, "there's no time to lose. Hold the door open, Doyle, and be ready."
Scarcely had the items of this neat plan reached the ears of Clifford in his dark comer, than he felt gently for the electric wires, and pressed them together with a steady grip.
The two tall figures crept forward in the direction of the study. As Doyle stood half out in the passage, holding open the storeroom door, Clifford, with a sudden spring, gave him an irresistible push in the centre of the back which sent that gentleman spinning toward his companions. Then, swiftly, Clifford pulled the door to upon himself and shot the bolt. It was well-timed, for almost contemporaneously Tupper and his friend raised their uproar outside the study door. A second more and they were flying back to safety, only to find the store-room door shut in their faces. They tugged and strained, but the bolt held good. Then they tried the stairs, but too late. Mr. Purcell's tall form was amongst them ere they gained the bottom steps.
"Tupper, Doyle, and Wyatt! how dare you, sirs! Come in here!" exclaimed the enraged master, as he motioned them inside his study.
Two minutes later he departed upstairs to inspect the dormitories, but thanks to Clifford's timely signal Favershain and his guests were safe in their virtuous couches simulating the sleep of the just.
On the next day Clifford was enrolled a regular member of Faversham's Scouts.
MAXIMS FOR SCOUTS
A good scout is full of resource. He can find a way out of any difficulty or discomfort.
One of the chief duties of a scout is to help those in distress in any possible way that he can.
It is a disgrace to a scout if, when he is with other people, they see anything big or little, near or far, high or low, that he has not already seen for himself.
The fellow who has to turn his hand to many things, as the scout does in camp, finds that he is more easily able to obtain employment, because he is ready to turn his hand to whatever kind of work may turn up.
In the old days the missionaries were the scouts of America, and their rules were, very much the same as the scout law which we have now. We are descendants, and we ought to keep up their good name and follow in their steps.
Peace scouts can find their way anywhere; are able to read meaning from the smallest signs and foot tracks. They know how to look after their health when far away from any doctors; are strong and plucky, and ready to face any danger, and always keen to help each other.
If every boy works hard at scouting and really learns all that it teaches him, he will, at the end of it, have some claim to call himself a real man, and will find, if ever he goes on Service or to a colony, that he will have no difficulty in looking after himself and in being really useful to his country.