The Adventures of a Freshman Part 3

"Column right--wheel!" said the Junior in front, and they turned in at the carriage entrance.

Before he quite realized it Young found himself walking on the soft, green turf of the campus itself.

The singing had ceased. The talking stopped now. Nothing could be heard but the "tr'm, tr'm, tr'm," of many feet taking many steps at the same instant.

"Halt!" said one of the Juniors in a whisper. "Form close ranks--lock step." The long line began to concentrate.

Another of the Juniors went down the line saying, in a low voice, "Put your caps in your pockets, fellows--put your caps in your pockets, fellows." Many of them had already done so. Some only pulled theirs on tighter.

"Are you ready back there, Tommy?" asked one of the Juniors.

"Yes, Jack."

The man hugging Young's arm whispered, "That's Jack Stehman, the great tackle."

"Oh," said Young, looking admiringly at the powerful-looking football hero.

"Now then, fellows," Stehman was saying to the Freshmen, "the Soph.o.m.ores are lined up and waiting for you over by West College; one of our men has just come from there. You fellows are nearly fifty men stronger than they are. Stick together and you'll rush them dead easy."

At this four or five excited Freshmen started a faint cheer but it was crushed down by several vigorous "sishes!" "Keep your mouths shut," said one of the other Juniors.

"Now, follow me and, mind, _stick together_, what_ever_ you do. Stick together!" This was big Jack Stehman again. Young admired him; hoped to become well acquainted with him some day.

The compact ma.s.s moved forward, their bodies close together and their legs and feet beneath taking quick short steps as best they could. It was like a huge dark centipede, except that centipedes probably do not step on so many of their heels at once.

On either side walked upper-cla.s.smen, some calmly smoking pipes as if there was nothing to be excited about, laughing lightly and making remarks. The way they looked at Young and his companions reminded him of his father and the other farmers judging live stock at the county fair.

"Pretty good looking Freshman cla.s.s, Harry," said one fellow whose face Young couldn't see in the dark.

"Um," said the one addressed, nodding. "There's a fellow, looks----"

Young lost the rest of it.

Up the gravel driveway the black ma.s.s crept toward the opening between the dark Library and darker d.i.c.kinson Hall.

Young was grabbing tight hold of the Freshman in front of him and wondering what would come next.

They were just through the opening and were about to turn toward the quadrangle. Suddenly there was a rumbling sound, like distant thunder.

Then shouted Jack Stehman, the big Junior: "Here they come! here they come. Now then keep together, fellows, keep together, keep together--come at 'em _hard_!"

Now the many feet of the Freshman column began to rumble. On they plunged, increasing their speed every second.

The spectators on either side sprang back. On came the Soph.o.m.ores with still more momentum, showing a front row of hardened football men with football suits. A distant light shone on them and Young had a vivid glimpse of their determined faces.

Then, with the Juniors crying, "Come faster! come faster! stick together!" and the Seniors who coached the Soph.o.m.ores shouting, "Rush 'em, rush 'em, rush 'em!" the two lines came together.

Young was conscious of a dull crunching "thrump." It sounded as if bones were breaking, though none was. Then he saw the two rows in front of him lifted up in mid-air. The front rows of Soph.o.m.ores were squeezed up also. It was like colliding trains of cars. Young could see them up there struggling, could hear them straining and grunting and pus.h.i.+ng and shouting while the distant light gleamed on their dishevelled hair.

"Now! now! that's the way--now we're getting them!" one of the Juniors was shrieking.

"That's the way!" yelled another.

"Stick together!" roared Stehman, jumping in and shoving mightily himself. He seemed as strong and as regardless of his body as a mad bull, and yet he was as calm as a man loading hay.

"Rush 'em off the campus! Rush the Freshmen!" shouted the Seniors now becoming alarmed.

"Yea-a-! we're doing 'em," panted the well-built man beside Young.

"Shove! shove! shove!"

Young was straining and shoving with his teeth set and he felt as if his ribs would soon break. But he had the exultant joy of victory. His feet were off the ground and he was being carried along by the force of those behind him.

The Soph.o.m.ores had tried to take them by surprise before they got up the grade by the Library. If they had been successful they would have made short work of the Freshmen. As it was they had more momentum, but in hurrying across the campus to accomplish their design their lines had become loose. The Freshmen, on the other hand, were solid through and through, and now the compact ma.s.s in the rear was beginning to tell. The Freshmen were shoving the Soph.o.m.ores back. Young heard shouts of victory.

But at this point the usual and natural result took place. The lines were too long for their width, and so it was only for a moment that they kept straight head to head; the pus.h.i.+ng from behind bent them and they doubled in upon themselves. The Freshmen 'way back there in the rear thinking the Soph.o.m.ores had retreated rushed on hard, shouting for their cla.s.s and their victory, while at the same time part of the Soph.o.m.ores did the same thing on the other side. And so sections of each column pa.s.sed each other shouting, "Rush 'em!" and the rest turned around on each other and got hopelessly mixed up and excited. In this mix there was much shouting and considerable cap-grabbing and some rough work.

And the confused, disorganized Freshmen did not know just what was going on until a sudden cry went up, "Look out! look out! Here they come again."

"Get in line--for Heaven's sake," hurriedly shouted a Junior, and "This way," roared big Stehman, "_this_ way, I tell you, you fools!"

But it was too late. The rumbling was heard again, and from an unexpected direction, and before the huddling Freshmen could even get started, a compact ma.s.s of Soph.o.m.ores came pounding down upon them, ploughed through them, knocked some of them over and came out solid on the other side.

Then there was great shouting among the Soph.o.m.ores, with much blatant, exultant cheering.

Meanwhile the rallying cry of "Ninety-blank this way!" began ringing out again. It was over by the quadrangle and now the scattered Freshmen were scurrying over toward the sound of it.

"Ninety-blank?" shouted a boyish voice in Young's ear not two feet away from it.

"Yes," said Young, excitedly, and took the owner of it by the arm and hurried along through the crowd toward their comrades.

Just then an unseen hand made a grab at Young's hat--off it went; and the grabber dodged out of sight in the crowd and darkness.

"There goes my hat," said Young.

"Mine went long ago," said his new-found comrade, meaning ten seconds before. He was a little fellow and seemed very young. "We oughtn't to have taken them out of our pockets." He was laughing excitedly as he ran along.

They hurried into line with the others by West College.

A Junior dressed in a conspicuous white flannel suit came running over, shouting, "The Sophs are just beginning to form over there by the cannon. Hurry and you can get them on the flank."

"All right," cried Jack Stehman, "come on, fellows. Never mind weights and sizes. Now do something, do something for your cla.s.s."

"Come on," called another, "this time we get the cannon!"

Without waiting for all the cla.s.s to collect, or for perfect formation, the Freshman column dashed down at the thick of the Soph.o.m.ores who now stopped giving "This-way" shouts and started forward to meet their opponents. They knew that to be caught napping meant to be rushed, and then the Freshmen would gain the coveted cannon.

Again the two columns met like two big waves, and like spray the front lines were dashed on high. Young was up there this time, literally face to face with the Soph.o.m.ores. He could see them straining and grunting and pus.h.i.+ng like himself. The little fellow that had fallen in rank beside him was up there too, being tossed about like a cork.

The Soph.o.m.ores were only half prepared for the attack, and were being charged back; Young felt them giving way before him. It felt good.

"Hold them, hold them, fellows!" shouted the Seniors, and some of them pitched in to help their allies, the Soph.o.m.ores.