University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

The remainder of the week, the apprentice Will Martin, passed the
most of his time with his mother, over whose recovery he watched with
the most honorable filial tenderness. He anticipated every wish which
a glance of her eye expressed, and with his own hands, rejecting the
aid of the nurse, supplied every want; for, thanks to the donation of
the youthful stranger, there was nothing she could ask for that they
had not the money wherewithal to purchase.

Twice Edward had been to inquire after the invalid, but both times
it chanced to be in the absence of the widow's son, greatly to her disappointment.
On each occasion he brought with him, tied up in a
handkerchief, oranges, dried fruit, or some little delicacies which he
thought would tempt the old lady's palate.

`My son is so wanting to see you, sir,' said she as he was leaving
her on his second visit. `He says he shall never forget your kindness

to his poor old widowed mother. He asked me if you were a
student of the College, sir, and also your name. But I told him I did
not feel bound to take the liberty of asking you. If I mought not be
too bold sir—'

`It is of no consequence,' replied Cassidy, smiling, and not caring
to have his charities blazoned abroad by either the old lady's gratitude
or her son's. `I shall come and see you again on Sunday morning,
and will bring some interesting book to read to you. On Monday, if
it is a warm fine day, I will take you out to ride a little way, if you
should find yourself strong enough. Dr. — says he thinks you will
be. As I have gone so far in behalf of your misfortune, I shall feel a
pleasure in seeing you well again; and I shall take care that you don't
relapse by any improvidence. Now, my good woman, if you keep up
your spirits and soon get up, I think I can promise you will live more
comfortably hereafter than you have done, even without your son's assistance;
who will need all his earnings for his own use.'

With these words the kind-hearted young man bade her good evening
and left her followed by her grateful blessings. When William
came from town and learned his mother's benefactor had been there
during his absence, he expressed his regret that he had not seen him;
and when she showed him what he had left for her, and repeated his
words to her, he felt tears come into his eyes; and if Cassidy had entered
at that moment he would have cast himself upon him and wept
forth his gratitude.

`I should like to know him that I may not any longer neglect to go
and thank him. What must he think of me—your son—so seemingly
indifferent to all he has done and is doing for you. Do you know
him, Mrs Firth?' he inquired of the nurse.

`I think the doctor called him Mr. Cassidy; but I wont be certain,'
she said. `He did not employ me, but I was sent by the doctor.'

`Yet he pays you?'

`Yes. He has given me already twenty dollars, and I should't ask
no more if I should stay a month. I am certain he is a colleger.'

`No—he is no student. There is not so much charity and benevolence
as he has shown mother, in the breasts of all the upstarts in the
university, if it was all compressed and bestowed on one of their number.
You will find your student at the tavern, at the scrub-race, at
the gambling-table; you will find him prowling about the workingman's
windows to lure forth poor innocent girls to their ruin, but you
will never see him visiting the sick bed of the aged and indigent, You

will see him spending his money in harlotry and rioting, but never in
charity and good deeds. No, mother Firth, he is no student, you may
mark that, whoever he may be.'

`I have seen a good many charitable young gentlemen in the college,'
said Mistress Firth, `and I have known them to do a deal of
good with their money, some of the richer ones.'

The apprentice made no reply, and the subject was dropped.

The ensuing day was Saturday. In one of the chambers at Cambridge
College was assembled a group of young men. Several of them
had in their hands stout clubs which in courtesy we will name `walking-sticks,'
and all of them had mounted the `trencher-cap.' They
were in noisy conversation and appeared a good deal excited. Their
number was momentarily increasing. At length a young gentleman
entered, in a round hat. Instantly a dozen voices exclaimed,

`Where is your trencher, Cassidy?'

`In my room.'

`Are'nt you going to town?'

`Yes,' he answered, laughing at their earnestness.

`Then, Ned, you must wear your trencher for the honor of the university.
For every blackguard will say you left it off for fear of being
mobbed.'

`Oh, well, then, I'll wear it,' answered Cassidy. `How many
trencher-men are we in all?'

`At least forty.'

`If we go through Boston in such a gang we shall not only provoke
attack, but make ourselves ridiculous. I will wear my trencher, but I
beg to walk my own way,' he said, smiling.

That day the strects of Boston were quite in shadow with the trencher
caps. The students paraded the town in groups of four and six,
and save that their novel costume attracted much attention and drew
after them crowds of saucy boys, many of whom rejoiced in paper
`trenchers' of enormous dimensions, there was until late in the afternoon
no open demonstration of hostility. The police had had intimation
that a riot was in embryo, and their frequent faces seen in the
streets restrained the belligerents. About four o'clock in the afternoon,
William Martin, Dick Dempster, and three others, were standing
near the doors of the Tremont Theatre waiting for some occasion
for opening the war with the `trencher-caps,' several of whom were
on the steps of the Tremont House opposite, when two of them crosdes
the street and entered the box-office. As they came out again,

William Martin purposely thrust out his foot so that Edward Cassidy,
who was one of the two, stumbled over it. The indignant young man
instantly turned round and struck him in the face. Martin returned
the blow, and Dick and his friends then set upon them; the `caps'
from the opposite side of the street came over and joined the melée;
and for a few moments there was a fierce engagement in which for a
while the trenchers held the better hand. The apprentices, however,
were soon supported by increasing numbers, and the `trenchers,' after
maintaining a vigorous defence, were compelled to retire and seek,
from the overwhelming numbers that assailed them, a shelter in the
hall of the hotel. The police at length made their appearance and dispersed
the rioters now that the riot was over. `Bruising Bill' had
maintained in the fight his sobriquet, and had also the satisfaction of
getting a black eye from Cassidy at its outset. He retired with Dick
and others to the engine house—the usual rendezvous of such `boys'
at such times. Here it was resolved that the war should be carried
into the enemies' camp. The same night, therefore, about fifty young
fellows, all apprentices, and most of them about Martin's age, met
near the Cambridge bridge just after dark. They were headed by
`Bruising Bill,' and led on by him, carried the toll-gate and by force
pushed their way in a body across the bridge. In a compact mass
they pursued their course along the road to the colleges, three miles
distant. They marched at a rapid rate, for they had intelligence that
a party of about a score of students had crossed the bridge before
them and were not far in advance. With these they hoped to come
up before they should reach the college grounds. Half a mile from
the colleges they saw them ahead and rushed upon them with shouts.
The students, taken by surprise, fled a short distance until they came
to a style where they made a stand and shouted their cry of `clubs'
and `Cambridge,' to bring their fellow-students to reinforce them.—
The cry reached the college buildings, and in a moment the courts of
old Harvard rung with it from a hundred voices, Inspired by the answering
sound which promised succor, the handful of students stood
their ground and gave battle.

`On, fellows, on!' shouted Bruising Bill, springing upon the style
and dealing around blows with a massive club. `Down with the aristocrats.'

`Stand your ground, Trenchers. Let the villains have the full
weight of your sticks!' cried the clear voice of Edward Cassidy above
the noise of he conflict.'

`Let me reach that square cap!' yelled Bruising Bill, springing towards
Cassidy. `He is the hardest chap! Get him down and we'll
drive them like sheep.'

At this instant he and Edward met. Martin grappled him by the
throat, but a blow from the club of a trencher-cap caused him to release
his hold with a curse. The green in the rear was now alive with
students running towards the scene of conflict and shouting, `To the
rescue! to the rescue!'

Their numbers momentarily increased, and the apprentices were at
length driven back from the style which they had twice carried, and
pursued across the highway. Here they rallied and once more became
assailants. On all sides clubs fell with merciless fury, brick
bats flew, and oaths, shouts and yells filled the air as if a mortal combat
were going forward. The roar only of fire-arms was wanting to
make it a mortal battle in earnest. As it was, many an apprentice,
many a `trencher-cap,' fell, severely beaten and wounded. In the
hottest of the fight Martin, who, in the bright moonlight that shone
upon the scene, had sought out Cassidy whose voice was heard constantly
cheering on his party, and to the weight of whose club many
a broken head could that night testify, at length met him. Edward
was almost the only one who had retained his cap in the contest, the
ground being strewn with those of his party.

`I'll smash your infernal cap for you!' cried Martin as he swung his
club in the air; `I'll make you sick of putting yourself above your
betters?'

Edward made an effort to catch the blow upon his own club, but
was unsuccessful, and the whole force of the apprentice's loaded weapon
came upon his temples. He sank to the ground with a groan and
lay insensible.

`You've killed him, Bill, said Dick, `we had best be out of this.'

The fall of Cassidy infuriated the students, and while some of them
raised him and bore him from the field, the others rushed upon the apprentices
with such fury that after making a brief stand, they retreated,
Martin advising it, saying,

`We have done enough for to-night, fellows, let us for Boston.'

The retreat was made in good order, to the interception of the turnpike
where a small body of police making an effort to arrest the leaders
were driven before them and severely beaten. It was near midnight
when they re-entered the town, through the streets of which,
confident in their numbers, they marched in a body awaking and

startling with their heavy tramp many a sleeper from his bed, and from
his post many a wondering watchman withal.'

`I wish I knowed whether I did for that square-cap I knocked down,'
said Martin to his friend Dick as they walked together to their lodgings
after the gang had dispersed.

`If you have, Boston will be too hot to hold us,' was the reply.—
`As it is, I expect the police will take hold of it.'

`Not if there is no life lost. It will be looked upon by them as only
an a 'prentice's row, and so let it go. But if I have done for
that chap, I shall feel sorry. For a young fellow so dandyish he
fought like a lion. I didn't know these upstart collegers had so much
pluck in 'em. But I see they can fight about as well as 'prentices.'

`Where do you go to-morrow, Bill?' asked Dick as they were about
to separate for the night.

`To see my mother. She expected me to-night, and I shall start
out early. You know she is sick.'

`Seems to me you think a good deal of your mother, Bill. I never
thought so much of mine.'

`Because she is not a widow, and you are not her only child. I
love my mother better than any thing on earth. He who injures her,
injures me twice, and he who does her a kindness does it to me seven
times over. She has always been a kind mother to me, and I will take
care of her and make her comfortable as long as she lives. Good
night Dick.'

`Good night, Bill,' and the two apprentices separated, each seeking
his own lodging in little rooms in the loft of his own printing office.