Brave Tom; Or, The Battle That Won — A Reader’s Guide

On a certain summer day, a few years ago, the little village of Briggsville, in Pennsylvania, was thrown into a state of excitement, the like of which was never known since the fearful night, a hundred years before, when a band of red men descended like a cyclone upon the little hamlet with its block-house, and left barely a dozen settlers alive to tell the story of the visitation to their descendants.

Tom Gordon lived a mile from Briggsville with his widowed mother and his Aunt Cynthia, a sister to his father, who had died five years before.

The boy had no brother or sister; and as he was bright, truthful, good-tempered, quick of perception, and obedient, it can be well understood that he was the pride and hope of his mother and aunt, whose circumstances were of the humblest nature. He attended the village school, where he was the most popular and promising of the threescore pupils under the care of the crabbed Mr. Jenkins. He was as active of body as mind, and took the lead among boys of his own age in athletic sports and feats of dexterity.

One summer day the village of Briggsville blazed out in black and red and white, every available space being covered with immense posters, which in flaming scenes and gigantic type announced the coming of "Jones's & Co.'s Great Moral Menagerie and Transcontinental Circus, on its triumphal tour through the United States and Canada."

Naturally a tremendous excitement set in among the boys, who began hoarding their pennies and behaving with supernatural propriety, so that nothing should interfere with the treat, which in exquisite enjoyment can never be equaled by anything that could come to them in after-life.

Tom Gordon had never yet seen the inside of a circus and menagerie; and as his mother promised him that the enjoyment should be his, it is impossible to describe his state of mind for the days and nights preceding the visit of the grand aggregation, the like of which (according to the overwhelming posters) the world had never known before. He studied the enormous pictures, with their tigers, bears, leopards, and panthers, the size of a meeting-house; their elephants of mountainous proportions, and the daring acrobats, contortionists, and performers, whose feats made one hold one's breath while gazing in awe at their impossible performances. The lad dreamed of them at night, talked about them through the day, and discussed with his most intimate friends the project of forming a circus of their own when they became bigger and older. The latter project, it may be added, owing to unforeseen obstacles, never assumed definite form.

But alas! this is a world of disappointment. On the morning of the circus Tom was seized with a violent chill, which almost shook him out of his shoes. He tried with might and main to master it; for he well knew that if he did not, his visit to the wonderful show must be postponed indefinitely. He strove like a hero, and was actually sick several hours before the watchful eyes of his mother and aunt discovered his plight. The moment came when he could hold out no longer, with his teeth rattling like castanets, and his red face so hot that it was painful to the touch. Since the performance did not open until two o'clock in the afternoon, he did not as yet abandon all hope.

His mother and aunt sympathized with him; but although he rallied to a great extent from his illness, they could not give consent for him to leave the house. He partook of refreshment, and left his bed at noon. At two o'clock he was able to sit in the chair by the window, with his fever greatly abated, and an hour later he was as free from all traces of the ague as you or I.

But it was then too late to go to the circus. The disappointment was a sore one, but the lad stood it like the really brave fellow he was. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and smiled as he said to his aunt,--

"When the circus comes again, I don't think I'll have a chill."

"And you shall see it, if you are alive then,--of that be assured."

The day was one of the most pleasant and balmy of the season, and Tom walked out of the house, leaned on the gate, and looked up and down the highway.

Suddenly he observed a span of horses coming on a gallop, while the driver of the open wagon was lashing them with his whip and urging them to still greater speed.

"They aren't running away," mused the astonished boy; "for, if they were, the man wouldn't be trying to make them run faster. It's Mr. MacDowell! I never saw him drive faster than a walk before; something dreadful must have happened."

As Mr. MacDowell caught sight of the boy, and came opposite, he shouted something, and with an expression of terror glanced around and pointed with his whip behind him. The furious rattle of the wagon prevented Tom's catching the words, and the terrified farmer did not repeat them, but lashed his team harder than ever, vanishing in a cloud of dust raised by his own wheels.

"He must be crazy," said Tom, unable to think of any other explanation of the old man's frantic behavior.

The lad stood with his head turned toward the cloud of dust, wondering and speculating over the strange affair, when hurried footsteps caused him to turn quickly and look again in the direction of the village.

This time it was Jim Travers, who was panting from his running, and whose face was a picture of consternation, equal to that of Farmer MacDowell.

"What's the matter, Jim?" asked Tom as his schoolmate reached him.

"O Tom, ain't it awful?" gasped the new arrival, coming to a halt, still panting, and casting affrighted glances in the direction of Briggsville.

"Ain't _what_ awful?"

"Gracious! hain't you heard the news? I thought everybody knowed it."

And the tired boy took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve across his steaming forehead, as though his expression of surprise at Tom's ignorance communicated of itself the news to him. Tom, as may be supposed, was on needles; for, as yet, he had not received the first hint of the occurrence, which certainly must have been of a stirring nature.

"Sam Harper, Jack Habersham, and Bill Dunham--_all killed_ before any one could help 'em! Did you ever hear of anything like it?" continued Jim.

"I haven't heard of _that_ yet. I don't know what you're talking about, Jim; if you can't tell me, why, shut up!"

"So you hain't heard the news? I forgot; it scared me almost to death. I thought everybody knowed it. I must hurry home."

And the bewildered youngster was on the point of dashing off again, after partially recovering his wind, when he seemed to awaken to the fact that he owed something in the way of enlightenment to his friend.

"I forgot, Tom; but I did think you knowed it: guess you're the only boy in a thousand miles that hain't heard of it. Well, you see the way of it was this: there was the biggest crowd I ever seed at the circus,--don't believe any other circus in the country ever had so many people there. Everything was going 'long all right, when what did Sam Harper do, but reach out with a stick and punch it in the eye of the tiger, Tippo Sahib? The minute he done it, the tiger let out a yell that you would have heerd a mile off, and, afore Sam could get out of the way, the tiger smashed right out of the cage and was among the people, chawing them up. He had his well eye on Sam, and crushed his head like an eggshell, with one bite! Then he made a sweep with his paw, and knocked Jack Habersham clean out the tent. He must have gone a hundred feet through the air, for he come down on top of the steeple, and is there yet with the spire sticking up through him. Then he hit Bill Dunham such a clip that he sailed out through the same hole in the tent that Jack passed through. When I left, Bill hadn't been seed by anybody. Guess he hasn't come down yet.

"Then the tiger come for _me_!

"I seen him make a spring, and ducked my head. He went clean over, and landed among the women and children, and begun chawing 'em up. Why, Tom, the sound of their bones cracking and snapping in his jaws was like the fire-crackers going off on the Fourth of July. Them as warn't swallered or killed scattered right and left, and begun climbing trees, jumping through winders, and fastening the doors. All this time the tiger kept on chawing. He never took more than one bite at a man!"

"Did you see him kill any one?" asked the scared Tom, somewhat confused by the tremendous narrative of his friend.

"Did I see him kill any one? I should say I did. I seed him kill more than forty!"

"Did he eat 'em all?"

"Of course he did! That is, all but their boots and shoes. He don't seem to like leather," added Jim thoughtfully; "for I noticed that when the men were going down his throat, he kind of shet his jaws, so as to slip off their boots."

"Jim, he must be a big tiger to hold so many folks inside of him."

"Course he is! The biggest that was ever catched in Greenland! He didn't not only swaller the men and boys and women that I'm telling you 'bout, but he took in horses, cows, dogs, and anything in his way. If I ain't mistook, he swallered Mr. MacDowell's two horses with him."

"No, he didn't; for they went by a few minutes ago. But, Jim, what makes you in such a hurry?"

"I'm trying to get away from Tippo Sahib," replied the frightened lad, glancing furtively again toward the village.

"Where's the tiger now?"

"He ain't fur off, and," added Jim, speaking the truth this time, "_the tiger's coming this way, and will soon be here_."

It was Tom Gordon's turn now to be frightened.

"What!" he exclaimed, almost leaping from his feet; "the tiger coming this way! How do you know that?"

"I seed him! Ain't that enough? He started right up the road on a gallop, with the blood dripping from his jaws!"

"But where is he now?"

"He went a little way, stopping now and then to swaller some one that warn't quick 'nough to git out of his path; he went over the hill this side of Briggsville, where you know we couldn't see him. By that time a whole lot of the folks had guns, and started after him. Being on my way home, I jined 'em. When we got to the top of the hill, old Tippo Sahib couldn't be seen anywhere."

"Aren't you afeard to go home?"

"No, of course not," replied Jimmy, rapidly regaining courage; "I know how to fix him if he comes after me."

"All I've got to do is to stop short and look him right in the eye. A chap mustn't tremble, but look hard and stern."

"Why didn't you do that, Jim, when he first broke out of his cage?"

"I hadn't time! I'll do it if I meet him agin. Remember, Tom, if you run against him, you must fix your eyes on him and not wink. _That'll_ fetch him every time."

"But s'posin' it doesn't?"

"If you should have to wink, and he comes for you, why all you've got to do is to haul off with your foot and kick him awful hard under the jaw; that'll fix him! But you mustn't be barefooted, or you'll hurt your toes. And you must kick hard 'nough too," added the budding naturalist, "to knock his jaw off. Then of course he can't bite."

The scheme was a brilliant one, perhaps; but young as was Tom Gordon, he felt that the difficulty lay in its application.

"Gracious! Jim! the tiger is stirring up things, isn't he? We've got a gun in the house, and if he visits us I think I'll try that."

"Do you know where to hit him?" asked Jim, who, having fully recovered his wind, seemed at the same time to have regained a vast amount of curious knowledge of natural history.

"I s'pose in the head is as good as any place."

"Don't you think of such a thing! He don't mind being hit in the head more than you do getting hit by a spit-ball. You must aim for his tail!"

"How can that hurt him?" asked the amazed Tom.

"Why, I seed the balls that hit his head glance off and scoot up in the air, like skipping stones over the water. A tiger uses his tail to balance himself with. Shoot off his tail, and he loses his balance. Every time he tries to walk, he tips over. Don't forget, Tom, if you shoot, to aim at his tail, just where it is stuck onto his body. If you miss, look him in the eye; and if that doesn't stop him, let drive with your foot under the jaw, and don't forget to have your shoes on. Well, I must go home to tell the folks to git ready," added Jim, loping off like an Indian starting on a long journey.

Tom had caught the contagion of excitement, and the moment his friend left he made a dash for the door of his home, bursting in upon his mother and aunt with the astounding news just received from his playmate.

Strange women would they have been not to have been wrought up by the alarming tidings. Brushing aside the chaff, there remained the wheat in Jim's words to the effect that the tiger, one of the finest of his kind ever seen in captivity, had broken out of his cage, injured, if not killed, a number of people, and was in the immediate neighborhood, with the prospect of paying a visit to this home.

"The gun is loaded," said the mother, turning slightly pale; "but I don't think one of those animals will attempt to enter a house."

"I have read that in India," remarked her sister-in-law, "they follow the natives into their houses, and tear down the structures in their fury."

"But their dwellings are made of light bamboo, and are frail structures."

"We may as well be on the right side," remarked the other, stepping hastily to the door. But just before reaching it, the latch flew up, and Jim Travers plunged in, falling on his hands and knees, the picture of terror itself.

"Shut the door quick!" he gasped. "The tiger is coming; he's coming; he's right behind me."

In a twinkling, Aunt Cynthia sprang forward, caught the latch, and slid the heavy bar in place, while the mother hastened to the window.

"Look out!" called Jim, clambering to his feet; "he'll spring right through and chaw you up, quicker'n lightning."

But the brave parent not only threw up the window and bolted the shutters, but did it coolly and deftly with each window, front and back, thus shrouding the room in obscurity.

Tom climbed into a chair set in front of the fireplace, and took down the loaded rifle, which he knew how to use as well as any boy of his years.

"Come, Jim, let's go up-stairs to my bedroom; maybe we can get a shot at him."

At the top of the stairs the leader paused and turned about.

"Say, Jim, did you try to look in the tiger's eye?" he asked.

"Don't bother me with such foolish questions; I hadn't a chance."

"Why, I hadn't got far from the house, when I heered a growl, and there was the tiger in the field, looking over the fence at me."

"Seems to me that was just the chance you wanted, if he was looking at you."

"I s'pose it was; but to own up, Tom, I didn't think of it. I was afeard he would go for your folks. So I thought I would walk down and tell you."

"Did you walk all the way?"

"I may have hurried a little,--that is, a part of the way. I would have turned round and let him have my foot under the jaw, but I was afeard my shoe would give out."

Meanwhile, the two boys walked softly to the front window of Tom's bedroom, and cautiously peered out.

"Sh! I b'lieve I see him," whispered the young host.

"Where?" asked his companion in the same guarded manner.

"Under the oak; he's standing still just now. There! he's creeping off toward the woodshed."

"Yes, that's him! that's him! I know it. Hadn't you better let me take a shot?"

"I can shoot as well as you."

Tom was right. He was looking upon the royal Bengal tiger and no mistake. He had halted under a large oak, standing on the other side of the road, and seemed to be debating with himself what he should do next.

The rattle of a coming wagon attracted his attention, and he crouched down, as if preparing to spring upon the driver and his animals.

"Just watch him chaw up the horses and the man!" whispered Jim.

"If he means to do that, I'd better shoot," said Tom, setting down his gun and silently raising the window.

"You can't do it now, for he's almost behind the tree."

"His head shows, and I guess that's better than his tail."

Tom rested the heavy barrel of the rifle on the window-sill, and knelt down to make his aim sure. Before, however, he could obtain a good sight, the old farmer came so nearly opposite that he was obliged to restrain his fire through fear of hitting him or his horses.

The boys held their breath, certain of the awful occurrence at hand. But the tiger just then seemed to be in a magnanimous mood. Possibly he was satiated with what he had already devoured in the way of horses, men, women, and children. Be that as it may, the farmer and his team never suspected their peril, if, in point of fact, any peril threatened them. The animals jogged along, with the man half asleep on the front seat, his idle whip sloping over his shoulder. The king of the jungle made not the least demonstration against them.

"That must be 'cause he isn't hungry," remarked Jim.

"Then I should think he would go away and leave us."

"Don't you understand? We're tender, and juicier than that old man."

"Jingo! if that's what he's after, I'm going to shoot."

Tom again sighted along the barrel; but at the moment his finger began pressing the trigger, the beast rose to his feet and looked directly at the house, as if trying to decide the best avenue of entering,--the door, the windows, or possibly the chimney.

He formed a striking picture, this fearful king of the jungle, whose terrific strength, as scientific tests have proven, is one-fifth greater than that of the African lion. His massive head was erect; his eyes shone, and his sinewy, graceful body, covered with its soft, velvety and spotted fur was like the beauty of some deadly serpent. His long tail slightly swayed from side to side, and, although the boys could not hear it, they were sure he was growling in his anger.

Once his blood-red tongue was projected for an instant from his mouth, and licked his jaws, as the cat species are fond of doing; and occasionally he moved his head from side to side.

"He means to chaw us all up," said Jim. "Why don't you fire?"

At that instant Tom Gordon pressed the trigger.

The shot, however, was a poor one.

The bullet struck the tiger, wounding him slightly, but not enough to disable him. Naturally it added to the fury of the beast, and really increased the peril of the people within the humble home, against whom the brute seemed to have formed a strong and curious antipathy.

He wheeled about, leaped the fence behind him, galloped a number of paces, and then paused abruptly, with his head up, and stared at the building, as if trying to learn the point whence the shot came, that he might punish the offenders.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Jim Travers, "he's going to jump up here and eat us up! Let's run."