And thus the sophomores were caught between two fires. Neither seniors nor juniors had been given a hint of what was going to happen, and so they were quite unprepared for this astonishing move on the part of the freshmen.
There were shrieks of alarm from the sophomores, but too late they realized that they had been caught in a trap. They were driven into the pass, hurled down, piled up, stood on end, and battered in the most heartless manner.
But what was worse than anything else was the fact that preparations had been made to drench the freshmen who should be caught in this manner, and now the sophomores’ own allies threw open windows above and hurled down bucketful after bucketful of wet, wet water onto the heads of the poor wretches beneath.
What shrieks went up! What frantic struggles were made! What fury filled the hearts of the tricked and outwitted sophomores!
And the seniors and juniors, themselves delighted by the cleverness of the freshmen, helped rush the sophomores into the pass by crowding upon them as if eager to see the fun, giving no chance to break through and escape.
The slaughter was something terrible to behold. The freshmen were merciless. Starbright, the blond giant, led them on, with Morgan, equally fierce, taking active part.
But the new leader among the freshmen was the marvel of that night. Rolf Boltwood, the poet, his long hair flying about his head, was a perfect cyclone. No one could stand before him. He hurled men right and left as if they were mere children. He piled them up in heaps of four or five, laughing as he did so. He swept them aside as if possessing the arms of a Samson.
They were astounded, for till now no man had ever fancied Boltwood possessed such strength. Some had imagined that he was too timid to do anything but run away on an occasion like this. His own class had not trusted him, and now the sight of him mowing the enemy down in such an irresistible manner set them wild with joy, and made them a hundred times more fierce.
For once in his life, Jack Ready was bewildered. He could not tell just what had happened.
“For the love of goodness!” he gasped. “My, my, my! Where are we at?”
“We’re trapped, you thundering fool!” roared Bingham. “The freshies have played it on us!”