ones should be used or the reverse.
[33] #Concord#: the agreement of words in construction, as
adjectives with nouns in gender, number, and case.
The third, or artistic method, was Arthur's. He considered first what
point in the character or event which was the subject could most
neatly be brought out within the limits of a Vulgus; trying always to
get his idea into the eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or
even twelve lines if he couldn't do this. He then set to work, as much
as possible without Gradus or other help, to clothe his idea in
appropriate Latin or Greek, and would not be satisfied till he had
polished it well up with the aptest and most poetic words and phrases
he could get at.
A fourth method indeed was used in the school, but of too simple a
kind to require comment. It may be called the vicarious[34] method,
obtained amongst big boys of lazy or bullying habits, and consisted
simply in making clever boys whom they could thrash do their whole
Vulgus for them, and construe it to them afterward; which latter is
a method not to be encouraged, and which I strongly advise you all
not to practise. Of the others, you will find the traditionary most
troublesome, unless you can steal the Vulguses whole (_experto
crede_),[35] and that the artistic method pays the best, both in marks
and other ways.
[34] #Vicarious#: acting for another. Here it means, having it
done for em by another.
[35] #Experto crede#: believe one who has had experience.
MARTIN'S DEN.
The Vulguses being finished by nine o'clock, and Martin having
rejoiced above measure in the abundance of light, and of Gradus and
dictionary, and other conveniences almost unknown to him for getting
through the work, and having been pressed by Arthur to come and do his
verses there whenever he liked, the three boys went down to Martin's
den, and Arthur was initiated into the lore of birds' eggs, to his
great delight. The exquisite coloring and forms astonished and charmed
him who had scarcely even seen any but a hen's egg or an ostrich's,
and by the time he was lugged away to bed he had learned the names of
at least twenty sorts, and dreamed of the glorious perils of tree
climbing, and that he had found a roc's[36] egg in the island as big
as Sindbad's[37] and clouded like a titlark's, in blowing[38] which,
Martin and he had nearly been drowned in the yolk.
[36] #Roc#: a monstrous, imaginary bird.
[37] #Sindbad#: a sailor in the "Arabian Nights' Tales," who
had many wonderful adventures.
[38] #Blowing#: two small holes are made at opposite ends of
an egg, and the contents are then blown out by the breath.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BIRD-FANCIERS.
"I have found out a gift for my fair,
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed:
But let me the plunder forbear,
She would say 'twas a barbarous deed."--_Rowe._
"And now, my lad, take them five shilling,
And on my advice in future think;
So Billy pouched them all so willing,
And got that night disguised in drink."--_M S. Ballad._
TOM PUT OUT.
The next morning at first lesson Tom was turned back in his lines, and
so had to wait till the second round, while Martin and Arthur said
theirs all right and got out of school at once. When Tom got out and
ran down to breakfast at Harrowell's they were missing, and Stumps
informed him that they had swallowed down their breakfast and gone off
together,--where, he couldn't say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast,
and went first to Martin's study and then to his own, but no signs of
the missing boys were to be found. He felt half angry and jealous of
Martin,--where could they be gone?
He learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no very good temper,
and then went out into the quadrangle. About ten minutes before school
Martin and Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless, and catching
sight of him, Arthur rushed up all excitement and with a bright glow
on his face.
"Oh, Tom, look here," cried he, holding out three moor-hen's eggs; "we
have been down the Barby road to the pool Martin told us of last
night, and just see what we've got."
Tom wouldn't be pleased, and only looked out for something to find
fault with.
"Why, young un," said he, "what have you been after? You don't mean to
say you've been wading?"
The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink up in a moment and
look piteous, and Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned his anger
on Martin.
"Well, I didn't think, Madman, that you'd have been such a muff as to
let him be getting wet through at this time of day. You might have
done the wading yourself."
"So I did, of course, only he would come in, too, to see the nest. We
left six eggs in; they'll be hatched in a day or two."
"Hang the eggs!" said Tom; "a fellow can't turn his back for a moment,
but all his work's undone. He'll be laid up for a week for this
precious lark, I'll be bound."
"Indeed, Tom, now," pleaded Arthur, "my feet aren't wet, for Martin
made me take off my shoes, stockings and trousers."
"But they are wet and dirty, too--can't I see?" answered Tom, "and
you'll be called up and floored[1] when the master sees what a state
you're in. You haven't looked at second lesson, you know." Oh, Tom,
you old humbug! you to be upbraiding any one with not learning his
lessons. If you hadn't been floored yourself now at first lesson, do
you mean to say you wouldn't have been with them? and you've taken
away all poor little Arthur's joy and pride in his first birds' eggs,
and he goes and puts them down in the study, and takes down his books
with a sigh, thinking he has done something horribly wrong, whereas he
has learnt on in advance much more than will be done at second lesson.
[1] #Floored#: silenced or put back in his lesson for not
having learned it properly.
But the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up and makes some frightful
shots, losing about ten places, and all but getting floored. This
somewhat appeases Tom's wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has
regained his temper. And afterward in their study he begins to get
right again, as he watches Arthur's intense joy at seeing Martin
blowing the eggs and glueing them carefully on to bits of cardboard,
and notes the anxious, loving looks which the little fellow casts
sidelong at him. And then he thinks, "What an ill-tempered beast I am!
Here's just what I was wishing for last night come about, and I'm
spoiling it all," and in another five minutes has swallowed the last
mouthful of his bile,[2] and is repaid by seeing his little sensitive
plant expand again, and sun itself in his smiles.
[2] #Bile#: here, anger.
After dinner the Madman is busy with the preparations for their
expedition, fitting new straps on to his climbing-irons, filling large
pill-boxes with cotton-wool, and sharpening East's small axe. They
carry all their munitions[3] into calling-over, and directly
afterward, having dodged such praepostors as are on the look-out for
fags at cricket, the four set off at a smart trot down the Lawford
footpath straight for Caldecott's Spinney and the hawk's nest.
[3] #Munitions#: supplies.
BIRDS'-NESTING.
Martin leads the way in high feather.[4] It is quite a new sensation
to him getting companions, and he finds it very pleasant, and means to
show them all manner of proofs of his science and skill. "Brown and
East may be better at cricket and foot-ball and games," thinks he,
"but out in the fields and woods see if I can't teach them something."
He has taken the leadership already, and strides away in front, with
his climbing-irons strapped under one arm, his pecking-bag[5] under
the other, and his pockets and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton-wool,
and other et ceteras.[6] Each of the others carries a pecking-bag, and
East his hatchet.
[4] #High feather#: high spirits.
[5] #Pecking-bag#: a strong bag to carry pebbles in.
[6] #Et ceteras#: things of a like kind.
When they had crossed three or four fields without a check, Arthur
began to lag, and Tom seeing this shouted to Martin to pull up a bit:
"We aren't out Hare and Hounds--what's the good of grinding on at this
rate?"
"There's the spinney," said Martin, pulling up on the brow of a slope,
at the bottom of which lay Lawford brook, and pointing to the top of
the opposite slope; "the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at
this end. And down by the brook there, I know of a sedge-bird's nest;
we'll go and look at it coming back."
"Oh, come on, don't let us stop," said Arthur, who was getting excited
at the sight of the wood; so they broke into a trot again, and were
soon across the brook, up the slope, and into the spinney. Here they
advanced as noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies
should be about, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at the top of
which Martin pointed out with pride the kestrel's nest, the object of
their quest.
"Oh, where! which is it?" asks Arthur, gaping up in the air, and
having the most vague idea of what it would be like.
"There, don't you see!" said East, pointing to a lump of mistletoe[7]
in the next tree, which was a beech; he saw that Martin and Tom were
busy with the climbing-irons, and couldn't resist the temptation of
hoaxing. Arthur stared and wondered more than ever.
[7] #Mistletoe#: an evergreen plant which grows on various
trees.
"Well, how curious! it doesn't look a bit like I expected," said he.
"Very odd birds, kestrels," said East, looking waggishly at his victim
who was still star-gazing.
"But I thought it was in a fir-tree?" objected Arthur.
"Ah, don't you know? that's a new sort of fir which old Caldecott
brought from the Himalayas."
"Really," said Arthur; "I'm glad I know that--how unlike our firs they
are! They do very well, too, here, don't they? the spinney's full of
them."
"What's that humbug he's telling you?" cried Tom, looking up, having
caught the word Himalayas, and suspecting what East was after.
"Only about this fir," said Arthur, putting his hand on the stem of
the beech.
"Fir!" shouted Tom; "why, you don't mean to say, young un, you don't
know a beech when you see one?"
Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East exploded in
laughter which made the wood ring.
"I've hardly ever seen any trees," faltered Arthur.
"What a shame to hoax him, Scud!" cried Martin. "Never mind, Arthur
you shall know more about trees than he does in a week or two."
"And isn't that the kestrel's nest, then?" asked Arthur.
"That! why that's a piece of mistletoe. There's the nest, that lump of
sticks up in this fir."
"Don't believe him, Arthur," struck in the incorrigible East. "I just
saw an old magpie go out of it."
Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by a grunt, as he
buckled the last buckle of his climbing-irons; and Arthur looked
reproachfully at East without speaking.
But now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult tree to climb
until the branches were reached, the first of which was some fourteen
feet up, for the trunk was too large at the bottom to be swarmed;[8]
in fact, neither of the boys could reach more than half round it with
their arms. Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, tried it
without success at first; the fir bark broke away where they stuck the
irons in as soon as they leaned any weight on their feet, and the grip
of their arms wasn't enough to keep them up; so, after getting up
three or four feet, down they came slithering[9] to the ground,
barking their arms and faces. They were furious, and East sat by
laughing and shouting at each failure: "Two to one on the old magpie!"
[8] #Swarmed#: climbed by embracing with arms and legs.
[9] #Slithering#: sliding.
"We must try a pyramid," said Tom at last. "Now, Scud, you lazy
rascal, stick yourself against the tree!"
"I dare say! and have you standing on my shoulders with the irons on:
what do you think my skin's made of?" However, up he got, and leaned
against the tree, putting his head down and clasping it with his arms
as far as he could. "Now, then, Madman," said Tom, "you next."
"No, I'm lighter than you, you go next." So Tom got on East's
shoulders, and grasped the tree above, and then Martin scrambled up on
to Tom's shoulders, amidst the totterings and the groanings of the
pyramid, and, with a spring which sent his supporters howling to the
ground, clasped the stem some ten feet up, and remained clinging; for
a moment or two they thought he couldn't get up, but then, holding on
with arms and teeth, he worked first one iron, then the other firmly
into the bark, got another grip with his arms, and in another minute
had hold of the lowest branch.
"All up with old magpie now," said East; and, after a minute's rest,
up went Martin, hand over hand, watched by Arthur with fearful
eagerness.
"Isn't it very dangerous?" said he.
"Not a bit," answered Tom; "you can't hurt if you only get a good
hand-hold. Try every branch with a good pull before you trust it, and
then up you go."
Martin was now amongst the small branches close to the nest, and away
dashed the old bird, and soared up above the trees, watching the
intruder.
"All right--four eggs!" shouted he.
"Take' em all!" shouted East; "that'll be one apiece."
"No, no! leave one, and then she won't care," said Tom.
We boys had an idea that birds couldn't count, and were quite content
as long as you left one egg. I hope it is so.
Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes and the third into
his mouth, the only other place of safety, and came down like a
lamp-lighter. All went well till he was within ten feet of the ground,
when, as the trunk enlarged, his hold got less and less firm, and at
last down he came with a run, tumbling on to his back on the turf,
spluttering and spitting out the remains of the great egg, which had
broken by the jar of his fall.
"Ugh, ugh! something to drink--ugh! it was addled,"[10] spluttered he,
while the wood rang again with the merry laughter of East and Tom.
[10] #Addled#: rotten.
Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their things, and went off
to the brook, where Martin swallowed huge draughts of water to get rid
of the taste; and they visited the sedge-bird's[11] nest, and from
thence struck across the country in high glee, beating[12] the hedges
and brakes as they went along; and Arthur at last, to his intense
delight, was allowed to climb a small hedge-row oak for a magpie's
nest with Tom, who kept all around him like a mother, and showed him
where to hold and how to throw his weight; and though he was in a
great fright, didn't show it; and was applauded by all for his
lissomeness.
[11] #Sedge-bird#: a bird living in the sedge or water-grass
on the banks of streams.
[12] #Beating#: rousing or driving out birds and game.
They crossed a road soon afterward, and there close to them lay a heap
of charming pebbles.
PECKING.
"Look here," shouted East, "here's luck! I've been longing for some
good honest pecking this half hour. Let's fill the bags, and have no
more of this foozling[13] birds'-nesting."
[13] #Foozling#: dull, stupid.
No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag he carried full of
stones; they crossed into the next field, Tom and East taking one side
of the hedges, and the other two the other side. Noise enough they
made certainly, but it was too early in the season for the young
birds, and the old birds were too strong on the wing for our young
marksmen, and flew out of shot after the first discharge. But it was
great fun, rushing along the hedgerows, and discharging stone after
stone at blackbirds and chaffinches,[14] though no result in the shape
of slaughtered birds was obtained; and Arthur soon entered into it,
and rushed to head back the birds, and shouted, and threw, and tumbled
into ditches and over and through hedges, as wild as the Madman
himself.
[14] #Chaffinch#: a fine song-bird.
Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird (who was
evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the fun, for he would wait
till they came close to him and then fly on for forty yards or so; and
with an impudent flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the
quickset),[15] came beating down a high double hedge, two on each
side.
[15] #Quickset#: a kind of hedge.
"There he is again;" "Head him;" "Let drive;" "I had him there;" "Take
care where you're throwing, Madman;" the shouts might have been heard
a quarter of a mile off. They were heard some two hundred yards off by
a farmer and two of his shepherds, who were doctoring sheep in a fold
in the next field.
WHAT IS LARCENY?
Now the farmer in question rented a house and yard situated at the end
of the field in which the young bird-fanciers had arrived, which house
and yard he didn't occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like
a brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in maintaining on the
premises a large stock of cocks, hens, and other poultry. Of course
all sorts of depredators visited the place from time to time; foxes
and gipsies wrought havoc in the night; while in the day-time, I
regret to have to confess, that visits from the Rugby boys, and
consequent disappearances of ancient and respectable fowls, were not
unfrequent. Tom and East had during the period of their outlawry
visited the barn in question for felonious[16] purposes, and on one
occasion had conquered and slain a duck there and borne away the
carcass triumphantly, hidden in their handkerchiefs. However, they
were sickened of the practice by the trouble and anxiety which
the wretched duck's body caused them. They carried it to Sally
Harrowell's, in hopes of a good supper; but she, after examining it,
made a long face, and refused to dress or have anything to do with it.
[16] #Felonious#: unlawful.
THE TROUBLESOME DUCK.
Then they took it into their study, and began plucking it themselves;
but what to do with the feathers, where to hide them?
"Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck has!" groaned East,
holding a bag full in his hand, and looking disconsolately at the
carcass, not yet half plucked.
"And I do think he's getting high,[17] too, already," said Tom,
smelling at him cautiously, "so we must finish him up soon."
[17] #High#: tainted; beginning to spoil.
"Yes, all very well, but how are we to cook him? I'm sure I'm not
going to try it on in the hall or passages; we can't afford to be
roasting ducks about, our character's too bad."
"I wish we were rid of the brute," said Tom, throwing him on the table
in disgust. And after a day or two more it became clear that got rid
of he must be; so they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper,
and put him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where he was found
in the holidays by the matron, a grewsome body.
They had never been duck-hunting there since, but others had, and the
bold yeoman was very sore on the subject, and bent on making an
example of the first boys he could catch. So he and his shepherds
crouched behind the hurdles, and watched the party who were
approaching all unconscious.
Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the hedge just at this
particular moment of all the year? Who can say? Guinea-fowls always
are--so are all other things, animals, and persons--requisite for
getting one into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can come of
them. At any rate, just under East's nose popped out the old
guinea-hen, scuttling along and shrieking: "Come back, come back," at
the top of her voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have
withstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has
in his hand at her, then rushes to turn her into the hedge again. He
succeeds, and then they are all at it for dear life, up and down the
hedge in full cry, the "Come back, come back," getting shriller and
fainter every minute.
Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles and creep down
the hedge toward the scene of action. They are almost within a stone's
throw of Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom
catches sight of them, and sings out: "Louts, 'ware[18] louts, your
side! Madman, look ahead!" and then catching hold of Arthur, hurries
him away across the fields towards Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had
he been by himself, he would have stayed to see it out with the
others, but now his heart sinks, and all his pluck goes. The idea of
being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for bagging fowls, quite unmans
and takes half the run out of him.
[18] #'Ware#: beware! look out!
RUNNING FOR A CONVOY.
However, no boys are more able to take care of themselves than East
and Martin; they dodge the pursuers, slip through a gap, and come
pelting after Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time; the
farmer and his men are making a good run about a field behind. Tom
wishes to himself that they had made off in any other direction, but
now they are all in for it together and must see it out. "You won't
leave the young un, will you?" says he, as they haul poor little
Arthur, already losing wind from the fright, through the next hedge.
"Not we," is the answer from both. The next hedge is a stiff one; the
pursuers gain horribly on them, and they only just pull Arthur
through, with two great rents in his trousers, as the foremost
shepherd comes up on the other side. As they start into the next
field, they are aware of two figures walking down the footpath
in the middle of it, and recognize Holmes and Diggs taking a
constitutional.[19] Those good-natured fellows immediately shout "On."
"Let's go to them and surrender," pants Tom. Agreed. And in another
minute the four boys, to the great astonishment of those worthies,
rush breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see what is the
matter; and then the whole is explained by the appearance of the
farmer and his men, who unite their forces and bear down on the knot
of boys.
[19] #A constitutional#: a walk for the health.
There is no time to explain, and Tom's heart beats frightfully quick,
as he ponders: "Will they stand by us?"
The farmer makes a rush at East, and collars him; and that young
gentleman, with unusual discretion, instead of kicking his shins,
looks appealingly at Holmes, and stands still.
"Hullo there, not so fast," says Holmes, who is bound to stand up for
them till they are proved in the wrong. "Now, what's all this about?"
"I've got the young varmint at last, have I?" pants the farmer; "why,
they've been a-skulking about my yard and stealing my fowls, that's
where 'tis; and if I doan't have they flogged for it, every one on
'em, my name ain't Thompson."
A DEBATE.
Holmes looks grave, and Diggs's face falls. They are quite ready to
fight, no boys in the school more so; but they are praepostors, and
understand their office; and can't uphold unrighteous causes.
"I haven't been near his old barn this half," cries East.
"Nor I," "Nor I," chime in Tom and Martin.
"Now, Willum, didn't you see 'em there last week?"
"Ees,"[20] seen 'em, sure enough," says Willum, grasping a prong he
carried, and preparing for action.
[20] #Ees#: yes.
The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to admit that, "if it
worn't they, 'twas chaps as like 'em as two peas'n";[21] and
"leastway,[22] he'll swear he see'd them two in the yard last
Martinmas," indicating East and Tom.
[21] #Peas'n#: peas.
[22] #Leastway#: at any rate.
Holmes has had time to meditate. "Now, sir," says he to Willum, "you
see you can't remember what you have seen, and I believe the boys."
"I doan't care," blusters the farmer, "they was arter my fowls to-day;
that's enough for I. Willum, you catch hold o' t'other chap. They've
been a-sneaking about this two hours, I tells ee!" shouted he, as
Holmes stands between Martin and Willum, "and have druv a matter of a
dozen young pullets pretty nigh to death."
"Oh, there's a whacker!" cried East; "we haven't been within a hundred
yards of his barn; we haven't been up here above ten minutes, and
we've seen nothing but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a
greyhound."
"Indeed, that's all true, Holmes, upon my honor," added Tom; "we
weren't after his fowls; guinea-hen ran out of the hedge under our
feet, and we've seen nothing else."
"Drat their talk! Thee catch hold o' t'other, Willum, and come along
wi' un."
"Farmer Thompson," said Holmes, warning off Willum and the prong with
his stick, while Diggs faced the other shepherd, cracking his fingers
like pistol-shots, "now listen to reason. The boys haven't been after
your fowls, that's plain."
"Tells ee I seed 'em. Who be you, I should like to know?"
"Never you mind, farmer," answered Holmes. "And now I'll just tell you
what it is--you ought to be ashamed of yourself for leaving all that
poultry about, with no one to watch it, so near the School. You
deserve to have it all stolen. So if you choose to come up to the
Doctor with them, I shall go with you, and tell him what I think of
it."
The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; besides, he wanted to
get back to his flock. Corporal punishment was out of the question,
the odds were too great; so he began to hint at paying for the damage.
Arthur jumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the farmer
immediately valued the guinea-hen at half a sovereign.
"Half a sovereign!" cried East, now released from the farmer's grip;
"well, that is a good one! the old hen isn't hurt a bit, and she's
seven years old, I know, and as tough as whipcord; she couldn't lay
another egg to save her life."
It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer two shillings
and his man one shilling, and so the matter ended, to the unspeakable
relief of Tom, who hadn't been able to say a word, being sick at heart
at the idea of what the Doctor would think of him; and now the whole
party of boys marched off down the woodpath toward Rugby. Holmes, who
was one of the best boys in the school, began to improve the occasion.
"Now, you youngsters," said he, as he marched along in the middle of
them, "mind this: you're very well out of this scrape. Don't you go
near Thompson's barn again, do you hear?"
Profuse promises from all, especially East.
LECTURE ON SCHOOL LARCENY.
"Mind, I don't ask questions," went on Mentor, "but I rather think
some of you have been there before this after his chickens. Now,
knocking over other people's chickens, and running off with them is
stealing. It's an ugly word, but that's the plain English of it. If
the chickens were dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn't take them, I
know that, any more than you would apples out of Griffith's basket:
but there's no real difference between chickens running about and
apples on a tree, and the same articles in a shop. I wish our morals
were sounder in such matters. There's nothing so mischievous as these
school distinctions, which jumble up right and wrong, and justify
things in us for which poor boys would be sent to prison." And good
old Holmes delivered his soul on the walk home of many wise sayings,
and, as the song says:--
"Gee'd 'em[23] a sight of good advice";
which same sermon sank into them all more or less, and very penitent
they were for several hours. But truth compels me to admit that East
at any rate forgot it all in a week, but remembered the insult which
had been put upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole and
other hare-brained youngsters, committed a raid on the barn soon
afterward, in which they were caught by the shepherds and severely
handled, besides having to pay eight shillings--all the money they had
in the world--to escape being brought up to the Doctor.
[23] #Gee'd 'em#: gave them.
ARTHUR SEALS HIS FRIENDSHIP.
Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study from this time, and
Arthur took to him so kindly that Tom couldn't resist slight fits of
jealousy, which, however, he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel's
eggs had not been broken, strange to say, and formed the nucleus of
Arthur's collection, at which Martin worked heart and soul; and
introduced Arthur to Hewlett the bird-fancier, and instructed him in
the rudiments of the art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude,
Arthur allowed Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists,
which decoration, however, he carefully concealed from Tom. Before the
end of the half-year he had become a bold climber and good runner,
and, as Martin had foretold, knew twice as much about trees, birds,
flowers, and many other things, as our good-hearted and facetious
young friend Harry East.
CHAPTER V.
THE FIGHT.
"Surgebat Macnevisius
Et mox jactabat ultro,
Pugnabo tua gratia
Feroci hoc Mactwoltro."--_Etonian._
FIGHTING IN GENERAL.
There is a certain sort of fellow--we who are used to studying boys
all know him well enough--of whom you can predicate[1] with almost
positive certainty, after he has been a month at school, that he is
sure to have a fight, and with almost equal certainty that he will
have but one. Tom Brown was one of these; and as it is our
well-weighed intention to give a full, true, and correct account of
Tom's only single combat with a schoolfellow in the manner of our old
friend _Bell's Life_,[2] let those young persons whose stomachs are
not strong, or who think a good set-to with the weapons which God has
given us all, an uncivilized, unchristian, or ungentlemanly affair,
just skip this chapter at once, for it won't be to their taste.
[1] #Predicate#: say or assert.
[2] #Bell's Life#: a London sporting journal.
It was not at all usual in those days for two School-house boys to
have a fight. Of course there were exceptions, when some
cross-grained, hard-headed fellow came up who would never be happy
unless he was quarrelling with his nearest neighbors, or when there
was some class dispute between the fifth form and the fags, for
instance, which required blood-letting; and a champion was picked out
on each side tacitly,[3] who settled the matter by a good hearty
mill.[4] But, for the most part, the constant use of those surest
keepers of the peace, the boxing gloves, kept the School-house boys
from fighting one another. Two or three nights in every week the
gloves were brought out, either in the hall or fifth form room; and
every boy who was ever likely to fight at all knew all his neighbors'
prowess perfectly well, and could tell to a nicety what chance he
would have in a stand-up fight with any other boy in the house. But,
of course, no such experience could be gotten as regarded boys in
other houses; and as most of the other houses were more or less
jealous of the School-house, collisions were frequent.
[3] #Tacitly#: without words, silently.
[4] #Mill#: a set-to or fight.
After all, what would life be without fighting, I should like to know?
From the cradle to the grave, fighting, rightly understood, is the
business, the real, highest, honestest business of every son of man.
Every one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten,
be they evil thoughts and habits in himself or spiritual wickedness in
high places, or Russians, or Border-ruffians, or Bill, Tom, or Harry,
who will not let him live his life in quiet till he has thrashed them.
It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, to uplift their
voices against fighting. Human nature is too strong for them, and they
don't follow their own precepts. Every soul of them is doing his own
piece of fighting, somehow and somewhere. The world might be a better
world without fighting, for anything I know, but it wouldn't be our
world; and therefore I am dead against crying peace when there is no
peace, and isn't meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folks
fighting the wrong people and the wrong things, but I'd a deal sooner
see them doing that, than that they should have no fight in them. So
having recorded, and being about to record, my hero's fights of all
sorts, with all sorts of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an
account of his passage-at-arms with the only one of his school-fellows
whom he ever had to encounter in this manner.
HOW THE FIGHT AROSE.
It was drawing toward the close of Arthur's first half-year, and the
May evenings were lengthening out. Locking-up was not till eight
o'clock, and everybody was beginning to talk about what he would do in
the holidays. The shell, in which form all our _dramatis personae_[5]
now are, were reading amongst other things the last book of Homer's
"Iliad,"[6] and had worked through it as far as the speeches of the
women over Hector's[7] body. It is a whole school-day, and four or
five of the School-house boys (amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, and East)
are preparing third lesson together. They have finished the regulation
forty lines, and are for the most part getting very tired,
notwithstanding the exquisite pathos of Helen's[8] lamentation. And
now several long four-syllable words come together, and the boy with
the dictionary strikes work.
[5] #Dramatis personae#: persons represented in a drama or in a
story.
[6] #Homer's Iliad#: a Greek epic poem relating the siege of
Ilium or Troy.
[7] #Hector#: a Trojan hero slain in the siege of Troy.
[8] #Helen#: a beautiful Grecian princess whose abduction by
Paris of Troy caused the Trojan war.
"I am not going to look out any more words," says he; "we've done the
quantity. Ten to one we sha'n't get so far. Let's go out into the
close."
"Come along, boys," cries East, always ready to leave "the grind," as
he called it; "our old coach[9] is laid up, you know, and we shall
have one of the new masters, who's sure to go slow and let us down
easy."
[9] #Coach#: teacher or tutor.
So an adjournment to the close was carried _nem con._,[10] little
Arthur not daring to uplift his voice; but, being deeply interested in
what they were reading, stayed quietly behind, and learned on for his
own pleasure.
[10] #Nem. con.#: no one objecting.
As East had said, the regular master of the form was unwell, and they
were to be heard by one of the new masters, quite a young man, who had
only just left the university. Certainly it would be hard lines, if,
by dawdling as much as possible in coming in and taking their places,
entering into long-winded explanations of what was the usual course of
the regular master of the form, and others of the stock contrivances
of boys for wasting time in school, they could not spin out the lesson
so that he should not work them through more than the forty lines; as
to which quantity there was a perpetual fight going on between the
master and his form, the latter insisting, and enforcing by passive
resistance, that it was the prescribed quantity of Homer for a shell
lesson,[11] the former that there was no fixed quantity, but that they
must always be ready to go on to fifty or sixty lines if there were
time within the hour. However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the
new master got on horribly quick; he seemed to have the bad taste to
be really interested in the lesson, and to be trying to work them up
into something like appreciation of it, giving them good spirited
English words, instead of the wretched bald stuff into which they
rendered poor old Homer, and construing over each piece himself to
them, after each boy, to show them how it should be done.
[11] #Shell lesson#: a lesson for the shell, or lower fourth
form or class.
Now the clock strikes the three-quarters; there is only a quarter of
an hour more, but the forty lines are all but done. So the boys, one
after another, who are called up, stick more and more, and make balder
and even more bald work of it. The poor young master is pretty near
beat by this time, and feels ready to knock his head against the wall,
or his fingers against somebody else's head. So he gives up altogether
the lower and middle parts of the form, and looks around in despair at
the boys on the top bench, to see if there is one out of whom he can
strike a spark or two, and who will be too chivalrous[12] to murder
the most beautiful utterances of the most beautiful woman of the old
world. His eye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish
construing Helen's speech. Whereupon all the other boys draw long
breaths, and begin to stare about and take it easy. They are all safe;
Arthur is at the head of the form, and sure to be able to construe,
and that will tide on safely till the hour strikes.
[12] #Chivalrous#: here, gallant, polite.
Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek before construing it,
as the custom is. Tom, who isn't paying much attention, is suddenly
caught by the falter in his voice as he reads the two lines:--
[Greek: "alla su ton g' epeessi paraiphamenos katerukes,
se t' aganophrosune kai sois aganois epeessin."][13]
He looks up at Arthur. "Why, bless us," thinks he, "what can be the
matter with the young un? He's never going to get floored! He's sure
to have learnt to the end!" Next moment he is reassured by the
spirited tone in which Arthur begins construing, and betakes himself
to drawing dogs' heads in his note-book, while the master, evidently
enjoying the change, turns his back on the middle bench, and stands
before Arthur, beating a sort of time with his hand and foot, and
saying: "Yes, yes," "Very well," as Arthur goes on.
[13] "Thou didst take my part with kindly admonitions,
and restrain their tongues with soft address and gentle
words."--_Bryant's translation._
But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that falter, and
again looks up. He sees that there is something the matter: Arthur can
hardly get on at all. What can it be?
Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, and fairly
bursts out crying, and dashes the cuff of his jacket across his eyes,
blushing up to the roots of his hair, and feeling as if he should like
to go down suddenly through the floor. The whole form are taken aback;
most of them stare stupidly at him, while those who are gifted with
presence of mind find their places, and look steadily at their books,
in hopes of not catching the master's eye, and getting called up in
Arthur's place.
The master looked puzzled for a moment, and then seeing, as the fact
is, that the boy is really affected to tears by the most touching
thing in Homer, perhaps in all profane[14] poetry put together, steps
up to him and lays his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying: "Never
mind, my little man, you've construed very well. Stop a minute,
there's no hurry."
[14] #Profane#: here, not sacred.
Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above Tom on that day, in
the middle bench of the form, a big boy, by name Williams, generally
supposed to be the cock of the shell, therefore of all the schools
below the fifths. The small boys, who are great speculators on the
prowess of their elders, used to hold forth to one another about
Williams's great strength, and to discuss whether East or Brown would
take a licking from him. He was called Slogger[15] Williams, from the
force with which it was supposed he could hit. In the main, he was a
rough, good-natured fellow enough, but very much alive to his own
dignity. He reckoned himself the king of the form, and kept up his
position with the strong hand, especially in the matter of forcing
boys not to construe more than the legitimate forty lines. He had
already grunted and grumbled to himself, when Arthur went on reading
beyond the forty lines. But now that he had broken down just in the
middle of all the long words, the Slogger's wrath was fairly aroused.
[15] #Slogger#: a "slugger," a hard hitter.
"Sneaking little brute," muttered he, regardless of prudence,
"clapping on the water-works just in the hardest place; see if I don't
punch his head after fourth lesson."
"Whose?" said Tom, to whom the remark seemed addressed.
"Why, that little sneak Arthur's," replied Williams.
"No, you sha'n't," said Tom.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with great surprise for a
moment, and then giving him a sudden dig in the ribs with his elbow,
which sent Tom's book flying on to the floor, and called the attention
of the master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state of
things, said:--
"Williams, go down three places, and then go on."
The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded to go below Tom
and two other boys with great disgust, and then, turning round and
facing the master, said: "I haven't learnt any more, sir; our lesson
is only forty lines."
"Is that so?" said the master, appealing generally to the top bench.
No answer.
"Who is the head boy of the form?" said he, waxing wroth.
"Arthur, sir," answered three or four boys, indicating our friend.
"Oh, your name's Arthur. Well, now, what is the length of your regular
lesson?"
Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said: "We call it only forty
lines, sir."
"How do you mean, you call it?"
"Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we aren't to stop there, when there's time
to construe more."
"I understand," said the master. "Williams, go down three more places,
and write me out the lesson in Greek and English. And now, Arthur,
finish construing."
"Oh, would I be in Arthur's shoes after fourth lesson?" said the
little boys to one another: but Arthur finished Helen's speech without
any further catastrophe, and the clock struck four, which ended third
lesson.
Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying fourth lesson,
during which Williams was bottling up his wrath; and when five struck,
and the lessons for the day were over, he prepared to take summary[16]
vengeance on the innocent cause of his misfortune.
[16] #Summary#: quick, short.
THE CHALLENGE.
Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the rest, and on coming
out into the quadrangle, the first thing he saw was a small ring of
boys, applauding Williams, who was holding Arthur by the collar.
"There, you young sneak," said he, giving Arthur a cuff on the head
with his other hand, "what made you say that--"
"Hullo!" said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, "you drop that,
Williams; you sha'n't touch him."
"Who'll stop me?" said the Slogger, raising his hand again.
"I," said Tom; and suiting the action to the word, he struck the arm
which held Arthur's arm so sharply that the Slogger dropped it with a
start, and turned the full current of his wrath on Tom.
"Will you fight?"
"Yes, of course."
"Huzzah! there is going to be a fight between Slogger Williams and Tom
Brown."
The news ran like wildfire about, and many boys who were on their way
to tea at their several houses turned back, and sought the back of the
chapel, where the fights came off.
"Just run and tell East to come and back me," said Tom, to a small
School-house boy, who was off like a rocket to Harrowell's, just
stopping for a moment to poke his head into the School-house hall,
where the lower boys were already at tea, and singing out: "Fight! Tom
Brown and Slogger Williams."
Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, butter,
sprats[17], and all the rest to take care of themselves. The greater
part of the remainder follow in a minute, after swallowing their tea,
carrying their food in their hands to consume as they go. Three or
four only remain, who steal the butter of the more impetuous, and make
to themselves an unctuous[18] feast.
[17] #Sprats#: a kind of small fish.
[18] #Unctuous#: fat, oily.
In another minute East and Martin tear through the quadrangle,
carrying a sponge, and arrive at the scene of action just as the
combatants are beginning to strip.
Tom felt he had got his work cut out[19] for him, as he stripped off
his jacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied his handkerchief round
his waist, and rolled up his shirt-sleeves for him. "Now, old boy,
don't you open your mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a
bit--we'll do all that; you keep all your breath and strength for the
Slogger." Martin meanwhile folded the clothes, and put them under the
chapel rails; and now Tom, with East to handle him, and Martin to give
him a knee,[20] steps out on the turf, and is ready for all that may
come; and here is the Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for the
fray.
[19] #Cut out#: prepared, ready.
[20] #To handle him and give him a knee#: to give him
assistance between the rounds of the fight.
EARLY ROUNDS.
It doesn't look a fair match at first glance; Williams is nearly two
inches taller, and probably a long year older than his opponent, and
he is very strongly made about the arms and shoulders--"peels well,"
as the little knot of big fifth-form boys, the amateurs,[21] say; who
stand outside the ring of little boys, looking complacently on, but
taking no active part in the proceedings. But down below he is not so
good by any means; no spring from the loins, and feeblish, not to say
shipwrecky about the knees. Tom, on the contrary, though not half so
strong in the arms, is good all over, straight, hard, and springy,
from neck to ankle, better perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides,
you can see by the clear white of his eye, and fresh bright look of
his skin, that he is in tip-top training, able to do all he knows;
while the Slogger looks rather sodden,[22] as if he didn't take much
exercise and ate too much tuck.[23] The time-keeper is chosen, a large
ring made, and the two stand up opposite one another for a moment,
giving us time just to make our little observations.
[21] #Amateurs#: here, those who enjoy and understand the art
of pugilism, without being proficient in it.
[22] #Sodden#: here, soft.
[23] #Tuck#: sweet stuff.
"If Tom'll only condescend to fight with his head and heels," as East
murmurs to Martin, "we shall do."
But seemingly he won't, for there he goes in, making play[24] with
both hands. Hard all,[25] is the word; the two stand to one another
like men; rally follows rally in quick succession, each fighting as if
he thought to finish the whole thing out of hand. "Can't last at this
rate," say the knowing ones, while the partisans[26] of each make the
air ring with their shouts and counter-shouts of encouragement,
approval and defiance.
[24] #Making play#: using.
[25] #Hard all#: do your best.
[26] #Partisans#: adherents, "backers."
"Take it easy, take it easy--keep away, let him come after you,"
implores East, as he wipes Tom's face after the first round with a wet
sponge, while he sits back on Martin's knee, supported by the Madman's
long arms, which tremble a little from excitement.
"Time's up," calls the time-keeper.
"There he goes again, hang it all!" growled East, as his man is at it
again as hard as ever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets
out and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs,
and deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger.
Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger's house and the School-house
are silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere.
"Two to one in half-crowns on the big un," says Rattle, one of the
amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and-lightning[27] waistcoat, and
puffy, good-natured face.
[27] #Thunder-and-lightning#: probably showy, flashy.
"Done!" says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, taking out his
note-book to enter it, for our friend Rattle sometimes forgets these
little things.
HEAD FIGHTING.
Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges for next round,
and has set two other boys to rub his hands.
"Tom, old boy," whispers he, "this may be fun for you, but it's death
to me. He'll hit all the fight out of you in another five minutes, and
then I shall go and drown myself in the Island ditch. Feint[28]
him--use your legs! draw him about! he'll lose his wind then in no
time, and you can go into him. Hit at his body too; take care of his
frontispiece[29] by and by."
[28] #Feint#: make a pretended attack.
[29] #Frontispiece#: face.
Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already that he couldn't
go in and finish the Slogger off at mere hammer and tongs, so changed
his tactics completely in the third round. He now fights cautiously,
getting away from and parrying[30] the Slogger's lunging hits,[31]
instead of trying to counter,[32] and leading his enemy a dance all
round the ring after him. "He's funking--go in, Williams;" "Catch him
up;" "Finish him off," screamed the small boys of the Slogger party.
[30] #Parrying#: warding off.
[31] #Lunging hits#: straight-out blows.
[32] #Counter#: to give a return blow.
"Just what we want," thinks East, chuckling to himself, as he sees
Williams, excited by these shouts and thinking the game in his own
hands, blowing himself in his exertions to get close quarters again,
while Tom is keeping away with perfect ease.
They quarter[33] over the ground again and again, Tom always on the
defensive.
[33] #Quarter#: to move about.
The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly blown.[34]
[34] #Blown#: out of breath.
"Now, then, Tom," sings out East, dancing with delight. Tom goes in
in a twinkling, and hits two heavy body-blows, and gets away again
before the Slogger can catch his wind; which when he does he rushes
with blind fury at Tom, and being skilfully parried and avoided,
overreaches himself and falls on his face, amidst terrific cheers from
the School-house boys.
"Double your two to one?" says Groove to Rattle, note-book in hand.
"Stop a bit," says that hero, looking uncomfortably at Williams, who
is puffing away on his second's knee, winded[35] enough, but little
the worse in any other way.
[35] #Winded#: out of breath.
STEADY ALL.
After another round the Slogger too seems to see that he can't go in
and win right off, and has met his match or thereabouts. So he too
begins to use his head,[36] and tries to make Tom lose his patience,
and come in before his time. And so the fight sways on, now one, and
now the other getting a trifling pull.[37]
[36] #Use his head#: be more careful.
[37] #Pull#: advantage.
Tom's face begins to look very one-sided,--there are little queer
bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is bleeding; but East keeps the
wet sponge going so scientifically that he comes up looking as fresh
and bright as ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the face, but
by the nervous movement of his elbows you can see that Tom's
body-blows are telling. In fact, half the vice of the Slogger's
hitting is neutralized, for he daren't lunge out freely for fear of
exposing his sides. It is too interesting by this time for much
shouting, and the whole ring is very quiet.
"All right, Tommy," whispers East; "hold on's the horse that's to win.
We've got the last. Keep your head,[38] old boy."
[38] #Keep your head#: keep cool.
But where is Arthur all this time? Words cannot paint the poor little
fellow's distress. He couldn't muster courage to come up to the ring,
but wandered up and down from the great fives' court to the corner of
the chapel rails--now trying to make up his mind to throw himself
between them, and try to stop them; then thinking of running in and
telling his friend Mary, who he knew would instantly report to the
Doctor. The stories he had heard of men being killed in prize fights
rose up horribly before him.
Once only, when the shouts of "Well done, Brown!" "Huzzah for the
School-house!" rose higher than ever, he ventured up to the ring,
thinking the victory was won. Catching sight of Tom's face in the
state I have described, all fear of consequences vanishing out of his
mind, he rushed straight off to the matron's room, beseeching her to
get the fight stopped, or he should die.
THE RING BROKEN.
But it's time for us to get back to the close. What is this fierce
tumult and confusion? The ring is broken, and high and angry words are
being bandied about; "It's all fair"--"It isn't"--"No hugging;" the
fight is stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, tended
by their seconds, while their adherents wrangle in the middle. East
can't help shouting challenges to two or three of the other side,
though he never leaves Tom for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast
as ever.
The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom, seeing a good
opening, had closed with his opponent, and after a moment's struggle,
had thrown him heavily, by the help of the fall he had learned from
his village rival in the Vale of White Horse. Williams hadn't the
ghost of a chance with Tom at wrestling, and the conviction broke at
once on the Slogger faction that if this were allowed, their man must
be licked. There was a strong feeling in the School against catching
hold and throwing, though it was generally ruled all fair within
certain limits; so the ring was broken, and the fight stopped.
The School-house are overruled--the fight is on again, but there is to
be no throwing; and East, in high wrath, threatens to take his man
away after next round (which he doesn't mean to do, by the way), when
suddenly young Brooke comes through the small gate at the end of the
chapel. The School-house faction rush to him. "Oh, hurrah! now we
shall get fair play."
"Please, Brooke come up; they won't let Tom Brown throw him."
"Throw whom?" says Brooke, coming up to the ring. "Oh, Williams! I
see. Nonsense! of course he may throw him, if he catches him fairly
above the waist."
Now, young Brooke, you're in the sixth you know, and you ought to stop
all fights. He looks hard at both boys. "Anything wrong?" says he to
East, nodding at Tom.
"Not a bit."
"Not beat at all?"
"Bless you, no! heaps of fight in him. Isn't there, Tom?"
Tom looked at Brooke and grins. "How's he?" nodding at Williams.
"So so; rather done, I think, since, his last fall. He won't stand
above two more."
THE LAST ROUND.
"Time's up!" The boys rise again, and face one another. Brooke can't
find it in his heart to stop them just yet; so the round goes on, the
Slogger waiting for Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out
should he come in for the wrestling dodge again; for he feels that
that must be stopped, or his sponge[39] will soon go up in the air.
[39] #Sponge#: in a pugilistic encounter the sponge is thrown
up as an acknowledgment of defeat.
And now another new-comer appears on the field, to wit, the
under-porter, with his long brush and great wooden receptacle for dust
under his arm. He has been sweeping out the schools.
"You'd better stop, gentlemen," he says; "the Doctor knows that
Brown's fighting--he'll be out in a minute."
"You go to Bath,[40] Bill," is all that that excellent servitor
gets by his advice. And being a man of his hands,[41] and a staunch
upholder of the School-house, can't help stopping to look on for a
bit, and see Tom Brown, their pet craftsman, fight a round.
[40] #Go to Bath#: shut up; mind your business.
[41] #Of his hands#: of sturdy make; able to use his fists.
It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys feel this, and
summon every power of head, hand, and eye to their aid. A piece of
luck on either side, a foot slipping, a blow getting well home, or
another fall may decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; he
has all the legs and can choose his own time; the Slogger waits for
the attack, and hopes to finish it by some heavy right-handed blow. As
they quarter slowly over the ground, the evening sun comes out from
behind a cloud, and falls full on Williams's face. Tom darts in, the
heavy right-hand is delivered, but only grazes his head. A short rally
at close quarters, and they close; in another moment the Slogger is
thrown again heavily for the third time.
"I'll give you three to two on the little one in half-crowns," said
Groove to Rattle.
"No, thankee," answers the other, diving his hands further into his
coat-tails.
THE DOCTOR ARRIVES.
Just at this stage of the proceedings the door of the turret[42] which
leads to the Doctor's library suddenly opens, and he steps into the
close, and makes straight for the ring, in which Brown, and the
Slogger were both seated on their seconds' knees for the last time.
[42] #Turret#: a small tower.
"The Doctor! the Doctor!" shouts one small boy who catches sight of
him, and the ring melts away in a few seconds, the small boys tearing
off, Tom collaring his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the
little gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell's with
his backers, as lively as need be; Williams and his backers making off
not quite so fast across the close; Groove, Rattle, and the other
bigger fellows trying to combine dignity and prudence in a comical
manner, and walking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized,
and not fast enough to look like running away.
Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the time the Doctor gets
there, and touches his hat, not without a slight inward qualm.
"Hah! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. Don't you know that I
expect the sixth to stop fighting."
Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had expected, but he was
rather a favorite with the Doctor for his openness and plainness of
speech; so blurted out as he walked by the Doctor's side, who had
already turned back:--
"Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us to exercise a
discretion in the matter, too--not to interfere too soon."
"But they have been fighting this half-hour and more," said the
Doctor.
"Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they're the sort of boys who'll
be all the better friends now, which they wouldn't have been if they
had been stopped any earlier--before it was so equal."
"Who was fighting with Brown?" said the Doctor.
"Williams, sir, of Thompson's. He is bigger than Brown, and had the
best of it at first, but not when you came up, Sir. There's a good
deal of jealousy between our house and Thompson's, and there would
have been more fights if this hadn't been let go on, or if either of
them had had much the worst of it."
"Well, but, Brooke," said the Doctor, "doesn't this look a little as
if you exercised your discretion by only stopping a fight when the
School-house boy is getting the worst of it."
Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled.[43]
[43] #Gravelled#: embarrassed, confused.
"Now remember," added the Doctor, as he stopped at the turret door,
"this fight is not to go on--you'll see to that. And I expect you to
stop all fights in future at once."
"Very well, sir," said young Brooke, touching his hat, and not sorry
to see the turret-door close behind the Doctor's back.
EVENING AFTER THE FIGHT.
Meantime Tom and the staunchest of his adherents had reached
Harrowell's, and Sally was bustling about to get them a late tea,
while Stumps had been sent off to Tew, the butcher, to get a piece of
raw beef for Tom's eye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he
might show well in the morning. He was not a bit the worse except a
slight difficulty in his vision, a singing in his ears, and a sprained
thumb, which he kept in a cold water bandage, while he drank lots of
tea, and listened to the Babel of voices talking and speculating of
nothing but the fight, and how Williams would have given in after
another fall (which he didn't in the least believe), and how on earth
the Doctor could have got to know of it--such bad luck! He couldn't
help thinking to himself that he was glad he hadn't won; he liked it
better as it was, and felt very friendly to the Slogger. And then poor
little Arthur crept in and sat down quietly near him, looking at him
and the raw beef with such plaintive looks that Tom at last burst out
laughing.
"Don't make such eyes, young un," said he, "there's nothing the
matter."
"Oh, but, Tom, are you much hurt? I can't bear thinking it was all for
me."
"Not a bit of it, don't flatter yourself. We were sure to have it out,
sooner or later."
"Well, but you won't go on, will you? You'll promise me you won't go
on?"
"Can't tell about that--all depends on the Houses. We're in the hands
of our countrymen, you know. Must fight for the School-house flag, if
so be."
However, the lovers of the science[44] were doomed to disappointment
this time. Directly after locking-up, one of the night-fags knocked at
Tom's door.
[44] #The science#: "the manly science of self-defence."
"Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form room."
THE SHAKE-HANDS.
Up went Tom to the summons, and found the magnates[45] sitting at
their supper.
[45] #Magnates#: here, the upper class boys.
"Well, Brown," said young Brooke, nodding to him, "how do you feel?"
"Oh, very well, thank you; only I've sprained my thumb, I think."
"Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn't the worst of it, I could
see. Where did you learn that throw?"
"Down in the country, when I was a boy."
"Hullo! why, what are you now? Well, never mind, you're a plucky
fellow. Sit down and have some supper."
Tom obeyed, by no means loath. He ate and drank, listening to the
pleasant talk, and wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and
one of that much-envied society.
As he got up to leave, Brooke said: "You must shake hands to-morrow
morning; I shall come and see that done after first lesson."
And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook hands with great
satisfaction and mutual respect. And for the next year or two,
whenever fights were being talked of, the small boys who had been
present shook their heads wisely, saying: "Ah! but you should just
have seen the fight between Slogger Williams and Tom Brown!"
THE OLD BOY'S RULES.
And now, boys all, three words before we quit the subject. I have put
in this chapter on fighting, of malice prepense,[46] partly because I
want to give you a true picture of what every-day school life was in
my time, and not a kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat-picture; and
partly because of the cant[47] and twaddle that's talked of boxing and
fighting with fists nowadays. Even Thackeray has given in to it; and
only a few weeks ago there was some rampant stuff in the _Times_ on
the subject, in an article on field sports.
[46] #Malice prepense#: with deliberate purpose.
[47] #Cant#: hypocritical or meaningless talk.
Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will sometimes fight.
Fighting with fists is the natural and English way for English boys to
settle their quarrels. What substitute for it is there, or ever was
there, amongst any nation under the sun? What would you like to see
take its place?
Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and foot-ball. Not
one of you will be the worse, but very much the better for learning to
box well. Should you never have to use it in earnest, there is no
exercise in the world so good for the temper, and for the muscles of
the back and legs.
As to fighting, keep out of it if you can by all means. When the time
comes, if it ever should, that you have to say "Yes" or "No" to a
challenge to fight, say "No" if you can,--only take care you make it
clear to yourselves why you say "No." It's a proof of the highest
courage, if done from true Christian motives. It's quite right and
justifiable, if done from a simple aversion to physical pain and
danger. But don't say "No" because you fear a licking, and say or
think it's because you fear God, for that's neither Christian nor
honest. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don't give in while you
can stand and see.
CHAPTER VI.
FEVER IN THE SCHOOL.
"This is our hope for all that's mortal,
And we too shall burst the bond;
Death keeps watch beside the portal,
But 'tis life that dwells beyond."--_John Sterling._
Two years have passed since the events recorded in the last chapter,
and the end of the summer half-year is again drawing on. Martin has
left and gone on a cruise in the South Pacific in one of his uncle's
ships; the old magpie, as disreputable as ever, his last bequest[1] to
Arthur, lives in the joint study. Arthur is nearly sixteen, and at the
head of the twenty, having gone up the school at the rate of a form a
half-year. East and Tom have been much more deliberate in their
progress, and are only a little way up the fifth form. Great strapping
boys they are, but still thorough boys, filling about the same place
in the house that young Brooke filled when they were new boys, and
much the same sort of fellows. Constant intercourse with Arthur has
done much for both of them, especially for Tom; but much remains yet
to be done, if they are to get all the good out of Rugby which is to
be got there in these times. Arthur is still frail and delicate, with
more spirit than body; but, thanks to his intimacy with them and
Martin, has learned to swim, run, and play cricket, and has never hurt
himself by too much reading.
[1] #Bequest#: something given by will.
DEATH IN THE SCHOOL.
One evening, as they were all sitting down to supper in the fifth-form
room, some one started a report that a fever had broken out at one of
the boarding-houses; "They say," he added, "that Thompson is very ill,
and that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northampton."
"Then we shall all be sent home," cried another. "Hurrah! five weeks'
extra holidays, and no fifth-form examination."
"I hope not," said Tom; " there'll be no Marylebone match[2] then at
the end of the half."
[2] #Marylebone match# (merrybun): a match by the London
cricket club of that name. It is the leading cricket club of
the world. The celebrated Lord's grounds in London are its
property.
Some thought one thing, some another; many didn't believe the report;
but the next day, Tuesday, Dr. Robertson arrived, and stayed all day,
and had long conferences with the Doctor.
On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor addressed the whole
school. There were several cases of fever in different houses, he
said; but Dr. Robertson, after the most careful examination, had
assured him that it was not infectious, and that if proper care were
taken, there could be no reason for stopping the school work at
present. The examinations were just coming on, and it would be very
unadvisable to break up now. However, any boys who chose to do so were
at liberty to write home, and if their parents wished it, to leave at
once. He should send the whole school home if the fever spread.
The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other case. Before the
end of the week thirty or forty boys had gone, but the rest stayed on.
There was a general wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it
was cowardly to run away.
THE DOCTOR'S SERMON.
On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright afternoon, while the
cricket-match was going on as usual on the big-side ground: the Doctor
coming from his death-bed, passed along the gravel-walk at the side of
the close, but no one knew what had happened till the next day. At
morning lecture it began to be rumored, and by afternoon chapel was
known generally; and a feeling of seriousness and awe at the actual
presence of death among them came over the whole school. In the long
years of his ministry the Doctor perhaps never spoke words which sank
deeper than some of those in that day's sermon. "When I came yesterday
from visiting all but the very death-bed of him who has been taken
from us, and looked around upon all the familiar objects and scenes
within our own ground, where your common amusements were going on with
your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt there was nothing
painful in witnessing that; it did not seem in any way shocking or out
of tune with those feelings which the sight of a dying Christian must
be supposed to awaken. The unsuitableness in point of natural feeling
between scenes of mourning and scenes of liveliness did not at all
present itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any of those
faults had been brought before me which sometimes occur amongst us;
had I heard that any of you had been guilty of falsehood, or of
drunkenness, or of any other such sin; had I heard from any quarter
the language of profaneness, or of unkindness, or of indecency; had I
heard or seen any signs of that wretched folly which courts the laugh
of fools by affecting not to dread evil and not to care for good, then
the unsuitableness of any of these things with the scene I had just
quitted would indeed have been most intensely painful. And why? Not
because such things would really have been worse than at any other
time, but because at such a moment the eyes are opened really to know
good and evil, because we then feel what it is so to live that death
becomes an infinite blessing, and what it is so to live also, that it
were good for us if we had never been born."
Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about Arthur, but he
came out cheered and strengthened by those grand words, and walked up
alone to their study. And when he sat down and looked round, and saw
Arthur's straw hat and cricket-jacket hanging on their pegs, and
marked all his neat little arrangements, not one of which had been
disturbed, the tears indeed rolled down his cheeks; but they were calm
and blessed tears, and he repeated to himself, "Yes, Geordie's[3] eyes
are opened--he knows what it is so to live that death becomes an
infinite blessing. But do I? O God, can I bear to lose him?"
[3] #Geordie#: Georgie (his full name was George Arthur).
ARTHUR'S ILLNESS.
The week passed mournfully away. No more boys sickened, but Arthur was
reported worse each day, and his mother arrived early in the week. Tom
made many appeals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried to
get up to the sick-room; but the housekeeper was always in the way,
and at last spoke to the Doctor, who kindly but peremptorily forbade
him.
Thompson was buried on the Tuesday; and the burial service, so
soothing and grand always, but beyond all words solemn when read over
a boy's grave to his companions, brought Tom much comfort, and many
strange new thoughts and longings. He went back to his regular life,
and played cricket and bathed as usual; it seemed to him that this was
the right thing to do, and the new thoughts and longings became more
brave and healthy for the effort. The crisis came on Saturday, the day
week that Thompson had died; and during that long afternoon Tom sat
in his study reading his Bible, and going every half hour to the
housekeeper's room, expecting each time to hear that the gentle and
brave little spirit had gone home. But God had work for Arthur to do;
the crisis passed--on Sunday evening he was declared out of danger; on
Monday he sent a message to Tom that he was almost well, had changed
his room, and was to be allowed to see him the next day.
It was evening when the housekeeper summoned him to the sick-room.
Arthur was lying on the sofa by the open window, through which the
rays of the western sun stole gently, lighting up his white face and
golden hair. Tom remembered a German picture of an angel which he
knew; often had he thought how transparent and golden and spirit-like
it was; and he shuddered to think how like it Arthur looked, and felt
a shock as if his blood had all stopped short, as he realized how near
the other world his friend must have been to look like that. Never
till that moment had he felt how his little chum had twined himself
round his heart-strings; and as he stole gently across the room and
knelt down, and put his arm round Arthur's head on the pillow, he felt
ashamed and half angry at his own red and brown face, and the bounding
sense of health and power which filled every fibre of his body, and
made every movement of mere living a joy to him. He needn't have
troubled himself; it was this very strength and power so different
from his own which drew Arthur so to him.
Arthur laid his thin, white hand, on which the blue veins stood out so
plainly, on Tom's great brown fist, and smiled at him, and then looked
out of the window again, as if he couldn't bear to lose a moment of
the sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round which the
rooks were circling and clanging, returning in flocks from their
evening's foraging-parties. The elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy
just outside the window chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling, and
making it up again; the rooks, young and old, talked in chorus; and
the merry shouts of the boys, and the sweet click of cricket-bats,
came up cheerily from below.
CONVALESCENCE.
"Dear George," said Tom, "I am so glad to be let up to see you at
last. I've tried hard to come so often, but they wouldn't let me
before."
"Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every day about you, and how she
was obliged to make the Doctor speak to you to keep you away. I'm very
glad you didn't get up, for you might have caught it, and you couldn't
stand being ill with all the matches going on. And you're in the
eleven, too, I hear--I'm so glad."
"Yes, isn't it jolly?" said Tom, proudly; "I'm ninth, too. I made
forty at the last pie-match,[4] and caught three fellows out. So I was
put in above Jones and Tucker. Tucker's so savage, for he was head of
the twenty-two."
[4] #Pie-Match#: a match for a supper.
"Well, I think you ought to be higher yet," said Arthur, who was as
jealous for the renown of Tom in games, as Tom was for his as a
scholar.
"Never mind, I don't care about cricket or anything now you are
getting well, Geordie; and I shouldn't have hurt, I know, if they'd
have let me come up,--nothing hurts me. But you'll get about now,
directly, won't you? You won't believe how clean I've kept the study.
All your things are just as you left them; and I feed the old magpie
just when you used, though I have to come in from big-side for him,
the old rip. He won't look pleased all I can do, and sticks his head
first on one side and then on the other, and blinks at me before he'll
begin to eat, till I'm half inclined to box his ears. And whenever
East comes in you should see him hop off to the window, dot and go
one,[5] though Harry wouldn't touch a feather of him now."
[5] #Dot and go one#: with a skipping movement.
Arthur laughed. "Old Gravey has a good memory; he can't forget the
sieges of poor Martin's den in old times." He paused a moment and then
went on. "You can't think how often I've been thinking of old Martin
since I've been ill; I suppose one's mind gets restless, and likes to
wander off to strange, unknown places. I wonder what queer new pets
the old boy has got; how he must be revelling in the thousand new
birds, beasts, and fishes."
Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a moment. "Fancy him
on a South-sea island, with the Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such
wild niggers" (Tom's ethnology[6] and geography were faulty, but
sufficient for his needs); "they'll make the old Madman cock
medicine-man[7] and tattoo him all over. Perhaps he's cutting about
now all blue, and has a squaw and a wigwam. He'll improve their
boomerangs,[8] and be able to throw them, too, without having old
Thomas sent after him by the Doctor to take them away."
[6] #Ethnology#: that science which treats of races of men.
[7] #Cock medicine-man#: chief doctor.
[8] #Boomerang#: a throw-stick in use as a weapon among the
natives of Australia. It is so shaped that when thrown at any
object it returns to the thrower.
MEMORIES.
Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomerang story, but then
looked grave again, and said: "He'll convert all the island, I know."
"Yes, if he doesn't blow it up first."
"Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used to laugh at him and chaff
him, because he said he was sure the rooks all had calling-over or
prayers, or something of that sort, when the locking-up bell rang?
Well, I declare," said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom's
laughing eyes, "I do think he was right. Since I've been lying here,
I've watched them every night; and do you know, they really do come
and perch, all of them, just about locking-up time; and then first
there's a regular chorus of caws, and then they stop a bit, and one
old fellow, or perhaps two or three in different trees, caw solos, and
then off they all go again, fluttering about and cawing anyhow till
they roost."
"I wonder if the old blackies[9] do talk," said Tom, looking up at
them. "How they must abuse me and East, and pray for the Doctor for
stopping the singing!"
[9] #Blackies#: rooks.
"There! look, look!" cried Arthur, "don't you see the old fellow
without a tail coming up? Martin used to call him the 'clerk.'[10] He
can't steer himself. You never saw such fun as he is in a high wind,
when he can't steer himself home, and gets carried right past the
trees, and has to bear up again and again before he can perch."
[10] #Clerk#: a clergyman's assistant--he reads the responses
in the English Church service.
The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys were silent, and
listened to it. The sound soon carried Tom off to the river and the
woods, and he began to go over in his mind the many occasions on which
he had heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had to pack
his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to get in before the gates
were shut. He was aroused with a start from his memories by Arthur's
voice, gentle and weak from his late illness.
"Tom, will you be angry if I talk to you very seriously?"
"No, dear old boy, not I, but aren't you faint, Arthur, or ill? What
can I get you? Don't say anything to hurt yourself now--you are very
weak; let me come up again."
"No, no, I sha'n't hurt myself; I'd sooner speak to you now, if you
don't mind. I've asked Mary to tell the Doctor that you are with me,
so you needn't go down to calling-over; and I mayn't have another
chance, for I shall most likely have to go home for change of air to
get well, and mayn't come back this half."
"Oh, do you think you must go away before the end of the half? I'm so
sorry. It's more than five weeks yet to the holidays, and all the
fifth-form examinations, and half the cricket-matches to come yet. And
what shall I do all that time alone in our study? Why, Arthur, it will
be more than twelve weeks before I see you again. Oh, hang it, I can't
stand that! Besides, who's to keep me up to working at the
examination-books? I shall come out bottom of the form, as sure as
eggs is eggs."
MORE LESSONS.
Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for he wanted to
get Arthur out of his serious vein, thinking it would do him harm; but
Arthur broke in:--
"Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you'll drive all I had to say out of my
head. And I'm already horribly afraid I'm going to make you angry."
"Don't gammon,[11] young un," rejoined Tom (the use of the old name,
dear to him from old recollections, made Arthur start and smile, and
feel quite happy); "you know you aren't afraid, and you've never made
me angry since the first month we chummed together. Now I'm going to
be quite sober for a quarter of an hour, which is more than I am once
in a year; so make the most of it; heave ahead, and pitch into me
right and left."
[11] #Gammon#: pretend.
"Dear Tom, I'm not going to pitch into you," said Arthur, piteously;
"and it seems so cocky in me to be advising you, who've been my
back-bone ever since I've been at Rugby, and have made the school a
paradise to me. Ah, I see I shall never do it, unless I go
head-over-heels at once, as you said when you taught me to swim. Tom,
I want you to give up using Vulgus-books and cribs."[12]
[12] #Cribs#: translations, "ponies."
Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if the effort had
been great; but the worst was now over, and he looked straight at Tom,
who was evidently taken aback. He leant his elbows on his knees, and
stuck his hands into his hair, whistled a verse of "Billie Taylor,"
and then was quite silent for another minute. Not a shade crossed his
face, but he was clearly puzzled. At last he looked up, and caught
Arthur's anxious look, took his hand, and said simply:--
"Why, young un?"
"Because you're the honestest boy in Rugby, and that isn't honest."
"I don't see that."
"What were you sent to Rugby for?"
"Well, I don't know exactly--nobody ever told me. I suppose because
all boys are sent to a public-school in England."
"But what do you think yourself? What do you want to do here and to
carry away?"
Tom thought a minute. "I want to be A 1 at cricket and foot-ball, and
all the other games, and to make my hands keep my head against any
fellow, lout or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I
leave, and to please the Doctor; and I want to carry away just as much
Latin and Greek as will take me through Oxford respectably. There now,
young un, I never thought of it before, but that's pretty much about
my figure. Isn't it all on the square? What have you got to say to
that?"
"Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you want, then."
"Well, I hope so. But you've forgot one thing, what I want to leave
behind me. I want to leave behind me," said Tom, speaking slow, and
looking much moved, "the name of a fellow who never bullied a little
boy, or turned his back on a big one."
Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment's silence went on: "You
say, Tom, you want to please the Doctor. Now, do you want to please
him by what he thinks you do, or by what you really do?"
"By what I really do, of course."
"Does he think you use cribs and Vulgus-books?"
Tom felt at once that his flank was turned,[13] but he couldn't give
in. "He was at Winchester himself," said he; "he knows all about it."
[13] #His flank was turned#: he was taken at a disadvantage.
"Yes, but does he think _you_ use them? Do you think he approves of
it?"
"You young villain!" said Tom, shaking his fist at Arthur, half vexed
and half pleased. "I never think about it. Hang it--there, perhaps he
doesn't. Well, I suppose he doesn't."
TOM'S CONFESSIONS.
Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his friend well, and was
wise in silence as in speech. He only said, "I would sooner have the
Doctor's good opinion of me as I really am than any man's in the
world."
After another minute, Tom began again; "Look here, young un, how on
earth am I to get time to play the matches this half, if I give up
cribs? We're in the middle of that long crabbed chorus in the
Agamemnon;[14] I can only just make head or tail of it with the crib.
Then there's Pericles' speech coming on in Thucydides, and 'The Birds'
to get up for the examination, besides the Tacitus." Tom groaned at
the thought of his accumulated labors. "I say, young un, there's only
five weeks or so left to the holidays; mayn't I go on as usual for
this half? I'll tell the Doctor about it some day, or you may."
Arthur looked out of the window; the twilight had come on, and all was
silent. He repeated, in a low voice, "In this thing the Lord pardon
thy servant, that when my master goeth into the house of Rimmon, to
worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow down myself in the
house of Rimmon, when I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon, the
Lord pardon thy servant in this thing."[15]
[14] #Agamemnon#, etc.: a Greek tragedy. Thucydides was a
Greek historian; "The Birds," a Greek comedy; Tacitus, a Latin
historian.
[15] 2 Kings v. 18.
Not a word more was said on the subject, and the boys were again
silent,--one of those blessed, short silences in which the resolves
which color a life are so often taken.
TOM OUT-GENERALLED.
Tom was the first to break it. "You've been very ill indeed, haven't
you, Geordie?" said he, with a mixture of awe and curiosity, feeling
as if his friend had been in some strange place or scene, of which he
could form no idea, and full of the memory of his own thoughts during
the last week.
"Yes, very. I'm sure the Doctor thought I was going to die. He gave me
the Sacrament last Sunday, and you can't think what he is when one is
ill. He said such brave, and tender, and gentle things to me, I felt
quite light and strong after it, and never had any more fear. My
mother brought our old medical man, who attended me when I was a poor
sickly child; he said my constitution was quite changed, and that I'm
fit for anything now. If it hadn't, I couldn't have stood three days
of this illness. That's all, thanks to you, and the games you've made
me fond of."
"More thanks to old Martin," said Tom; "he's been your real friend."
"Nonsense, Tom; he never could have done for me what you have."
"Well, I don't know; I did little enough. Did they tell you--you won't
mind hearing it now, I know--that poor Thompson died last week? The
other three boys are getting quite round, like you."
"Oh, yes, I heard of it."
Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of the burial service
in the chapel, and how it had impressed him and, he believed, all the
other boys. "And though the Doctor never said a word about it," said
he, "and it was a half-holiday and match day, there wasn't a game
played in the close all the afternoon, and the boys all went about as
if it were Sunday."
"I'm very glad of it," said Arthur. "But, Tom, I've had such strange
thoughts about death lately. I've never told a soul of them, not even
my mother. Sometimes I think they're wrong, but, do you know, I don't
think in my heart I could be sorry at the death of any of my friends."
Tom was taken quite aback. "What in the world is the young un after
now?" thought he; "I've swallowed a good many of his crotchets, but
this altogether beats me. He can't be quite right in his head." He
didn't want to say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the dark;
however, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an answer, so at last he
said: "I don't think I quite see what you mean, Geordie. One's told so
often to think about death, that I've tried it on sometimes,
especially this last week. But we won't talk of it now. I'd better
go--you're getting tired, and I shall do you harm."
"No, no, indeed I'm not, Tom; you must stop till nine, there's only
twenty minutes. I've settled you shall stop till nine. And oh! do let
me talk to you--I must talk to you. I see it's just as I feared. You
think I'm half mad, don't you now?"
"Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as you ask me."
ARTHUR'S FEVER.
Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, "I'll tell you how it
all happened. At first, when I was sent to the sick-room, and found
that I had really got the fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought
I should die, and I could not face it for a moment. I don't think it
was sheer cowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was to be
taken away from my mother and sisters, and you all, just as I was
beginning to see my way to many things, and to feel that I might be a
man, and do a man's work. To die without having fought, and worked,
and given one's life away, was too hard to bear. I got terribly
impatient, and accused God of injustice, and strove to justify myself;
and the harder I strove the deeper I sank. Then the image of my dear
father often came across me, but I turned from it. Whenever it came, a
heavy numbing throb seemed to take hold of my heart, and say,
'Dead--dead--dead.' And I cried out, 'The living, the living shall
praise Thee O God; the dead cannot praise Thee.[16] There is no work
in the grave;[17] in the night no man can work. But I can work. I can
do great things. I _will_ do great things. Why wilt thou slay me?' And
so I struggled and plunged, deeper and deeper, and went down into a
living black tomb. I was alone there, with no power to stir or think;
alone with myself; beyond the reach of all human fellowship; beyond
Christ's reach, I thought, in my nightmare. You, who are brave and
bright and strong, can have no idea of that agony, pray to God you
never may. Pray as for your life."
[16] Isa. xxxviii. 19.
[17] Eccl. ix. 10.
Arthur stopped--from exhaustion, Tom thought; but what between his
fear lest Arthur should hurt himself, his awe, and longing for him to
go on, he couldn't ask, or stir to help him.
ARTHUR'S VISION.
Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. "I don't know how long.
I was in that state. For more than a day, I know; for I was quite
conscious, and lived my outer life all the time, and took my
medicines, and spoke to my mother, and heard what they said. But I
didn't take much note of time; I thought time was over for me, and
that that tomb was what was beyond. Well, on last Sunday morning, as I
seemed to lie in that tomb, alone, as I thought, forever and ever, the
black dead wall was cleft in two, and I was caught up and borne into
the light by some great power, some living mighty spirit. Tom, do you
remember the living creatures and the wheels in Ezekiel?[18] It was
just like that: 'When they went, I heard the noise of their wings,
like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the
voice of speech, as the noise of an host; when they stood, they let
down their wings'--'and they went every one straight forward;--whither
the spirit was to go they went, and they turned not when they went.'
And we rushed through the bright air, which was full of myriads of
living creatures, and paused on the brink of a great river. And the
power held me up, and I knew that that great river was the grave, and
death dwelt there; but not the death I had met in the black
tomb,--that I felt was gone forever. For on the other bank of the
great river I saw men and women and children rising up pure and
bright, and the tears were wiped from their eyes, and they put on
glory and strength, and all weariness and pain fell away. And beyond
were a multitude which no man could number, and they worked at some
great work; and they who rose from the river went on and joined in the
work. They all worked, and each worked in a different way, but all at
the same work. And I saw there my father, and the men in the old town
whom I knew when I was a child; many a hard stern man, who never came
to church, and whom they called atheist and infidel. There they were,
side by side with my father, whom I had seen toil and die for them,
and women and little children, and the seal[19] was on the foreheads
of all. And I longed to see what the work was, and could not; so I
tried to plunge into the river, for I thought I would join them, but I
could not. Then I looked about to see how they got into the river. And
this I could not see, but I saw myriads on this side, and they too
worked, and I knew that it was the same work; and the same seal was on
their foreheads. And though I saw that there was toil and anguish in
the work of these, and that most that were working were blind and
feeble, yet I longed no more to plunge into the river, but more and
more to know what the work was. And as I looked I saw my mother and my
sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, Tom, and hundreds more whom I
knew. And at last I saw myself, too, and I was toiling and doing ever
so little a piece of the great work. Then it all melted away, and the
power left me, and as it left me I thought I heard a voice say: 'The
vision is for an appointed time; though it tarry, wait for it, for in
the end it shall speak and not lie, it shall surely come, it shall not
tarry.'[20] It was early morning I know then, it was so quiet and
cool, and my mother was fast asleep in the chair by my bedside; but it
wasn't only a dream of mine. I know it wasn't a dream. Then I fell
into a deep sleep, and only woke after afternoon chapel; and the
Doctor came and gave me the Sacrament as I told you. I told him and my
mother I should get well--I knew I should; but I couldn't tell them
why. Tom," said Arthur, gently, after another minute, "do you see why
I could not grieve now to see my dearest friend die? It can't be--it
isn't all fever or illness. God would never have let me see it so
clear if it wasn't true. I don't understand it all yet--it will take
me my life, and longer, to do that--to find out what the work is."
[18] Ezek. i. 24.
[19] #Seal#: here, mark of acceptance.
[20] Hab. ii. 3.
ARTHUR'S MOTHER.
When Arthur stopped, there was a long pause. Tom could not speak; he
was almost afraid to breathe, lest he should break the train of
Arthur's thoughts. He longed to hear more, and to ask questions. In
another minute nine o'clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door
called them both back into the world again. They did not answer,
however, for a moment, and so the door opened and a lady came in,
carrying a candle.
She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of Arthur's hand, and
then stooped down and kissed him.
"My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. Why didn't you have
lights? You've talked too much, and excited yourself in the dark."
"Oh, no, mother, you can't think how well I feel. I shall start with
you to-morrow for Devonshire. But, mother, here's my friend, here's
Tom Brown--you know him?"
"Yes indeed, I've known him for years," she said, and held out her
hand to Tom, who was now standing up behind the sofa. This was
Arthur's mother; tall, and slight, and fair, with masses of golden
hair drawn back from the broad white forehead, and the calm blue eye
meeting his so deep and open,--the eye that he knew so well, for it
was his friend's over again, and the lovely tender mouth that trembled
while he looked. She stood there a woman of thirty-eight, old enough
to be his mother, and one whose face showed the lines that must be
written on the faces of good men's wives and widows,--but he thought
he had never seen anything so beautiful. He couldn't help wondering if
Arthur's sisters were like her.
Tom held her hand, and looked her straight in the face; he could
neither let it go nor speak.
"Now, Tom," said Arthur, laughing, "where are your manners? You'll
stare my mother out of countenance." Tom dropped the little hand with
a sigh. "There, sit down, both of you. Here, dearest mother, there's
room here," and he made a place on the sofa for her. "Tom, you needn't
go; I'm sure you won't be called up at first lesson." Tom felt that he
would risk being floored at every lesson for the rest of his natural
school-life sooner than go; so sat down. "And now," said Arthur, "I
have realized one of the dearest wishes of my life,--to see you two
together."
TOM'S REWARDS.
And then he led away the talk to their home in Devonshire, and the red
bright earth, and the deep green combes,[21] and the peat[22] streams
like cairngorm[23] pebbles, and the wild moor[24] with its high cloudy
Tors[25] for a giant background to the picture,--till Tom got jealous,
and stood up for the clear chalk streams, and the emerald water
meadows and great elms and willows of the dear old Royal county, as he
gloried to call it. And the mother sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing
in their life. The quarter-to-ten struck, and the bell rang for bed,
before they had well begun their talk as it seemed.
[21] #Combes#: valleys.
[22] #Peat#: a kind of turf used as fuel.
[23] #Cairngorm#: a yellow or brown variety of crystallized
quartz found in Cairngorm, Scotland.
[24] #Moor#: an extensive waste plain covered with heath.
[25] #Tors#: high-pointed hills or rocks.
Then Tom rose with a sigh to go.
"Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie?" said he, as he shook his
friend's hand. "Never mind, though; you'll be back next half, and I
sha'n't forget the house of Rimmon."
Arthur's mother got up and walked with him to the door, and there gave
him her hand again, and again his eyes met that deep loving look,
which was like a spell upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she
said, "Good-night,--you are one who knows what our Father has promised
to the friend of the widow and the fatherless. May He deal with you as
you have dealt with me and mine!"
Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about owing everything good
in him to Geordie--looked in her face again, pressed her hand to his
lips, and rushed down stairs to his study, where he sat till old
Thomas came kicking at the door to tell him his allowance[26] would be
stopped if he didn't go off to bed. (It would have been stopped
anyhow, but that he was a great favorite with the old gentleman, who
loved to come out in the afternoon into the close to Tom's wicket, and
bowl slow twisters[27] to him, and talk of the glories of bygone
Surrey[28] heroes, with whom he had played in former generations.)
[26] #Allowance#: spending-money.
[27] #Twisters#: balls thrown with a twisting motion.
[28] #Surrey#: a county in the south of England.
So Tom roused himself, and took up his candle to go to bed; and then
for the first time was aware of a beautiful new fishing-rod, with old
Eton's[29] mark on it, and a splendidly bound Bible, which lay on his
table, on the title-page of which was written: "TOM BROWN, from his
affectionate and grateful friends, Frances Jane Arthur; George
Arthur."
[29] #Eton#: a noted maker of fishing-rods, etc.
I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he dreamt of.
CHAPTER VII.
HARRY EAST'S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES.
"The Holy Supper is kept indeed,
In whatso we share with another's need--
Not that which we give, but what we share,
For the gift without the giver is bare:
Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three,
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me."
_Lowell_, "_The Vision of Sir Launfal._"
TOM SPRINGS HIS MINE.
The next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and Gower met as usual
to learn their second lessons together. Tom had been considering how
to break his proposal of giving up the crib to the others, and having
found no better way (as indeed none better can ever be found by man or
boy), told them simply what had happened; how he had been to see
Arthur, who had talked to him upon the subject, and what he had said;
and for his part he had made up his mind, and wasn't going to use
cribs any more; and being quite sure of his ground, took the high and
pathetic tone, and was proceeding to say, "how, that, having learned
his lessons with them for so many years, it would grieve him much to
put an end to the arrangement, and he hoped at any rate that, if they
wouldn't go on with him, they should still be just as good friends,
and respect one another's motives--but----"
Here the other boys, who had been listening with open eyes and ears,
burst in:--
"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Gower. " Here, East, get down the crib and
find the place."
"Oh, Tommy, Tommy!" said East, proceeding to do as he was bidden,
"that it should ever have come to this. I knew Arthur'd be the ruin of
you some day, and you of me. And now the time's come"--and he made a
doleful face.
"I don't know about ruin," answered Tom; "I know that you and I would
have had the sack[1] long ago, if it hadn't been for him. And you know
it as well as I."
[1] #Had the sack#: got expelled.
"Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, I own; but this new
crotchet of his is past a joke."
"Let's give it a trial, Harry; come--you know how often he has been
right and we wrong."
"Now, don't you two be jawing away about young Squaretoes,"[2] struck
in Gower. "He's no end of a sucking wiseacre,[3] I dare say, but we've
no time to lose, and I've got the fives'-court at half-past nine."
[2] #Squaretoes#: an over-precise or "goody-good" sort of a
person.
[3] #Sucking wiseacre#: a young Solomon.
"I say, Gower," said Tom, appealingly, "be a good fellow, and let's
try if we can't get on without the crib."
"What! in this chorus?[4] Why, we sha'n't get through ten lines."
[4] #Chorus#: the chorus of a Greek play.
"I say, Tom," cried East, having hit on a new idea, "don't you
remember, when we were in the upper fourth, and old Momus[5] caught me
construing off the leaf of a crib which I'd torn out and put in my
book, and which would float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be
flogged for it?"
[5] #Momus#: the god of ridicule; here, a nickname for a
teacher.
"Yes, I remember it very well."
"Well, the Doctor, after he'd flogged me, told me himself that he
didn't flog me for using a translation, but for taking it into lesson,
and using it there, when I hadn't learnt a word before I came in. He
said there was no harm in using a translation to get a clew to hard
passages, if you tried all you could first to make them out without."
"Did he, though?" said Tom, "then Arthur must be wrong."
"Of course he is," said Gower, "the little prig! We'll only use the
crib when we can't construe without it. Go ahead, East."
RESULTS OF THE EXPLOSION.
And on this agreement they started: Tom, satisfied with having made
this confession, and not sorry to have a _locus penitentiae_,[6] and
not to be deprived altogether of the use of his old and faithful
friend.
[6] #Locus penitentiae#: a place or opportunity for repentance
or reformation.
The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in turn, and the
crib being handed to the one whose turn it was to construe. Of course
Tom couldn't object to this, as was it not simply lying there to be
appealed to in case the sentence should prove too hard altogether for
the construer? But it must be owned that Gower and East did not make
very tremendous exertions to conquer their sentences before having
recourse to its help. Tom, however, with the most heroic virtue and
gallantry rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded manner
for nominative and verb, and turning over his dictionary frantically
for the first hard word that stopped him. But in the meantime Gower,
who was bent on getting to fives, would peep quietly into the crib,
and then suggest, "Don't you think this is the meaning?" "I think you
must take it this way, Brown;" and as Tom didn't see his way to not
profiting by these suggestions, the lesson went on about as quickly as
usual, and Gower was able to start for fives'-court within five
minutes of the half-hour.
When Tom and East were left face to face, they looked at one another
for a minute, Tom puzzled and East chock-full of fun, and then burst
into a roar of laughter.
THE ENEMY'S DEFENCE.
"Well, Tom," said East, recovering himself, "I don't see any objection
to the new way. It's about as good as the old one, I think; besides
the advantage it gives one of feeling virtuous, and looking down on
one's neighbors."
Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. "I'm not so sure," said he;
"you two fellows carried me off my legs; I don't really think we tried
one sentence fairly. Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to
you?"
"Yes. And I'll swear I couldn't make out one of my sentences to-day.
No, nor ever could. I really don't remember," said East, speaking
slowly and impressively, "to have come across one Latin or Greek
sentence this half that I could go and construe by the light of
nature. Whereby I am sure Providence intended cribs to be used."
"The thing to find out," said Tom, meditatively, "is how long one
ought to grind at a sentence without looking at the crib. Now, I
think, if one fairly looks out all the words one doesn't know, and
then can't hit it, that's enough."
"To be sure, Tommy," said East, demurely, but with a merry twinkle in
his eye. "Your new doctrine, too, old fellow," added he, "when one
comes to think of it, is a cutting at the root of all school morality.
You'll take away mutual help, brotherly love, or, in the vulgar
tongue, 'giving construes,' which I hold to be one of our highest
virtues. For how can you distinguish between getting a construe from
another boy and using a crib? Hang it, Tom, if you're going to deprive
all our school-fellows of the chance of exercising Christian
benevolence and being good Samaritans, I shall cut the concern."
"I wish you wouldn't joke about it, Harry. It's hard enough to see
one's way, a precious sight harder than I thought last night. But I
suppose there's a use and an abuse of both, and one'll get straight
enough somehow. But you can't make out anyhow that one has a right to
use old Vulgus-books and copy-books."
"Hullo, more heresy! How fast a fellow goes down hill when once
he gets his head before his legs! Listen to me, Tom. Not use old
Vulgus-books! Why, you Goth,[7] aren't we to take the benefit of the
wisdom, and admire and use the work of past generations? Not use
old copy-books! Why, you might as well say we ought to pull down
Westminster Abbey, and put up a go-to-meeting-shop with churchwarden
windows;[8] or never read Shakespeare, but only Sheridan Knowles.[9]
Think of all the work and labor that our predecessors have bestowed on
these very books, and are we to make their work of no value?"
[7] #Goth#: a barbarian.
[8] #Churchwarden windows#: probably cheap, narrow windows.
[9] #Sheridan Knowles#: a writer of popular plays.
"I say, Harry, please don't chaff; I'm really serious."
"And, then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure of others
rather than our own; and, above all, that of our masters? Fancy, then,
the difference to them in looking over a Vulgus which has been
carefully touched and retouched by themselves and others, and which
must bring them a sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they'd met the
thought or expression of it somewhere or another,--before they were
born, perhaps,--and that of cutting up, and making picture-frames
round all your and my false quantities and other monstrosities. Why,
Tom, you wouldn't be so cruel as never to let old Momus hum over the
'O genus humanum' again, and then look up doubtingly through his
spectacles, and end by smiling and giving three extra marks for it;
just for old sake's sake, I suppose."
"Well," said Tom, getting up in something as like a huff as he was
capable of, "it's deuced hard that when a fellow's really trying to do
what he ought, his best friends'll do nothing but chaff him and try to
put him down." And he stuck his books under his arm, and his hat on
his head, preparatory to rushing out into the quadrangle, to testify
with his own soul of the faithlessness of friendships.
"Now don't be an ass, Tom," said East, catching hold of him; "you know
me well enough by this time; my bark's worse than my bite. You can't
expect to ride your new crotchet without anybody's trying to make him
kick you off: especially as we shall have to go on foot still. But now
sit down, and let's go over it again. I'll be as serious as a judge."
Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed eloquent about all
the righteousness and advantages of the new plan, as was his wont
whenever he took up anything; going into it as if his life depended
upon it, and sparing no abuse which he could think of, of the opposite
method, which he denounced as ungentlemanly, cowardly, mean, lying,
and no one knows what besides. "Very cool of Tom," as East thought,
but didn't say, "seeing as how he only came out of Egypt[10] himself
last night at bed-time."
[10] #Came out of Egypt#: escaped from bondage, began a new
course of life.
"Well, Tom," said he, at last, "you see, when you and I came to school
there were none of these sort of notions. You may be right--I dare say
you are. Only what one has always felt about the masters is that it's
a fair trial of skill and last[11] between us and them--like a match
at foot-ball, or a battle. We're natural enemies in school, that's the
fact. We've got to learn so much Latin and Greek and do so many
verses, and they've got to see that we do it. If we can slip the
collar, and do so much less without getting caught, that's one to us.
If they can get more out of us, or catch us shirking, that's one to
them. All's fair in war, but lying. If I run my luck against theirs,
and go into school without looking at my lessons, and don't get called
up, why am I a snob[12] or a sneak? I don't tell the master I've
learnt it. He's got to find out whether I have or not; what's he paid
for? If he calls me up, and I get floored, he makes me write it out in
Greek and English. Very good; he's caught me, and I don't grumble. I
grant you, if I go and snivel to him, and tell him I've really tried
to learn it, but found it so hard without a translation, or say I've
had a toothache, or any humbug of that kind, I'm a snob. That's my
school morality; it's served me, and you too, Tom, for the matter of
that, these five years. And it's all clear and fair, no mistake about
it. We understand it, and they understand it, and I don't know what
we're to come to with any other."
[11] #Last#: endurance.
[12] #Snob#: here, a mean-spirited fellow; one destitute of
manliness.
THE TRUCE.
Tom looked at him pleased, and a little puzzled. He had never heard
East speak his mind seriously before, and couldn't help feeling how
completely he had hit his own theory and practice up to that time.
"Thank you, old fellow," said he. "You're a good old brick to be
serious and not put out with me. I said more than I meant, I dare say,
only you see I know I'm right; whatever you and Gower and the rest do,
I shall hold on--I must. And as it's all new and an up-hill game, you
see, one must hit hard and hold on tight at first."
"Very good," said East; "hold on and hit away, only don't hit under
the line."[13]
[13] #Don't hit under the line#: don't take unfair advantage.
"But I must bring you over, Harry, or I sha'n't be comfortable. Now,
I'll allow all you've said. We've always been honorable enemies with
the masters. We found a state of war when we came, and went into it of
course. Only don't you think things are altered a good deal? I don't
feel as I used to the masters. They seem to me to treat one quite
differently."
"Yes, perhaps they do," said East; "there's a new set, you see,
mostly, who don't feel sure of themselves yet. They don't want to
fight till they know the ground."
"I don't think it's only that," said Tom. "And then the Doctor, he
does treat one so openly, and like a gentleman, and as if one was
working with him."
"Well, so he does," said East; "he's a splendid fellow, and when I get
into the sixth I shall act accordingly. Only you know he has nothing
to do with our lessons now, except examining us. I say, though,
"looking at his watch, "it's just the quarter. Come along."
ARTHUR GOES HOME.
As they walked out they got a message, to say "that Arthur was just
starting and would like to say good-bye"; so they went down to the
private entrance of the School-house, and found an open carriage, with
Arthur propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, Tom
thought.
They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands with him, and Tom
mumbled thanks for the presents he had found in his study, and looked
round anxiously for Arthur's mother.
East, who had fallen back into his usual humor, looked quaintly at
Arthur, and said:--
"So you've been at it again, through that hot-headed convert of yours
there. He's been making our lives a burden to us all the morning about
using cribs. I shall get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if
I'm called up."
Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in:--
"Oh, it's all right. He's converted already; he always comes through
the mud, after us, grumbling and spluttering."
The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, wishing Arthur a
pleasant holiday, Tom lingering behind a moment to send his thanks and
love to Arthur's mother.
THE SIEGE REOPENS.
Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and succeeded so far
as to get East to promise to give the new plan a fair trial.
Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when they were sitting
alone in the large study, where East lived now almost, "vice[14]
Arthur on leave," after examining the new fishing-rod, which both
pronounced to be the genuine article ("play[15] enough to throw a
midge[16] tied on a single hair against the wind, and strength enough
to hold a grampus[17]") they naturally began talking about Arthur.
Tom, who was still bubbling over with last night's scene and all the
thoughts of the last week, and wanting to clinch and fix the whole in
his own mind, which he could never do without first going through the
process of belaboring somebody else with it all, suddenly rushed into
the subject of Arthur's illness, and what he had said about death.
[14] #Vice# (v[=i]-s[=e]): in place of.
[15] #Play#: lightness, elasticity.