Everybody remarked the sullen angry expression which Blackall's
countenance bore after the event I have just described. When any of his
associates talked to him about fagging, he frowned, and, putting out his
lips, declared that there was no use attempting to coerce the young
scamps, for that the advantage to be gained was not worth the trouble it
would cost. This was very true, but at the same time it was not an
opinion anybody would have expected from him. Whenever he met
Bracebridge, he always looked at him with an expression of intense
dislike, which he was at no pains to conceal.
The Christmas holidays were now approaching, and a long course of bad
weather kept the boys in more than usual. They consequently amused
themselves with their indoor exercises. Their broadswords and foils
were constantly in their hands during their play-hours.
One day Ernest and Buttar were fencing together. They had been at first
equally matched, but Ernest was never content unless he was perfect in
every exercise he took up, and so he had practised and practised, and
thought the matter over, till he could beat his friend thoroughly.
Buttar took his defeats very good-naturedly.
"I cannot manage as you do, old fellow," he used to observe. "You
always contrive to send my foil flying out of my hand when I fancy that
I am going to play you some wonderful trick at which I have been
practising away for the whole of the last week."
A match was just over when Blackall entered the fencing-room. His eye
fell on Ernest. Just then something called Buttar out of the room, and
Ernest was left without an antagonist.
"Come, young gentleman, you are both good fencers. Try a pass of arms
together," said Mr Strutt, the fencing-master. "Oh, you must not draw
back; I shall fancy you are afraid of each other if you do. Come, take
your foils and begin."
Blackall hesitated. He had not exchanged a word with Ernest since the
day he had received his flogging, and he hoped never to have to speak to
him again.
"Perhaps Blackall would rather not fence with me, sir," observed Ernest
to the fencing-master.
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense. Take up your foil and begin," was the answer
he received.
"I am ready to fence with you. Come here in this corner of the room,
out of the way," said Blackall suddenly.
Ernest followed him. He remarked that there was a peculiarly evil look
in his eye. He did not, however, unfortunately, observe what he was
about with his foil in the corner.
"Now, young gentlemen, attention," cried Mr Strutt to some of his
pupils, whose exercise he was superintending, and the words Quarte,
Tierce, Seconde, Demi-circle, Contre de Quarte, Contre de Tierce, and so
on, were heard resounding through the room.
"Come, let us begin, and have no child's play," exclaimed Blackall with
vehemence, throwing himself into the attitude to engage. He made
several rapid passes, which Ernest parried dexterously. As he did so,
he observed that his adversary's foil had no button on it. Still he
thought that it was the result of accident; and as he had very little
fear of Blackall's hitting him, he did not deign at first to take notice
of it. Something, however, he observed in the expression of his
opponent's eye made him doubt the wisdom of this delicacy.
"Blackall," he cried out, parrying a desperate thrust at his breast,
your foil has no button. "Were you to hit me, you might injure me very
much."
"What care I?" answered Blackall. "I'll pay my debts, depend on that.
Take that--and that--and that!" As he spoke he lunged rapidly at
Ernest, who as rapidly turned aside the point of his weapon. Still
Blackall was no bad fencer, and Ernest had the greatest difficulty in
defending himself. Now he had to guard against a straight thrust, now
against a disengagement, now the beat and thrust, now the cut over the
point, and now the double. He saw that it would be too dangerous to
attack himself; indeed, his only wish was to disarm his adversary, and
then to refuse to fence with him any longer. This Blackall seemed to
suspect, and to be on his guard against, while his aim was too clearly
to wound, if not to kill, his opponent. Ernest under these very trying
circumstances kept perfectly cool. He had parried every thrust which
Blackall had made, but the latter at length pressed him so hard that he
had to retreat a few paces. Once more he stood his ground, and defended
himself as before. As he did so, suddenly he felt his foot slip, and,
while he was trying to recover himself, Blackall pressed in on him, and
sent his foil completely through his shoulder. One of the boys had just
before dropped a lump of grease, which had been the cause of the
accident. Ernest felt himself borne backwards, and, before any one
could catch him, he fell heavily to the ground. The blood flowed
rapidly from the wound; a sickness came over him, and he fainted.
Blackall pretended to be very much grieved at what had occurred; but the
fencing-master, looking at him sternly, asked him how it was that he
could use a foil without knowing that the button was off.
"And what is the meaning of this, let me ask?" he said, stooping down,
and with his knife hooking out the end of a foil from a chink in the
boards. "The point was broken off on purpose. You have tried to kill
that young lad there. I know it; and I shall take you before the
Doctor, and let him judge the case."
"What makes you say that?" asked Blackall, turning very pale. "Why
should you suppose I should wish to hurt Bracebridge?"
"I know it--I know it," was the only answer he got, while Mr Strutt
with several of the boys was engaged in lifting Ernest, and binding up
his shoulder to stop the bleeding. Blackall knelt down to assist, but
the fencing-master sternly ordered him to stand back.
"I will not trust you," he exclaimed. "You are a bad fellow! I believe
it now. I see it all clearly. I ought not to have allowed such an one
as you to fence with him. If he dies, you will be his murderer;
remember that. You shall know the truth from me, at all events." Thus
did the excitable but kind-hearted fencing-master run on.
As he and some of the boys were about to lift Ernest off the ground, to
carry him upstairs, Monsieur Malin came in. When he had ascertained the
state of affairs, he immediately sent off Buttar to summon the surgeon
who attended the school, which it seemed no one else had thought of
doing. The presence of a medical man would, he knew, save the Doctor a
great deal of anxiety. Having done this he walked up to Blackall, and
put his hand on his shoulder.
"Things do not take place in this school without my hearing of them," he
remarked. "Mr Strutt thinks you wounded Bracebridge on purpose. I
believe that you are capable of any crime: but come with me to the
Doctor; we will hear what judgment he pronounces on the subject."
Blackall would gladly have got away or shrunk into himself; but when he
found that he had no channel of escape, he seemed to screw up his
courage to face out boldly the charges brought against him.
It is a very unpleasant subject. I would rather not have had to
describe Blackall and his misdeeds; but as his character is so odious, I
hold him up as a warning to some not to imitate him, and to others to
avoid, and on no account to trust to or to form any friendship with such
a person when they meet him.
There was in the house a strong-room, in which occasionally very
refractory boys were locked up. Confinement in it was looked upon with
peculiar dislike, and considered a great disgrace. It was furnished
with books and slates, and pens, ink, and paper, and the boy who was put
in was always awarded a task, which he had to perform before he was let
out. Any of the masters might put a boy in there, and incarceration in
this place was the only punishment they were allowed to inflict on their
own responsibility.
"There, go in there; translate and write out for me these five pages of
English into French, and learn these fifty lines of Racine," said
Monsieur Malin, as he put Blackall in, and, locking the door, took away
the key. "I will report your conduct to the Doctor, and hear what he
has to say to it."
Blackall was left in a great fright. He did not know what part of his
conduct might be reported, and he felt conscious that he was guilty of
many things which, if known, would cause him to be expelled. He knew
also that Monsieur Malin would not excuse him his task, so he tried to
get through with it; but all his efforts were in vain. He could do
nothing, and his thoughts would turn to the act of which he had just
been guilty. "I did not want to hurt him--I did not want to kill him,"
he said to himself; but each time that he said so conscience replied,
"You did; you know you did. Cowardly mean-spirited revenge induced you
to commit the act, and it shall not go unpunished."
The Doctor was not told of what had occurred till the medical man had
arrived and examined Ernest's wound. He had him at once put to bed, and
washed and dressed the wound, and then he gave him some cooling
medicine, but he said that he must see him again before he would
pronounce on the matter. He might not materially suffer, but it might
prove to be a very dangerous wound. This report got about the school.
Buttar, Bouldon, and poor Ellis, and many other boys, were deeply
grieved when they heard it. During the evening there was much anxiety
and excitement in the school.
It was generally reported that Blackall had endeavoured to kill Ernest;
then that the wound had assumed a very dangerous aspect, that the
surgeon was very anxious about him, and that there was very little hope
of his recovery.
When the Doctor appeared in school in the evening his countenance was
very grave, and he seemed grieved and anxious. He spoke very little,
and it was observed that while he was reading prayers his voice
faltered.
There were many sorrowful young hearts in the school that night; for
another sadder report than the first got about, and it was believed that
Ernest Bracebridge--the clever, the brave, the spirited one, whom all
then acknowledged to be without a rival in the school--was dead.
Naturally, the late attempt to introduce fagging was discussed, and the
part Bracebridge had taken in suppressing it was openly spoken of.
Thus, not only did all the boys in the school learn all about it, but it
came to the ears of the masters, and, finally, to those of the Doctor
himself. Monsieur Malin had heard of it before, but he had judged it
best to let things take their course. The Doctor, having gathered all
the information he thought necessary, collected several witnesses, among
whom were Buttar, Bouldon, and Ellis, and summoned Blackall into his
presence.
Blackall appeared, led in by two of the masters. He heard all that had
to be said against him, and a full account of his barbarous treatment of
Bouldon and Gregson, and the flogging which followed.
"I do not excuse Buttar, nor do I poor Bracebridge, for their conduct on
that occasion. It was their duty to come and complain to me, and not to
take the law into their own hands; but I am fully willing to believe
that they acted under mistaken notions. However, I do not wish at
present to say anything more against them; but there stands one whose
whole conduct I so severely condemn, that I can allow him no longer to
be an inmate of this school. To-morrow morning I shall publicly expel
him. Retire till then to your respective rooms."
Although on ordinary occasions the Doctor had a great flow of language,
he was very brief when any serious matter was under discussion, as if he
was afraid to trust his feelings in words. No one in the school had an
opportunity of again speaking to Blackall. He was supposed to have
passed the night in the solitary room, as it was called. The next
morning, after breakfast, he was brought into the school-room between
two of the masters, and there in due form publicly expelled the school.
"Sir," said the Doctor, "from the numerous charges brought against you,
and which you do not attempt to disprove, you will, if you do not alter
your conduct, be a disgrace to any community in which you may be found.
You have been constantly guilty of drunkenness and tyranny, blasphemy
and swearing, idleness, and utter negligence of all religious and moral
principle. I deeply regret that I was not sooner informed of your
conduct; and I humbly acknowledge that I am much to blame in not having
more minutely inquired into the character of every boy under my charge.
I trust that you are an exception to the general rule, and that there
are no others like you. Lead the unhappy lad away."
Soon after this a post-chaise came to the door; Blackall with one of the
masters was seen to get into it, and from that day forward no one ever
heard anything positively about him. His conduct was undoubtedly worse
than that of any of his companions. The way he had been punished
utterly put a stop to anything like fagging, and even brought bullying
into very great discredit.
I have not mentioned Ernest Bracebridge since he had been wounded in so
cowardly and treacherous a way by Blackall. The reports which flew
about the school proved to have been somewhat exaggerated. The surgeon
very naturally ordered that he should be kept quiet, but he had not said
that there was any danger. He speedily stopped the bleeding, though, at
the same time, he thought it safest to sit up with him, to watch that
the wound did not break out afresh and allow him to bleed to death. In
a few days even the slightest danger which might have existed was over;
and in the course of a week he was able once more to resume his place in
school. The Doctor had a good deal of conversation with him with
respect to his conduct towards Blackall; and though he acknowledged that
there were many extenuating circumstances, still, he pointed out, that
he, as master of the school, would not allow the law to be taken out of
his hands and exercised by another, however great the provocation.
"The same reasoning, remember, Bracebridge, holds good in society," he
observed. "Private individuals must never take upon themselves the
execution of the laws while a duly elected authority exists. Happily,
in England, a man need only bring his complaint before a magistrate, and
he is nearly certain to obtain ample justice. Remember that, my dear
boy, whenever you are tempted to take the law into your own hands. If
you yield to passion, or to your feelings, you will be acting against
the laws both of God and man; and do not suppose that it is a light
thing to do that."
Ernest thanked the Doctor for his advice, and promised to remember it.
Only a couple of weeks remained now before the holidays were to begin--
those jolly Christmas holidays which, to boys living in the country,
generally afford so much amusement.
The conversation Ernest had had with the Doctor made him feel more
inclined to confide in him than he had ever done, and he resolved to
open his heart to him about Ellis, who, in spite of his excellent
conduct, and his quiet amiable manners, was as much as ever mistrusted
by the boys in general. Barber, especially, turned up his nose at him,
and never failed, when talking with his own particular chums, to throw
out hints that, when Blackall was expelled, it was a pity the Doctor did
not clear the school of Ellis, and other canting hypocrites like him.
More than once these ungenerous remarks had been repeated to Ernest. He
talked the matter over with Buttar, who agreed that they ought not to be
allowed to go on unnoticed.
"If Ellis has done anything really disgraceful, he should explain his
conduct to us, who have so long supported him through thick and thin,"
observed Buttar. "For my part, I believe that he ever was what he now
is, a highly honourable good fellow; and if so, he ought to be defended,
and his character placed in a proper light before the whole school."
"I have been long thinking the same," said Ernest. "I would do anything
to serve him; and the life he is now leading is enough to ruin him in
health and mind. He looks thin and careworn--like an old man already."
That very evening Ernest went to the Doctor, and very briefly told him
all about Ellis; how fast he was improving, and how happy he had become,
till Barber came to the school and spread reports against his fair fame.
The Doctor asked Ernest what the reports were. Ernest told him.
"Poor fellow! how very unfortunate," he remarked. "When he came here,
his father sent me a letter from his former master, saying that he had
been accused of stealing some money from another boy; but that, though
the evidence against him was very strong, and apparently conclusive, he
fully believed him guiltless of the offence. His father, who came to me
on purpose, assured me that his son was altogether incapable of
committing the crime of which he was accused; at the same time, that he
thought it right to mention the circumstance to me, to account for his
low-spirited and retiring manner. I appreciated the father's motive,
and accepted the charge of his son, not supposing that any boy from the
lad's former school would come here to accuse him. I have watched him
narrowly, and I feel sure, from what I have seen of him, that he is, at
all events, now a most unlikely person to commit the crime of which he
is accused."
"I am very glad indeed, sir, to hear you say this," replied Ernest. "I
would myself stake much on Ellis's honour; but how are the other boys to
be convinced of this, when one who professes to be a witness is among
them, and constantly repeats the tale?"
"I must think about it," observed the Doctor. "I may show my disbelief
of the truth of the accusations brought against him by honouring him on
every fitting opportunity; but unless he can disprove the tales uttered
against him, I fear the less generous boys will continue to believe him
guilty. However, I have said I will consider the subject. And now,
Bracebridge, believe me, I thank you for having introduced the matter to
my notice."
After this conversation, Ernest became much happier about Ellis. For
the Doctor, also, a much warmer regard and respect arose in his heart
than he had ever before felt. He had from the first looked upon him as
a kind, sensible, and just man; but he did not suppose that there was
any sympathy between him and his pupils. He knew that they came to
school to be taught, and that it was his duty to teach them; but he was
not aware of the deep interest which he took in their eternal as well as
in their temporal welfare; how he employed his best thoughts and
energies for that purpose; how much toil and pains he had taken to bring
the school into its present condition; and how much it grieved him to
find that, with all the pains he had taken, there was so much to correct
and arrange. The Doctor, however, knew the world, and that in no human
institutions can perfection be attained--nor can it be expected that
they should be without faults; but he knew also that by care and
attention those faults may be decreased, if not altogether got rid of,
and he did not despair.
Ernest, as I was saying, had never before this thoroughly understood the
Doctor. Now he did, and he found him a kind, sympathising, affectionate
friend. Indeed, in my opinion, unless a man is this to his pupils, he
is not fit to be a schoolmaster. Neither can a parent, unless he is his
children's friend, expect to command their love and obedience.
Ernest now discovered the Doctor to be very like his own father in many
respects, and therefore placed unbounded confidence in him. He gladly
opened his own heart to him, and with the frankness of a warm-hearted
boy, told him all his thoughts, and hopes, and wishes.
The Doctor had always liked Ernest, and felt great satisfaction at
watching his rapid progress; but now he discovered qualities and talents
which he had not before surmised, and from that time he placed the most
perfect confidence in him, and the interest Ernest excited was as great
as if he had been his own son.
At the end of the year prizes were given, and, in spite of his accident,
Ernest carried off several. One of the performances which invariably
created the greatest interest was the speech-making. The speech given
to Ernest's class was that part of Julius Caesar where Cassius
endeavours to persuade Brutus to join the conspiracy against Caesar.
Buttar also spoke very well, and took the part of Brutus. All the
neighbourhood were collected on the occasion, and a sort of stage was
erected at one end of the play-room, which was ornamented with boughs of
holly and other evergreens, and flags and coloured lamps.
Altogether, it was a very pretty spectacle. Instead of painted scenes,
a bower of evergreens and flags was erected on the stage, in which the
boys performed their parts.
Some of the bigger boys gained a good deal of applause, for the Doctor
taught his pupils not only Greek and Latin, but what he looked on as of
not less consequence--to write and speak their own language correctly
and fluently.
Many who could scarcely express themselves so as to be clearly
understood when they came to the school, had by the time they reached
the upper classes become quite eloquent, and were able to write their
themes with correctness and precision. Not much was expected from the
younger boys, but when Ernest began to speak, the attention of all the
guests was arrested: not a whisper was heard; and when he concluded, a
loud and continued applause burst forth, and even his school-fellows
agreed that he had surpassed himself. Buttar also gained a fair share
of the applause bestowed on his friend, and he was not jealous that he
did not gain more. No one listened more attentively than did Ellis, for
he had declined to speak, though urged by Ernest to do so, and tears
rushed unbidden into his eyes at the success which Bracebridge had
obtained.
"I tell you, you fellows, that there is not a fellow like him!"
exclaimed Tom Bouldon, clapping his hands vehemently. "He is as good,
and brave, and clever as any fellow in the world. I always thought so,
and now I am certain of it, and don't mind saying so."
Happily these remarks did not reach Ernest's ears. Gratifying as they
must have been, they would have proved somewhat dangerous, even to a
mind so well balanced as his was. He knew that he had achieved a
success, but he was well aware that, after all, it was not a very great
one, and that he had many more far far greater to achieve before the
victory would be won.
I must not forget one of the amusements which generally terminated the
winter half of the year. It was a grand race on stilts. There was a
wide extent of flat meadow land in the neighbourhood, intersected with
narrow ditches full of water. This was the ground selected for the
sport. It was something like the Landes in the south of France.
Monsieur Malin had introduced the amusement.
Boys when they first came to the school, who had not been accustomed to
walk on stilts, were surprised at the height of those used, and the
rapidity with which the older fellows walked along on them. Many of
them were ten feet high. The resting-place for the feet was a piece of
wood flat on the upper surface, with a strap to it which could be
fastened round the feet or not. The upper ends of the poles were held
by the hands, with the shoulders pressing against them. By this mode a
boy could leap off his stilts without risk. Some are used which do not
reach above the knee, round which the end is secured by a strap, but a
fall with these may prove a very serious matter, and the Doctor would
not allow them to be used.
It was good fun on stilt day to see the greater part of the school
mounted up high above the ground, and striding away at a rapid rate over
the fields; to hear the shouts and shrieks of laughter, especially if
any unfortunate wight put the end of his stilt into a ditch deeper than
he expected, and, unable to draw it out again, dropped on his nose.
Monsieur Malin generally led the party, and no one cheered and laughed
more than he did. This year it was arranged that a steeple-chase should
take place; so it was called; but in reality it was not a steeple which
formed the goal, but a low object--a white gate, which could only be
seen from an elevation; therefore the boys with the highest stilts were
the best able to keep it in sight.
Fancy upwards of eighty boys collected on a fine clear frosty afternoon,
mounted up five or six feet off the ground, some even more, stalking
away as fast as they could go over the fields, shouting, and laughing,
and hallooing to each other.
As usual, Ernest was one of the most active. He and Buttar took the
lead, but they were closely followed by Tom Bouldon, who was very great
upon stilts. The exercise suited his temperament. He had been at the
school ever since Monsieur Malin introduced them, and so he was
well-practised in their use. He thus had an advantage Ernest did not
possess. He went steadily on across hedges and ditches, and across
ploughed fields, and moist meadows and marshes, till he overtook Buttar,
and then he came up with Ernest, who was beginning to fag, and then he
went ahead, and finally got in at the winning-post half a field's length
before anybody else.
Two days after that the school broke up, and the boys, in high spirits
at the anticipation of the amusements they were to enjoy, started off in
all directions to their respective homes.