Jorrocks, the school boatman, was a careful person, and suited his
accommodation to his company. He knew something about the expeditions
of "learned societies" to Camp Hill Bottom and elsewhere, and the
conclusion he had evidently come to, was that the boats best suited for
their purpose were craft broad in the beam and deep in draught, in which
it would be possible to argue out any subject without danger to life or
limb.
By a coincidence which afforded more pleasure to my fellow-voyagers than
to me, one of the two boats reserved for the use of the Conversation
Club was named the _Sarah_, the other rejoicing in the inappropriate
name of _Firefly_. I was, of course, voted to a place of honour in the
former, along with Langrish, Trimble, and seven other Philosophers of
the same kidney; while Coxhead, Warminster, and Purkis took official
charge of the _Firefly_, with an equal number of passengers.
It was noticeable, by the way, that at starting it was impossible for
any two boys to sit close together, by reason of the stoutness of their
pockets, which stood out on either side like rope buoys on the side of a
penny steamer. Indeed, some of the party seemed to me to be exceeding
the limits laid down by the committee; as, not only were they prominent
on either side, but unusually stout in front, which led one to suspect
that they had converted their entire waistcoats into pockets for the
time being, and stowed them with provisions. But as the chief
delinquents in this respect were the members of the executive committee,
it was hardly for us to take official notice of it.
A hitch occurred at starting, owing to the uneven distribution of the
"paupers" in the two boats. The _Sarah_ boasted of six of these,
whereas the _Firefly_ only possessed one, who, when called upon to
fulfil his part of the bargain and row the whole company up stream
single-handed, showed an inclination to "rat." The crew of the
_Firefly_ also began to be concerned as to the length of the voyage
under such conditions, and clamoured for at least two of our "paupers";
a claim which Trimble and Langrish indignantly repudiated. At length,
however, after a little judicious splashing and a threat to go off on a
picnic of their own, the point was yielded, and two of our "paupers"
were ignominiously ejected to make room for an equal number of
passengers.
This being done, the question arose as to whether we should row up
stream or tow. It was decided to proceed by the latter method, at least
until the towing-path became impracticable. Whereupon both bands of
"paupers" were turned ashore and harnessed to the end of their
respective rope, and the rest of us settled down to enjoy our well-
earned leisure, and stimulate the exertions of our tugs with friendly
exhortations.
I regret to say that the philosophy of our galley-slaves failed to
sustain them in their arduous efforts. They began well. The _Sarah_
led the way, the _Firefly_ following close in our wake. As long as the
friendly emulation between the two teams endured, we made fair progress.
But when it was discovered that the _Firefly_ had meanly hitched itself
on to the stern of the _Sarah_, and was permitting our four "paupers" to
pull the whole cavalcade, a difference of opinion arose. The _Firefly_
tugs, having nothing to do, amused themselves by peppering the
inoffensive crew of the _Sarah_ with pebbles from the bank; while the
outraged pullers of the _Sarah_, finding themselves tricked, struck work
altogether, and alter pulling our head round into a bed of tall
bulrushes, cast off the yoke and went for their fellow-"paupers." To
add to the general confusion, a real barge, towed by a real horse, came
down to meet us, threatening with its rope to decapitate the whole of
our party, and, whether we liked it or not, to drag us back to Low
Heath.
In the midst of all this trouble, I, as president, was loudly and
angrily appealed to to "look out" and "make them shut up," and "port the
helm, you lout," as if it was all my fault! I tried to explain that it
wasn't, but nobody would trouble to listen to me. How we avoided the
peril of the barge I really cannot tell. It lumbered past us in a very
bad temper, deluging us as it did so with the splashing from its
suddenly slackened rope, and indulging in remarks on things in general,
and schoolboys in particular, which were not pleasant to listen to, and
quite impossible to repeat.
However, as has been truly said, a common danger is often a common
blessing. And it turned out so in the present case. The mutinous
"paupers" brought their arguments on the bank to a close; and it was
decided for the rest of the way to attach the _Firefly_ officially to
the _Sarah_, and allow the seven tugs to pull the lot. They were quite
sufficiently alive to their own interests to see each pulled his fair
share; and the progress we made, although not racing speed, was,
compared at any rate with our bad quarter of an hour in the bulrushes,
satisfactory.
No further adventure happened till Langrish pointed to a wooded hill a
quarter of a mile further up stream, and said--
"That's Camp Hill. Jump in, you chaps, and row."
Whereupon the tugs, glad to be relieved, came on board, the two boats
cast loose, and the oars were put out.
"Botheration," said Trimble; "there's a boat ahead of us."
"Only some fisherman--he won't hurt," said Langrish.
But as we approached the spot we perceived, not one boat only, but two,
drawn up under the trees, and both empty. What was worse, they were Low
Heath boats, and bore the name of Jorrocks on their sterns.
The committee looked glum as our party stepped ashore and proceeded to
make fast our boats to the trees.
"Why can't Jorrocks send his excursionists somewhere else?" growled
Langrish; "I shouldn't wonder if they've bagged the Bottom."
The Camp Hill Bottom was a curious dell among the trees, almost in the
shape of a basin, with heather and gorse all round the top, and
beautiful velvety grass in the hollow. For a picnic it was an ideal
place: close to the water, sheltered from the wind, with plenty of room
to sit round, and an expanse of delightful heath and wood behind and on
either side.
It was on this heath, the legend went, that one of the most furious
battles in the Wars of the Roses was fought, and the Camp Hill marked
the place where Earl Warwick's standard waved during the engagement.
The Bottom was popularly supposed to have been hollowed out by some
monks, as a burial place for the slain; but their benevolent intention
had been thwarted by the swoop of a band of marauders, who preferred
robbing the slain to burying them, and left most of the monks dead in
their own grave.
There is little sign now of this tragic story about the quiet grass-
grown hollow, with its fringe of overhanging bushes and carpet of mossy
velvet.
Just at present, however, as we made our way to the spot, we had
something more important on our minds than Earl Warwick and the unlucky
monks. What if the Bottom was already bagged by a crowd of common
holidaymakers, and all our carefully planned picnic was to be spoiled by
their unwelcome intrusion?
It was too true. As we advanced we could hear sounds of revelry and
laughter, interspersed with singing and cheers. Who could it be? The
voices sounded suspiciously youthful. Suppose--just suppose that the--
Yes! It was too true! As we reached the edge and looked down on the
coveted dell the first sight which greeted our eyes was a party of Low
Heathens, sporting the day boys' colours spread out luxuriously on one
of the sloping banks, solacing themselves with provender and songs and
leap-frog!
I never saw twenty Philosophers look more blank than we did when slowly
we realised the horror of the situation. We were done! There could be
no doubt that the enemy had got wind of our purpose and had deliberately
forestalled us; and was now only waiting to enjoy our discomfiture, and
make merry over our disappointment.
As to the possibility of their being as sick at the sight of us as we
were at the sight of them, it never even occurred to one of us.
Our first impulse was to eject them by force. Our next was to
expostulate. Our third was to ignore them.
"Come on, you chaps," said Langrish, leading the way to the bank facing
that in the occupation of the enemy, "here's our place. Squat down and
make yourselves comfortable."
The Philosophers followed the cue, and, apparently unaware of the
presence of any strangers, took possession of their slope, and tried to
be as jolly as possible.
"I wonder where the day-boy cads go for their tucks," said Trimble in an
audible voice, evidently intended for the opposition. "Some one was
saying they were trying to get up a kids' club; ha, ha! I'd like to see
it."
"Such a joke, Quin," said a voice over the way, evidently pitched to
carry across to us. "You know those kids in Sharpe's? they've started a
society. What do you think their motto is? Oh my, it's a screamer!"
"What is it?" asked the voice of Quin.
"Keep it dark. I wouldn't like it to get out I told you. It's _Mens
sani in corpore sanorum_, or something like that. You should have seen
Redwood yell over it."
"Now, you fellows, let's have our grub," said Langrish encouragingly.
"Chaps must eat, you know. _Corpore sanum_ is our motto, you know. Ha,
ha! What do you think I heard one of the day louts call it? _Corpore
sanorum_!"
"Ha! ha! ha!" shrieked we.
"Ho! ho! ho!" shrieked the Urbans.
In the midst of which hilarities we produced our provender (greatly to
the relief of our pockets), and fell to. The operation evidently did
not pass unheeded by the other side.
"I say, Flitwick," cried some one, "do you know what Philosophers eat?"
"No; what?"
"I never knew till just now. Inky bread and cold bacon-fat sandwiches,
or else sherbet, if their tongues are long enough to reach to the bottom
of the bottles."
"Have some of this fizzing pork pie, Jones?" asked Coxhead
ostentatiously.
"Thanks. You have some of my sardines," replied I.
"Rummy name for a chap, Sarah, isn't it?" said the voice of the
captain's fag opposite. "There's a new chap in Sharpe's house this
term, one of the biggest mules you ever saw--his name's Sarah."
"What," replied his friend--"is he an ugly little cad with a turn-up
nose, and yellow kid gloves, that gets lines every day from the doctor,
and can't kick a football as high as his own head? Rather! I know
him."
It was impossible to go on much longer at this rate. The atmosphere was
getting warm all round, and the storm evidently might break at any
moment.
Fortunately for them, the Urbans, of their own accord, averted the
peril.
"If you've done lunch," said Quin, "we'd better get to business. Our
fellows go in for something besides tuck, don't they, Flitwick?"
"Rather," said Flitwick; "we haven't got a Latin motto that won't parse,
but we meet to improve our minds, not stuff our bodies. I vote Mr Quin
takes the chair."
"All serene," said Quin, perching himself on a hamper. "I now call upon
Mr Brown iii. to read us his paper on 'Remains.'"
This was the first mention of my old comrade. During the interchange of
courtesies during lunch he had kept steadily silent, anxious, no doubt,
to spare my feelings. But now his chance was come. It was reserved to
him to show off the Urbans on their intellectual side.
But before he could come to the front and clear his throat for action,
Langrish had loudly called the Philosophers to order.
"Now, you fellows," said he, "we have our programme to get through, and
we are not going to give it up, even if our place of meeting was
swarming with day idiots. Mr President, you had better lead off."
Thus called upon, I loudly summoned Mr Philosopher Trimble to open the
debate on the subject of "Beauty," venturing to add,--
"Some fellows, I've been told, discuss subjects they know nothing about,
such as 'Remains,' and that sort of thing; but the Conversation Club
makes a point of sticking to what they are familiar with, and that is
why we speak to-day of Beauty."
It would not be easy to give a verbatim report of the proceedings which
followed, for each party was evidently more attentive to what fell from
the other side than to what fell from its own. And each speaker was
evidently less concerned to impress his friends than his enemies.
But any one who had chanced to stand on the ridge above, half-way
between the two parties, would have heard a medley somewhat of the
following kind,--
"Gentlemen, in addressing you on the subject of remains--"
"--I need hardly explain what we mean when we speak of beauty--"
"--Remains are things dug up out of the earth where they--"
"--make a great mistake in calling things people eat, beautiful. In
fact--"
"very few of them are to be found unless you know where they are, but--"
"When we talk of a beautiful face we mean a face that is--"
"--plastered over with mud and grime, and hardly recognisable till it is
scraped clean, or--"
"people differ very much about it--what one person thinks beautiful,
another--"
"generally digs for with spades and shovels, and may spend days--"
"--trying to look less ugly than they really are--"
"--some people find this quite impossible and have to employ persons
to--"
"make personal remarks about their neighbours--"
"gentlemen,--"
"I need not remind you that among the Urbans--"
"are to be found some of the most hideous types of ugliness imaginable--
what we need is--"
"--a little common sense to enable us to tell the difference between
shams--"
"--like ourselves and the baboons, which is not always easy. In
conclusion, gentlemen, I beg to point to our--"
"--dirty hands and faces, which no one who is really interested in
hunting for remains of his native--"
"--ugliness ought to be ashamed of."
And so on.
We were too busy cheering our own orator and listening to the enemy's to
take in the full humour of the medley at the time. The opening speeches
were evidently prepared beforehand (a good part of them possibly copied
bodily out of some book). But, as soon as the chairman on either side
declared the subject open for discussion, the interest thickened.
Flitwick led off on "Remains," whereas it fell to my lot to reply on
"Beauty." By a little sharp practice, I got the lead, which, as it
happened, turned out more to the enemy's profit than my own.
"Gentlemen," shouted I, for the breeze made it necessary to speak out,
"I beg to disagree with all that the last speaker has said."
"Gentlemen," came the answering voice of Flitwick, "in consequence of a
donkey braying somewhere near, I fear I shall find it difficult to make
myself heard."
"When people have nothing to say," continued I, "the less they try to
say the better."
"I will not imitate the idiots who call themselves Philosophers, and yet
don't know what gender a simple Latin word like _corpore_ is."
"It is sad to think how many afflicted ones there are, close to us, who
cannot possibly be as big fools as they look, or look as big fools as
they are."
"The one kind of remains you can't find are the remains of a
Philosopher's lunch. 'Greedy' is a mild word to use for their sickening
gluttony."
"If you want to look for beauty, gentlemen, you should look anywhere but
straight in front of you." (Cheers.)
"Gentlemen, as I hear some geese quacking, as well as the donkey
braying, I find it difficult to say what I want." (Laughter.)
"I deny that there is any beauty in the laugh of a pack of hyenas."
"If there was anybody here called Sarah," continued Flitwick, wandering
farther and farther from his point, "who has been brought up in a girls'
school, and wears tan boots and lavender gloves in school (loud and
derisive shouts), and is well-known as the dunce of his house (hear,
hear), I should advise him never to look in the looking-glass if he is
afraid of chimpanzees."
This was too much for the pent-up feelings of the Philosophers--not that
they particularly resented Flitwick's facetious allusions to myself--but
in my capacity as President of the Club they felt called upon to support
me.
"Shut up, cheap-jack!" cried Trimble defiantly. We had given ourselves
away at last!
"Hullo," cried Flitwick, "there's somebody here! I wonder if those
little cads of Sharpe's have found out our place?"
"_Your_ place!" thundered Warminster. "You knew it was ours. And we
mean to kick you out."
"Ho! ho! when are you going to begin?" shouted the twenty Urbans.
"Now," yelled the twenty Philosophers.
A battle now seemed imminent, as fierce and disastrous as that fought
four centuries before on the adjoining heath. The blood of both parties
was up, and I might even have found myself engaged in a hand-to-hand
combat with my old chum Dicky, had not Tempest unexpectedly appeared on
the scene, like a bolt out of the blue.
He was pushing along his bicycle, and had evidently been attracted to
the Bottom by the noise.
"What's up?" he inquired, taking advantage of the temporary silence.
"Those day-boy cads have come and bagged our places and spoiled our
fun," said we.
"No, it's your kids who have come and stopped ours," protested the
enemy.
"And you're all going down into the middle to have a mill," said
Tempest. "Just as you like. But why don't you try a tug of war across
instead? You're pretty evenly matched, and I'll umpire!"
It was not a bad idea, and took beautifully. The only drawback was,
that Tempest being a Sharper, was presumably prejudiced in favour of the
Philosophers. However, he had the reputation of being addicted to fair
play.
"The side that's pulled down," said he, "clears out, and goes somewhere
else; and the side that wins I'll photograph in a group."
It was a tremendous prize to offer, and served to stimulate both teams
to the uttermost. We had a rope with us which easily stretched across
the dell, and admitted the twenty pairs of hands on either side to grasp
it. Tempest carefully saw that neither side started with the least
advantage, and waited till we were all ready before giving the signal.
A tug of war in which each side is ranged up the steep slope of a hollow
is very different work from a tug on the level, as we soon found out.
Indeed, as soon as the rope was stretched, those lowest down were
hanging on to it by their finger tips, while those higher up were
obliged to sit down to get within anything like reach. Under these
circumstances the contest was short and sharp, and ended in a draw. For
each side lost its footing the moment the strain was applied, and almost
before Tempest had given the signal, the whole forty of us were
sprawling in a confused heap on the grassy floor of the Bottom.
This abortive contest had the effect (which probably Tempest intended)
of smoothing over, to some extent, the angry dispute which was on foot,
and which was still further allayed by his undertaking to take a monster
joint photograph of the two clubs, provided we stood or sat still for
the process.
After that, he good-naturedly remained at our invitation, to officiate
as judge in some impromptu sports, in which, once again, the rival
parties proved most evenly matched. Finally, as evening was drawing on,
he consented just to witness a hurried display of our joint fireworks,
after which, he told us, we must at once take to our boats and repair
home.
It was an imposing display. Twelve Roman candles were set up at regular
distances round the hollow, with a fellow in charge of each. Two
rockets were set in position, one on either side, and green and red
lights alternately were planted on the banks above. At a given signal
from Tempest, all were simultaneously lit, and in a perfect blaze of
glory, accompanied by a babel of cheers, we concluded our programme.
At least, not quite. One unrehearsed incident was yet to come. For, as
the smoke cleared off and the noise ceased, and our eyes once more grew
accustomed to the twilight, we became aware of the presence of Mr
Jarman, standing in our midst!