A CORSICAN OUTRAGE
"When brown trout leap in ev'ry burn, when hares are scooting on
the brae,
When rabbits frisk where e'er you turn, 'tis sad to waste your
hours away
Within bald Learning's droning hive with pen and pencil, rod and
rule--
Oh! the unhappiest soul alive is oft a little lad at school."
--From _The Man who Met the Scholars_.
I did not like school. My father could neither read nor write, and he
didn't trouble much about my education.
The priest told him to send me to the village school, and I was sent
accordingly.
"The priest should know what is best," my father said.
The master was a little man with a very large stomach. He was short of
breath, and it was very funny to hear him puffing on a very warm day,
when the sweat ran down his face and wetted his collar. The people about
thought that he was very wise, and said that he could talk a lot of
wisdom if he were not so short of breath. Whenever he sat by the school
fire he fell asleep. Everyone said that though very wise the man was
very lazy. When he got to his feet after a sleep he went about the
schoolroom grunting like a sick cow. For the first six months at school
I felt frightened of him, after that I disliked him. He beat me about
three times a day. He cut hazel rods on his way to school, and used them
every five minutes when not asleep. Nearly all the scholars cried
whenever they were beaten, but I never did. I think this was one of his
strongest reasons for hating me more than any of the rest. I learned
very slowly, and never could do my sums correctly, but I liked to read
the poems in the more advanced books and could recite _Childe Harold's
Farewell_ when only in the second standard.
When I was ten years of age I left school, being then only in the third
book. This was the way of it. One day, when pointing out places on the
map of the world, the master came round, and the weather being hot the
man was in a bad temper.
"Point out Corsica, Dermod Flynn," he said.
I had not the least idea as to what part of the world Corsica occupied,
and I stood looking awkwardly at the master and the map in turn. I think
that he enjoyed my discomfited expression, for he gazed at me in silence
for a long while.
"Dermod Flynn, point out Corsica," he repeated.
"I don't know where it is," I answered sullenly.
"I'll teach you!" he roared, getting hold of my ear and pulling it
sharply. The pain annoyed me; I got angry and hardly was aware of what I
was doing. I just saw his eyes glowering into mine. I raised the pointer
over my head and struck him right across the face. Then a red streak ran
down the side of his nose and it frightened me to see it.
"Dermod Flynn has killed the master!" cried a little girl whose name was
Norah Ryan and who belonged to the same class as myself.
I was almost certain that I had murdered him, for he dropped down on the
form by the wall without speaking a word and placed both his hands over
his face. For a wee bit I stood looking at him; then I caught up my cap
and rushed out of the school.
Next day, had it not been for the red mark on his face, the master was
as well as ever. But I never went back to school again. My father did
not believe much in book learning, so he sent me out to work for the
neighbours who required help at the seed-time or harvest. Sixpence a day
was my wages, and the work in the fields was more to my liking than the
work at the school.
Whenever I passed the scholars on the road afterwards they said to one
another: "Just think of it! Dermod Flynn struck the master across the
face when he was at the school."
Always I felt very proud of my action when I heard them say that. It was
a great thing for a boy of my age to stand up on his feet and strike a
man who was four times his age. Even the young men spoke of my action
and, what was more, they praised my courage. They had been at school
themselves and they did not like the experience.
Nowadays, whenever I look at Corsica on the map, I think of old Master
Diver and the days I spent under him in the little Glenmornan
schoolhouse.