In the days to which this tale refers, railways did not exist; it was
therefore by the Salisbury coach that I travelled with my father to
London. I will pass over my wonder and surprise at the size and crowds
of London, and of the scenes that presented themselves to me as I for
the first time drove through the metropolis. Steam-vessels were then
novelties, and it was by a steam-vessel that we journeyed from London
Bridge to Woolwich, and were deposited in the lower part of that dirty
town, from whence a cab conveyed us to the school-house of Mr Hostler
at the early hour of eleven a.m. As, from what I was able to gather at
the time, Mr Hostler's was a fair specimen of the Woolwich cram-schools
forty years ago, this establishment and the life I led there will be
somewhat fully described. After long years of roughing it in various
parts of the world, the early impressions of that school are fresh in my
memory. Coming as I did to that school, fresh from a quiet country
home, where I had led the quietest of lives--where a slap from my aunt
was the greatest evil that ever happened to me--where politeness and
consideration for others was instilled into me by my father as the
essential attribute of a gentleman--I was ill-prepared for Mr Hostler's
school, where a somewhat different tone prevailed.
On arriving at Mr Hostler's, we were shown into a comfortably-furnished
but small room, and were informed that Mr Hostler would come very soon.
After about five minutes the door opened, and a short, broad, dark man
entered. His eyes were dark and piercing, and his aquiline nose gave
him, to my mind, the appearance of a hawk. Without a moment's
hesitation he said, "How do you do, Mr Shepard? Lucky to get a
nomination for your boy, and lucky I've got room for him. Another day
and you'd have been too late." Mr Hostler turned his hawk-like eyes on
me and said, "You don't look well: are you ill?"
"No, thank you; I'm a little tired--that's all."
"He's for the Academy?" said Mr Hostler to my father.
"Yes, for the Royal Engineers."
"Ah! you must work hard, and we'll make something of you here, you may
depend. I think, Mr Shepard, I'd better take him at once, and show him
in the school. `Go to harness at once' is my motto."
Before I had quite realised my position, I had bid my father good-bye,
had cast a longing look after him, and felt a choking feeling in my
throat, and a sensation of utter loneliness came over me as I knew I was
alone, without a friend near.
Mr Hostler took a long look at me, and then, in quite a different tone
to that in which he had spoken to my father, said,--
"Come along, youngster. You are like a young bear, I see; all your
trouble's to come. You've a lot before you, I can tell you."
I followed Mr Hostler out of the room, down about half-a-dozen steps,
and into a courtyard, where I heard a noise of voices making so great a
din that it was impossible to distinguish the words. These sounds came
from a long building on the left, to which Mr Hostler led me. He
opened a door and pushed me in before him, when I saw one of the most
extraordinary sights that I had ever witnessed.
In the room were a number of tables, at which were sitting about fifty
boys in about five rows. The majority of these boys were swinging
backwards and forwards, like pendulums the wrong end uppermost; others
had their hands pressed over their ears, and their heads bent down over
a book; the whole of them were repeating words or sentences, portions of
which only were audible amidst the deafening din.
In after years, when I have stood at night near a tropical swamp, and
have listened to the deafening noise of a thousand bull-frogs, I have
always had recalled to me my first visit to the schoolroom of Mr
Hostler's cram-school at Woolwich.
Upon our entering the schoolroom several boys looked up from their
books, and the noise for an instant decreased; then, from the far end of
the room, a shrill voice exclaimed, "Because the triangle ABC is similar
to the triangle DEF, therefore the side AB is to the side DE." Then a
chorus of voices drowned the first voice, and again the uproar
proceeded.
"Stop a minute, boys!" said Mr Hostler in a loud voice. "Here's a new
boy--Shepard's his name. He's going into the Royal Engineers. I say,
Beck, you look out, or he'll beat you!"
As this speech was made to the whole school, I made a bow--such a one as
my father had taught me to make to a lady. A titter ran round the
various tables as I did so, and I distinctly saw one boy make a grimace
at me.
"Here, Monk," said Mr Hostler; "you take Shepard; set him his Euclid,
and see what he knows in Swat."
The person addressed was a hard-featured man, with a surly look about
him, who, handing me a book, said,--
"What do you know?"
"No Euclid," I replied.
"Don't know any Euclid? Why, how old are you?"
"Nearly fifteen," I replied.
"Oh I nearly fifteen and don't know any Euclid! and you're going to be
an engineer?"
"Yes," I replied; "I'm going to be an engineer."
"Don't you wish you may get it?" said Mr Monk. "Now learn these
definitions," he continued, "and let's see what you can do."
The book now placed before me was the mysterious Euclid, my first
acquaintance with which I was now to make. I looked at the first
sentence under the definitions, and thought I had never seen a more
extraordinary statement than that there made,--
"A point is that which has no parts and no magnitude."
I read this over two or three times, but each time I read it and thought
over it the statement seemed more and more curious. On looking further
down the page, I saw that "a line was length without breadth," which
seemed to me quite a mistake; for, however thin a line might appear to
the naked eye, yet I knew, from my experience with the microscope in
connexion with natural history, that the thinnest spider's web always
showed some breadth when it was looked at through a microscope. It
occurred to me that, amidst the noise and confusion that went on in this
school, it was possible that the fact of looking at a line through a
microscope had never been thought of by any one; and as I felt quite
certain that it was impossible that a line could exist without breadth,
I determined to point this out to Mr Monk.
Watching for an opportunity to catch his eye, I half rose from my seat
as I saw him looking at me. He immediately came to where I was sitting,
and said,--
"What's the matter? You've only your definitions to learn; can't you
understand them?"
"Not quite," I said; "but I think this about a line having no breadth is
wrong; for, however thin a line may appear, it looks thick if you bring
a microscope to see it through."
As soon as I commenced speaking to Mr Monk, the boys at the table
ceased their sing-song noise and listened to what I was saying. There
was a look of astonishment in their faces as I spoke, which quickly
changed to a broad grin when they heard what I said; and when Mr Monk
said in a sarcastic tone, "Oh, you've found that Euclid's wrong, eh? and
that we are all a pack of fools? Now, you just learn three more
definitions for your cheek, you young puppy?" the boys actually roared
with laughter.
"You want a lot taken out of you, I can see," continued Monk, "and I'll
pretty soon do it; so mind what you're at."
I don't know whether surprise or anger predominated in my mind at the
result of my first attempt to show I thought on what I learnt, as well
as attempted to learn it by rote. Such downright rudeness I had never
before experienced, and I could scarcely believe that the boys around me
were the sons of gentlemen, although I had been told by Howard that
Hostler's was a first-class school, where none but gentlemen's sons were
admitted.
I blushed scarlet at the remark made to me, and felt inclined to explain
my meaning, but somehow the words would not come, and I therefore gazed
steadily at the pages of my book, wondering how it was I seemed so
different from other boys. Whilst thus meditating, I raised my eyes to
the boy opposite me; he was a cross-looking, sturdy boy, about my own
age, and was occupied, as were the rest, in swinging backwards and
forwards, whilst he repeated, in a loud tone, "A is to B as B is to C,"
etc.
When this boy saw me looking at him, he made a face at me, and said,
"Don't look at me!" As, however, I continued looking at him, he
suddenly lowered himself, so that his head only appeared above the
table, and, before I suspected what he was doing, I received a
tremendous kick on the shins. The noise the boy made caused Mr Monk to
look up just in time to see me throw my book at the boy's head. So
quick had been my assailant in recovering himself and resuming his
proper position, that, when Mr Monk looked round, the only thing he saw
was my Euclid flying across the table at the boy's head.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Mr Monk, "you're a nice young fellow; what are you
at?"
"He kicked me on the shins," I exclaimed.
"Didn't do anything of the kind," said the boy, whose name was Fraser.
"Didn't you kick Shepard?"
"No; I stooped under the table to pick up my handkerchief, and he then
shied his book at me," said Fraser, with a bare-faced effrontery that
startled me.
"You come out here, Shepard," said Monk, who seemed not to have got over
my remark about the line; "we'll soon stop your larks."
I got up from my seat, feeling that I had been most unjustly treated,
and that a lie had been told against me; but, not knowing how I could
get myself righted, I was puzzling my brain how I should make Mr Monk
know what had really occurred, when I received a couple of blows from
him on the head that almost stunned me.
"That's what you want," said Monk, "to set you to rights! Now go and
stand on that stool till you've learnt your Euclid, and if you fail
you'll get three cuts as sure as your name's Shepard. We don't stand
any tricks here, you see; you've to learn what discipline is."
I find it difficult to make the reader fully comprehend my feelings at
that time. Up to the age of ten years Aunt Emma had been very free in
boxing my ears, and keeping me in what she called "order," but during
the past five years I had been treated more like a young man than as a
boy. The companionship with my father had given me an old feeling, and
I thought more as a man thinks than as a boy does. With such ideas as
to my age, it was a great blow to my pride to find myself treated like a
child, to be kicked by a boy smaller than myself, and then to have my
ears boxed because I retaliated. I tried hard to command myself, but
after a brief struggle I fairly cried like a child.
I was now the object of attention to every boy in the school. Each boy
took his quiet look and grin at me whenever he could take his eyes from
his Euclid without being seen by Mr Monk, and this continued till the
clock struck the hour, when Mr Monk shouted, "Close books! Come up,
Jones and Hunt!"
Two boys left their seats and went to the master, who took their books
from them and inquired, "What proposition?"
"Eighth of the second," said Jones.
"Go on, then," said the master; and away went Jones, repeating like a
parrot a number of lines about A to B, etc. I listened to this because
it was not only all new to me, but because I fancied that very shortly I
should follow probably the course of this boy. Jones went on without a
stop till he had finished his proposition, when, with a look of delight,
he left the room. The boy called Hunt now commenced his proposition,
but before he had gone over a dozen lines he began to hesitate, then to
stop altogether, and finally burst out crying. My first idea was that
his heart was very much in his work, and that his pride was hurt at
having failed in his lesson; but I was soon to be undeceived in this
respect. Hunt was sent into a corner of the room, where he sat looking
the picture of misery, and another boy was called upon by the master to
say his Euclid. About fifteen boys were allotted to Mr Monk, and out
of these three remained in school, having "failed," as it was termed.
As the last boy was sent into the corner Mr Hostler came into the room,
looking particularly smiling and active. He carried in his hand a short
black stick, which I afterwards learned was whalebone. Seeing me
standing on a stool he said, "Hullo! in trouble already? Ah! I thought
you were not as quiet as you looked. What's he been doing, Mr Monk?"
I listened with astonishment at the statement of my offences. First I
had tried to show off before the boys by trying to chaff the master by
saying if he looked with a microscope at a line it would show Euclid was
wrong; then I suddenly took a dislike to a boy and threw a book at his
head.
Mr Hostler listened to this account very quietly, and then turning to
me said, "Now look here; I've done a great favour to your friends by
letting you come here. There's lots would have given a fifty-pound note
to get their sons into my establishment. Now, I'm a good mind to pack
you off to-day, but I'll give you another trial, so you just look out."
I was trying to say something in my defence, but the words hung fire and
would not come out, and it was, perhaps, as well I did not say anything,
for it would not have been attended to, as Mr Hostler was now inquiring
about the boys who had failed.
"So you have failed again, Hunt," said Mr Hostler. "Here, you come up,
then, and take your three."
Hunt left his seat and commenced crying, whilst he blew on and then
rubbed his hand in what appeared to me a most singular manner. The
reason for this latter proceeding I was soon to learn, for as he came
near Mr Hostler he held out his hand as though to show he had nothing
in it--the fingers quite straight and the palm horizontal. Mr Hostler
took his whalebone stick in his right hand, made one or two feints, and
then delivered a smart blow on the boy's hand. The sound of this blow
indicated its severity, but the contortions of the boy also showed that
there was no mistake as to the punishment intended.
"Out with it again?" said Mr Hostler, who now seemed in his element,
and who jumped about and flourished his whalebone as if he were riding a
race. "Two more. Ah! no shirking. There, that doesn't count." These
remarks were uttered as he made an up-cut on the knuckles of the boy,
who dropped his hand to avoid the full force of the expected blow.
"There, you got that!" exclaimed Hostler, as he delivered a smart cut
full on the fingers of Hunt's hands, and elicited a cry of pain as the
boy trembled with nervousness and agony.
"Now for the last!" said Hostler. "Quick about it! There you are! Now
don't you fail again!"
Hunt passed me on his way out of the room, and I saw on his hand two
blue-looking streaks, that were swollen as though a hot iron had been
passed over them. He was crying, but seemed to think less of his pain
than I fancied he would. The other boys that had failed were had up by
Hostler in the same manner, and each treated to three cuts on the hand
with the whalebone.
"Now, Shepard," said Hostler, "let's hear you your definitions. Come
along sharp, sir; don't lounge like that?" Hostler here caught me by
the shoulder, and shouting "Come up--hi! hi!" shook me almost out of my
clothes.
"I'll wake you up, I will. You've been asleep all your life," he
continued. "Now then, go on:--A point--"
"A point," I said, "is--a point is part of magnitude."
"I'll parts of magnitude you!" said Hostler. "You've been an hour doing
nothing. You ought to have three cuts, but I'll let you off as it's the
first time; but you stop in till you know this."
I now found myself the only boy in the school, where all was as quiet as
before it had been noisy. I sat for some minutes as though in a dream.
Was all this real? I asked myself, and had I to go through such scenes
for a year before I became an engineer officer, or even a cadet? The
feeling of loneliness was mixed with utter surprise and astonishment
that there should be such a place as this school in England, and that
the course here adopted should be found necessary, in order that boys
should become learned enough for officers.
My thoughts wandered from the schoolroom. I was in the shady paths of
the grand old forest, where I had passed my early life, and I compared
my present condition with that which it would have been had I remained
at home. I thought of Howard, and wondered whether he as a boy had
passed through such an ordeal as this school offered; and as I believed
it possible he had done so, I began to learn a lesson which only those
learn who have themselves had to win their way to excellence by hard
work and by surmounting difficulties. This essential lesson is one that
too many never learn. When we are witnesses of skill in anything, too
many forget that this skill is the result of long thought, labour and
perseverance. We too often fail to recollect the hours of wearying
labour that have been devoted to the acquirement of those qualifications
which, when seen in the results, are much admired. The mathematician or
geometrician who attains to eminence must have devoted many years'
labour to these subjects, whilst the artist, musician or writer must
also have laboured many weary years before he attained even to
mediocrity. Even those who excel in games of skill, such as chess,
draughts, whist, billiards, cricket, or rackets, must be men who think
deeply, and reason on what they see others do, as well as on what they
do themselves. When, then, we see excellence in anything, those who
have themselves arrived at excellence appreciate skill in others,
because ever before them is the idea of the hard work and hard thought
that most have been gone through before proficiency could be reached.
Those, however, who never have worked to any purpose, who have idled all
their lives and failed to attain even mediocrity in anything, usually
fail to appreciate in others excellence or skill, and when, after long
perseverance and thought, any successful results have been won, idlers
not unfrequently term such a result "good luck." When I had seen
Howard, and had been impressed by his apparent knowledge and skill on
all subjects, I was ambitious at once of being like him. In my
ignorance I fancied that just as I grew taller by no thought or trouble,
so I might become an officer like him by merely allowing time to work
out its course. That I should have to labour, to work my brain in a
manner I had never before even dreamed of, had never occurred to me.
Now, however, I began to realise the fact that I was a dunce, and that
my brain was feeble merely from want of use, and that I was not capable
of competing with other boys of my own age, because their brains had
been active and used when mine had been merely idle. I was like a horse
suddenly taken up from grass, and worked with one that had been
thoroughly trained for many months. My brain was flabby and feeble,
without that vigour which is requisite for any mental labour. I could
feel a presentiment that there was even a greater exposure of my
ignorance coming than had yet taken place. Under the most favourable
circumstances of quiet which I enjoyed at home, a long-division sum
always took me some time, and, though I was supposed to know as far as
fractions in arithmetic, yet I was very shaky in a rule-of-three sum,
and I knew that, hustled as I was at Hostler's, I should breakdown at
what perhaps I might accomplish if left quietly to myself. I found that
it was downright exhaustive work to remember the definitions before me.
I knew them for a minute, then they left me, and as I realised my state
I buried my head in my hands, and felt overcome with despair.
Suddenly the door opened, and Hostler appeared and said, "Now, Shepard,
do you know your definitions?"
"No, sir," I replied; "it is very hard for me to learn them."
I expected him to take me out for my three cuts, but instead of this he
sat down beside me and said, "Now, look here; you've got to learn how to
learn. I see you're been a spoiled child--your mother's pet, I
suppose--and have never worked at all, only just fudged on. Now you
begin really, and of course it's all new to you. Now just listen to
me."
"Please, sir," I said, "my mother died when I was a baby, and I never
was what you call spoiled by her."
"Ah, well, I'm very sorry I said that, but of course I didn't know it;
never mind, now try and follow me. A point is that which has no parts
and no magnitude--that means, that it's only an imaginary spot, without
any size about it. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, I think I do."
"Then a line is length without breadth--that is, if I draw an imaginary
line from here to the moon, that line has length, but it has no breadth.
Now think over these, and learn them again to-morrow, and you may go
out and join the other boys in the playground."
It was quite a relief to me to have this conversation with Mr Hostler,
for I felt that I could learn after a time, though at first I
experienced all the difficulties of novelty in everything I attempted.