"Tom Brown's Schooldays" has been called by more than one
critic the best story of schoolboy life ever written, and
three generations of readers have endorsed the opinion. Its
author, Thomas Hughes, born at Uffington, Berkshire, England,
Oct. 19, 1822, was himself, like his hero, both a Rugby boy
under Dr. Arnold and the son of a Berkshire squire, but he
denied that the story was in any real sense autobiographical.
Matthew Arnold and Arthur H. Clough, the poet, were Hughes's
friends at school, and in later life he became associated with
Charles Kingsley and Frederick Denison Maurice on what was
called the Christian Socialist movement. A barrister by
profession, Thomas Hughes became a county court judge, and
lived for many years in that capacity at Chester. Besides "Tom
Brown's Schooldays," published in 1857, Hughes also wrote "Tom
Brown at Oxford" (1861), biographies of Livingstone, Bishop
Fraser, and Daniel Macmillan, and a number of political,
religious and social pamphlets. He died on March 22, 1896.
_I.--Tom Goes to Rugby_
Squire Brown, J.P. for the county of Berks, dealt out justice and mercy,
in a thorough way, and begat sons and daughters, and hunted the fox, and
grumbled at the badness of the roads and the times. And his wife dealt
out stockings and shirts and smock frocks, and comforting drinks to the
old folks with the "rheumatiz," and good counsel to all.
Tom was their eldest child, a hearty, strong boy, from the first given
to fighting with and escaping from his nurse, and fraternising with all
the village boys, with whom he made expeditions all round the
neighbourhood.
Squire Brown was a Tory to the backbone; but, nevertheless, held divers
social principles not generally supposed to be true blue in colour; the
foremost of which was the belief that a man is to be valued wholly and
solely for that which he is himself, apart from all externals whatever.
Therefore, he held it didn't matter a straw whether his son associated
with lords' sons or ploughmen's sons, provided they were brave and
honest. So he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the village boys, and
gave them the run of a close for a playground. Great was the grief among
them when Tom drove off with the squire one morning, to meet the coach,
on his way to Rugby, to school.
It had been resolved that Tom should travel down by the Tally-ho, which
passed through Rugby itself; and as it was an early coach, they drove
out to the Peacock Inn, at Islington, to be on the road. Towards nine
o'clock, the squire, observing that Tom was getting sleepy, sent the
little fellow off to bed, with a few parting words, the result of much
thought.
"And now, Tom, my boy," said the squire, "remember you are going, at
your own earnest request, to be chucked into this great school, like a
young bear, with all your troubles before you--earlier than we should
have sent you, perhaps. You'll see a great many cruel blackguard things
done, and hear a deal of foul, bad talk. But never fear. You tell the
truth, and keep a brave, kind heart, and never listen to or say anything
you wouldn't have your mother or sister hear, and you'll never feel
ashamed to come home, or we to see you."
The mention of his mother made Tom feel rather choky, and he would have
liked to hug his father well, if it hadn't been for his recent
stipulation that kissing should now cease between them, so he only
squeezed his father's hand, and looked up bravely, and said, "I'll try,
father!"
At ten minutes to three Tom was in the coffee-room in his stockings, and
there was his father nursing a bright fire; and a cup of coffee and a
hard biscuit on the table.
Just as he was swallowing the last mouthful, Boots looks in, and says,
"Tally-ho, sir!" And they hear the ring and rattle as it dashes up to
the Peacock.
"Good-bye, father; my love at home!" A last shake of the hand. Up goes
Tom, the guard holding on with one hand, while he claps the horn to his
mouth. Toot, toot, toot! Away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness.
Tom stands up, and looks back at his father's figure as long as you can
see it; and then comes to an anchor, and finishes his buttonings and
other preparations for facing the cold three hours before dawn. The
guard muffles Tom's feet up in straw, and puts an oat-sack over his
knees, but it is not until after breakfast that his tongue is unloosed,
and he rubs up his memory, and launches out into a graphic history of
all the performances of the Rugby boys on the roads for the last twenty
years.
"And so here's Rugby, sir, at last, and you'll be in plenty of time for
dinner at the schoolhouse, as I tell'd you," says the old guard.
Tom's heart beat quick, and he began to feel proud of being a Rugby boy
when he passed the school gates, and saw the boys standing there as if
the town belonged to them.
One of the young heroes ran out from the rest, and scrambled up behind,
where, having righted himself with, "How do, Jem?" to the guard, he
turned round short to Tom, and began, "I say, you fellow, is your name
Brown?"
"Yes," said Tom, in considerable astonishment.
"Ah, I thought so; my old aunt, Miss East, lives somewhere down your way
in Berkshire; she wrote that you were coming to-day and asked me to give
you a lift!"
Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronising air of his new
friend, a boy of just about his own age and height, but gifted with the
most transcendent coolness and assurance, which Tom felt to be
aggravating and hard to bear, but couldn't help admiring and envying,
especially when my young lord begins hectoring two or three long loafing
fellows, and arranges with one of them to carry up Tom's luggage.
"You see," said East, as they strolled up to the school gates, "a good
deal depends on how a fellow cuts up at first. You see I'm doing the
handsome thing by you, because my father knows yours; besides, I want to
please the old lady--she gave me half-a-sov. this half, and perhaps'll
double it next if I keep in her good books."
Tom was duly placed in the Third Form, and found his work very easy; and
as he had no intimate companion to make him idle (East being in the
Lower Fourth), soon gained golden opinions from his master, and all went
well with him in the school. As a new boy he was, of course, excused
fagging, but, in his enthusiasm, this hardly pleased him; and East and
others of his young friends kindly allowed him to indulge his fancy, and
take their turns at night, fagging and cleaning studies. So he soon
gained the character of a good-natured, willing fellow, ready to do a
turn for anyone.
_II.--The War of Independence_
The Lower Fourth was an overgrown Form, too large for any one man to
attend to properly, consequently the elysium of the young scamps who
formed the staple of it. Tom had come up from the Third with a good
character, but he rapidly fell away, and became as unmanageable as the
rest. By the time the second monthly examination came round, his
character for steadiness was gone, and for years after, he went up the
school without it, and regarded the masters, as a matter of course, as
his natural enemies. Matters were not so comfortable in the house,
either. The new praeposters of the Sixth Form were not strong, and the
big Fifth Form boys soon began to usurp power, and to fag and bully the
little boys.
One evening Tom and East were sitting in their study, Tom brooding over
the wrongs of fags in general and his own in particular.
"I say, Scud," said he at last, "what right have the Fifth Form boys to
fag us as they do?"
"No more right than you have to fag them," said East, without looking up
from an early number of "Pickwick." Tom relapsed into his brown study,
and East went on reading and chuckling.
"Do you know, old fellow, I've been thinking it over, and I've made up
my mind I won't fag except for the Sixth."
"Quite right, too, my boy," cried East. "I'm all for a strike myself;
it's getting too bad."
"I shouldn't mind if it were only young Brooke now," said Tom; "I'd do
anything for him. But that blackguard Flashman----"
"The cowardly brute!" broke in East.
"Fa-a-ag!" sounded along the passage from Flashman's study.
The two boys looked at one another.
"Fa-a-ag!" again. No answer.
"Here, Brown! East! You young skulks!" roared Flashman. "I know you're
in! No shirking!"
Tom bolted the door, and East blew out the candle.
"Now, Tom, no surrender!"
Then the assault commenced. One panel of the door gave way to repeated
kicks, and the besieged strengthened their defences with the sofa.
Flashman & Co. at last retired, vowing vengeance, and when the convivial
noises began again steadily, Tom and East rushed out. They were too
quick to be caught, but a pickle-jar, sent whizzing after them by
Flashman narrowly missed Tom's head. Their story was soon told to a knot
of small boys round the fire in the hall, who nearly all bound
themselves not to fag for the Fifth, encouraged and advised thereto by
Diggs--a queer, very clever fellow, nearly at the top of the Fifth
himself. He stood by them all through and seldom have small boys had
more need of a friend.
Flashman and his associates united in "bringing the young vagabonds to
their senses," and the whole house was filled with chasings, sieges, and
lickings of all sorts.
One evening, in forbidden hours, Brown and East were in the hall,
chatting by the light of the fire, when the door swung open, and in
walked Flashman. He didn't see Diggs, busy in front of the other fire;
and as the boys didn't move for him, struck one of them, and ordered
them all off to their study.
"I say, you two," said Diggs, rousing up, "you'll never get rid of that
fellow till you lick him. Go in at him, both of you! I'll see fair
play."
They were about up to Flashman's shoulder, but tough and in perfect
training; while he, seventeen years old, and big and strong of his age,
was in poor condition from his monstrous habits of stuffing and want of
exercise.
They rushed in on him, and he hit out wildly and savagely, and in
another minute Tom went spinning backwards over a form; and Flashman
turned to demolish East, with a savage grin. But Diggs jumped down from
the table on which he had seated himself.
"Stop there!" shouted he. "The round's over! Half minute time allowed!
I'm going to see fair. Are you ready, Brown? Time's up!"
The small boys rushed in again; Flashman was wilder and more flurried
than ever. In a few moments over all three went on the floor, Flashman
striking his head on a form. But his skull was not fractured, as the two
youngsters feared it was, and he never laid a finger on them again. But
whatever harm a spiteful tongue could do them, he took care should be
done. Only throw dirt enough, and some will stick. And so Tom and East,
and one or two more, became a sort of young Ishmaelites. They saw the
praeposters cowed by or joining with the Fifth and shirking their own
duties; and so they didn't respect them, and rendered no willing
obedience, and got the character of sulky, unwilling fags. At the end of
the term they are told the doctor wants to see them. He is not angry
only very grave. He explains that rules are made for the good of the
school and must and shall be obeyed! He should be sorry if they had to
leave, and wishes them to think very seriously in the holidays over what
he has said. Good-night!
_III.--The Turn of the Tide_
The turning point of our hero's school career had now come, and the
manner of it was as follows.
Tom and East and another Schoolhouse boy rushed into the matron's room
in high spirits when they got back on the first day of the next
half-year. She sent off the others, but kept Tom to tell him Mrs. Arnold
wished him to take a new boy to share the study he had hoped to share
with East. She had told Mrs. Arnold she thought Tom would be kind to
him, and see that he wasn't bullied.
In the far corner of the room he saw a slight, pale boy, who looked
ready to sink through the floor. The matron watched Tom for a minute,
and saw what was passing in his mind.
"Poor little fellow," she said, almost in a whisper. "His father's dead,
and his mamma--such a sweet, kind lady--almost broke her heart at
leaving him. She said one of his sisters was like to die of a decline----
"
"Well, well," burst in Tom, "I suppose I must give up East. Come along,
young 'un! What's your name? We'll go and have supper, and then I'll
show you our study."
"His name's George Arthur," said the matron. "I've had his books and
things put into the study, which his mamma has had new papered, and the
sofa covered, and new curtains. And Mrs. Arnold told me to say she'd
like you both to come up to tea with her."
Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He was to go up to tea the
first night, just as if he were of importance in the school world
instead of the most reckless young scapegrace among the fags. He felt
himself lifted on to a higher moral platform at once; and marched off
with his young charge in tow in monstrous good humour with himself and
all the world. His cup was full when Dr. Arnold, with a warm shake of
the hand, seemingly oblivious of all the scrapes he had been getting
into, said, "Ah, Brown, you here! I hope you left all well at home. And
this is the little fellow who is to share your study? Well, he doesn't
look as we should like to see him. You must take him some good long
walks, and show him what little pretty country we have about here."
The tea went merrily off, and everybody felt that he, young as he was,
was of some use in the school world, and had a work to do there. When
Tom was recognised coming out of the private door which led from the
doctor's house, there was a great shout of greeting, and Hall at once
began to question Arthur.
"What a queer chum for Tom Brown," was the general comment. And it must
be confessed that so thought Tom himself as he lighted the candle in
their study, and surveyed the new curtains with much satisfaction.
"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cosy! But look
here now, you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you. If
you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you ever talk about home or
your mother or sisters."
Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry.
"But please, mayn't I talk about home to you?"
"Oh, yes, I like it. But not to boys you don't know. What a jolly desk!"
And soon Tom was deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, and hardly thought
of his friends outside till the prayer-bell rang.
He thought of his own first night there when he was leading poor little
Arthur up to No. 4, and showing him his bed. The idea of sleeping in a
room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before. He
could hardly bare to take his jacket off. However, presently off it
came, and he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting on his bed,
talking and laughing.
"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands?"
"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring. "You'll have to go down for
more water if you use it all." On went the talk and laughter. Arthur
finished his undressing, and looked round more nervously than ever. The
light burned clear, the noise went on. This time, however, he did not
ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his
bedside to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry of the tender
child, or the strong man.
Tom was unlacing his boots with his back towards Arthur, and looked up
in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed, and one
big, brutal fellow picked up a slipper and shied it at the kneeling boy.
The next moment the boot Tom had just taken off flew straight at the
head of the bully.
"If any other fellow wants the other boot," said Tom, stepping on to the
floor, "he knows how to get it!"
At this moment the Sixth Form boy came in, and not another word could be
said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed, and finished unrobing there.
Sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. The thought of his
promise to his mother came over him, never to forget to kneel at his
bedside and give himself up to his Father before he laid his head on the
pillow from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently, and cried
as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.
Next morning he was up and washed and dressed just as the ten-minutes
bell began, and then in the face of the whole room knelt down to pray.
Not five words could he say; he was listening for every whisper in the
room. What were they all thinking of him? At last, as it were from his
inmost heart, a still, small voice seemed to breathe: "God be merciful
to me, a sinner." He repeated the words over and over again, and rose
from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole
school. It was not needed; two other boys had already followed his
example. Before either Tom or Arthur left the Schoolhouse there was no
room in which it had not become the regular custom.
_IV.--Tom Brown's Last Match_
The curtain now rises on the last act of our little drama. Eight years
have passed, and it is the end of the summer half-year at Rugby. The
boys have scattered to the four winds, except the Eleven, and a few
enthusiasts who are permitted to stay to see the result of the cricket
matches. For this year the return matches are being played at Rugby, and
to-day the great event of the year, the Marylebone match, is being
played. I wish I had space to describe the whole match; but I haven't,
so you must fancy it all, and let me beg to call your attention to a
group of three eagerly watching the match. The first, evidently a
clergyman, is carelessly dressed, and looks rather used up, but is bent
on enjoying life as he spreads himself out in the evening sun. By his
side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, and the captain's belt, sits
a strapping figure near six feet high, with ruddy, tanned face and a
laughing eye. He is leaning forward, dandling his favourite bat, with
which he has made thirty or forty runs to-day. It is Tom Brown, spending
his last day as a Rugby boy. And at their feet sits Arthur, with his bat
across his knees. He is less of a boy, in fact, than Tom, if one may
judge by the thoughtfulness of his face, which is somewhat paler than we
could wish, but his figure is well-knit and active, and all his old
timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by silent, quaint fun, as he
listens to the broken talk, and joins in every now and then. Presently
he goes off to the wicket, with a last exhortation from Tom to play
steady and keep his bat straight.
"I'm surprised to see Arthur in the Eleven," says the master.
"Well, I'm not sure he ought to be for his play," said Tom; "but I
couldn't help putting him in. It will do him so much good, and you can't
think what I owe him!"