"Tom Brown at Oxford," a continuation of "Tom Brown's
Schooldays," was published in 1861, but, like most sequels, it
failed to achieve the wide popularity of its famous
predecessor. Although the story, perhaps, lacks much of the
freshness of the "Schooldays," it nevertheless conveys an
admirable picture of undergraduate life as it was in the
middle of the nineteenth century. Notwithstanding the changes
that have taken place since then, it is still remarkably full
of vitality, and the description of the boat races, and the
bumping of Exeter and Oriel by St. Ambrose's boat might well
have been written to-day. In spite of its defects, the story,
with its vigorous morals, is worthy to rank with anything that
came from the pen of Tom Hughes, the great apostle of muscular
Christianity.
_I.--St. Ambrose's College_
In the Michaelmas term, after leaving school, Tom went up to matriculate
at St. Ambrose's College, Oxford, but did not go up to reside till the
following January.
St. Ambrose's College was a moderate-sized one. There were some seventy
or eighty undergraduates in residence when our hero appeared there as a
freshman, of whom a large proportion were gentleman-commoners, enough,
in fact, to give the tone to the college, which was decidedly fast.
Fewer and fewer of the St. Ambrose men appeared in the class-lists or
among the prize men. They no longer led the debates in the Union; the
boat lost place after place on the river; the eleven got beaten in all
the matches. But now a reaction had begun. The fellows recently elected
were men of great attainments, chosen as the most likely persons to
restore, as tutors, the golden days of the college.
Our hero, on leaving school, had bound himself solemnly to write all his
doings to the friend he had left behind him, and extracts from his first
letter from college will give a better idea of the place than any
account by a third party.
"Well, first and foremost, it's an awfully idle place--at any rate, for
us freshmen. Fancy now, I am in twelve lectures a week of an hour each.
There's a treat! Two hours a day; and no extra work at all. Of course, I
never look at a lecture before I go in; I know it all nearly by heart,
and for the present the light work suits me, for there's plenty to see
in this place. We keep very gentlemanly hours. Chapel every morning at
eight, and evening at seven. You must attend once a day, and twice on
Sundays, and be in gates at twelve o'clock. And you ought to dine in
hall perhaps four days a week. All the rest of your time you do just
what you like with.
"My rooms are right up in the roof, with a commanding view of tiles and
chimney-pots. Pleasant enough, separated from all mankind by a great
iron-clamped outer door; sitting-room, eighteen by twelve; bedroom,
twelve by eight; and a little cupboard for the scout. Ah, Geordie, the
scout is an institution! Fancy me waited on and valeted by a stout party
in black, of quiet, gentlemanly planners. He takes the deepest interest
in my possessions and proceedings, and is evidently used to good
society, to judge by the amount of crockery and glass, wines, liquors,
and grocery which he thinks indispensable for my due establishment. He
waits on me in hall, where we go in full fig of cap and gown at five,
and get very good dinners, and cheap enough.
"But, after all, the river is the feature of Oxford, to my mind. I
expect I shall take to boating furiously. I have been down the river
three or four times already with some other freshmen, and it is glorious
exercise, that I can see, though we bungle and cut crabs desperately at
present."
Within a day or two of the penning of this epistle, Tom realised one of
the objects of his young Oxford ambition, and succeeded in embarking in
a skiff by himself. He had been such a proficient in all the Rugby games
that he started off in the full confidence that, if he could only have a
turn or two alone, he should satisfy not only himself but everybody else
that he was a heaven-born oar. But the truth soon began to dawn upon him
that pulling, especially sculling, does not, like reading and writing,
come by nature. However, he addressed himself manfully to his task;
savage, indeed, but resolved to get down to Sandford and back before
hall-time, or perish in the attempt. Fortunately, the prudent boatman
had embarked our hero in one of the safest of the tubs, and it was not
until he had zig-zagged down Kennington reach, slowly indeed, and with
much labour, that he heard energetic shouts behind him. The next minute
the bows of his boat whirled round, the old tub grounded, and then,
turning over, shot him out on to the planking of the steep descent into
the small lasher. The rush of water was too strong for him, and rolling
him over, plunged him into the pool below.
After the first moment of astonishment and fright, Tom left himself to
the stream, holding his breath hard, and, paddling gently with his
hands, soon came to the surface, and was about to strike out for the
shore when he caught sight of a skiff coming, stern foremost, down the
descent after him. Down she came, as straight as an arrow, into the
tumult below, the sculler sitting upright, and holding his skulls
steadily in the water. For a moment she seemed to be going under, but
righted herself, and glided swiftly into the still water, while the
sculler glanced round till he caught sight of our hero's half-drowned
head.
"Oh, there you are!" he said, looking much relieved, "Swim ashore; I'll
look after your boat."
So Tom swam ashore, and stood there dripping and watching the other
righting his tub and collecting the sculls and bottom-boards floating
here and there in the pool. Tom had time to look him well over, and was
well satisfied with the inspection. There was that in his face that hit
Tom's fancy, and made him anxious to know him better. There were
probably not three men in the university who would have dared to shoot
the lasher in the state it was then.
It was settled, at Tom's earnest request, that he should pull the sound
skiff up--his old tub was leaking considerably--while his companion sat
in the stern and coached him. Tom poured out his thanks for his new
tutor's instructions, which were given so judiciously that he was
conscious of improving at every stroke.
He disappeared, however, while Tom was wrangling with the manager as to
the amount of damage done to the tub, and when Tom, to his joy, saw him
come into hall to dinner he took no notice of Tom's looks of
recognition. He learned from his neighbour that his name was Hardy, that
he was one of the servitors, a clever fellow, but a very queer one. Tom
resolved to waylay him as soon as hall was over; but Hardy avoided him.
_II.--Summer Term_
Jervis, the captain of the St. Ambrose Boat Club; Miller, the cox; and
Smith, commonly known as Diogenes Smith--from a habit he had of using
his hip-bath as an armchair--were determined to make a success of the
boat, and Tom had the good fortune to get a place in the college
eight--an achievement which is always a feather in the cap of a
freshman.
When the summer term came Miller at once took the crew in hand.
Then came the first night of the races, and at half-past three Tom was
restless and distracted, knowing that two hours and a half had got to
pass before it was time to start for the boats.
However, at last the time slipped away, and the captain and Miller
mustered their crew at the college gates, and walked off to the river.
Half the undergraduates of Oxford streamed along with them. No time was
lost on arrival at the barge in the dressing-room, and in two minutes
the St. Ambrose eight were all standing, in flannel trousers, silk
jerseys, and jackets, at the landing-place.
Then the boat swung steadily down past the mouth of the Cherwell, and
through the Gut to the starting-place. Hark! The first gun!
All the boats have turned, crowds of men on the bank are agitated with
the coming excitement.
Jervis, quiet and full of confidence, looks round from his seat--he is
stroking--takes a sliced lemon from his pocket, puts a small piece into
his mouth, and passes it on.
"Jackets off," says Miller. And the jackets are thrown on shore, and
gathered up by the boatman.
"Eight seconds more only!" Miller calls out. "Look out for the flash!
Remember, all eyes in the boat!"
There it comes at last, the flash of the starting gun. The boat breaks
away with a bound and a dash. The oars flash in the water, and the boat
leaps forward.
For the first ten strokes Tom was in too great fear of making a mistake
to feel or hear or see. But as the crew settled down into the well-known
long sweep, consciousness returned, and, amid all the babel of voices on
the bank, he could hear Hardy yelling, "Steady! Well pulled! Steady!"
And now the St. Ambrose boat is well away from the boat behind, and as
it nears the Gut, it is plainly gaining on Exeter--the boat in front.
"You're gaining!" Miller mutters; and the captain responds with a wink.