knows so much about other people."
"No more do I," I answered. "But I don't care. John Hurdiss is good
enough for me."
Now, the fact of the matter was this, and I may as well state it here as
afterwards: I had guessed about the truth. My uncle did not really know
my name, and for this reason:
You see, as I have told, my grandfather was the Marquis de Brienne (I
have forgotten to set down that Gaston always called my uncle "Monsieur
le Marquis," or something that might be resolved into that). Well, the
old gentleman (my ancestor) had three children--the present proprietor
of the Château de Belair on Mountain Brook, and twin daughters, Hortense
and Hélène, who afterwards married two of the well-dressed and
well-hated ones at a time when they had more titles than gold.
Now it happened these two latter gentlemen--my father and uncle, of
course--had each the same initials (it is no consequence what the names
were, but each ended in "de B"). Early in the great troubles they had
sought refuge in England, having better luck than their future wives,
who were taken by the revolutionists. But the two ladies escaped through
the aid of an adventurous sea-captain, and they joined the colony of
refugees in England, where they each found a husband. But affairs did
not prosper with them. In the year 1798 the Duke de B---- became
entangled in a plot of some kind for the restoration, was caught in
France, and lost his head like the rest of his family; and in the same
year the Comte de B---- had an unfortunate duel with an English Major of
infantry, and was killed. This left the two noble ladies widows, each
with an infant boy of a few months old to take care of. For some reason
they packed up their belongings and set out for America on a
sailing-vessel, commanded, it appears, by no less a person than the
sea-captain who had assisted in their first escape from France.
Sad to relate, the ship in which they sailed was wrecked, and one of the
ladies was lost with her infant in the disaster. Whether it was the
Duchesse de B---- or the Comtesse de B---- was not placed on record, but
the commander of the ship, Captain John Hurdiss, married the survivor at
some place in the West Indies, I believe.
Now there was no way of finding out which one of the ladies the gallant
Captain Hurdiss had married, and I had never heard my mother's first
name mentioned that I could recall. My uncle did not know it, of a
certainty. This was the situation in a nutshell, and I trust that I have
made it plain, for I have endeavored to do so in the very shortest
manner, to the best of my ability.
Thus the loss of the letter and the burning of the strong-box were two
misfortunes that had prevented me from knowing really who I was.
All this may seem complicated, but I have done my best to make it lucid;
and with a heartfelt apology for this long digression, let me return to
the day in June, and to the boy and girl talking together, balanced on
the top rail of the pasture bars.
"Did you bring the book with you that you were speaking about?" I asked
of my companion.
"No," she replied; "but I will leave it under the flat rock this
evening."
"I'll get it, then," I answered. "Halloa! Look at that."
"It's a woodchuck," said the girl, jumping from her perch, and we both
charged at a small brown animal that scurried into a hole beneath some
loose stones. We were busily engaged in routing him out and he was
whistling back defiance (we had almost got at him), when I heard my name
called. I looked up and saw my uncle and old Twineface approaching along
the path.
"Jean, Jean! Come here at once!" called Monsieur de Brienne, in French.
"I'm going to run," said the girl, who had often expressed her terror at
Gaston's appearance.
Without another word she turned and fled, jumping over the tall ferns
like a deer.
My uncle had now approached within a few feet's distance.
"Who is that with you?" he inquired, angrily.
"Mary Tanner, the daughter of the farmer below," I replied. "I have
known her for some months. She is very nice--and--and pretty," I
faltered.
"Bah! You shall have nothing to do with her. Never speak to her, d'ye
mind me? And here's where you have been spending your time instead of
being at your studies. Come back with me; I will fence with you."
It was one of my uncle's _young_ days; and here, to put down something
that neither I nor any person of real learning to whom I have related
the facts, could account for: at varying periods my uncle, who was past
sixty, seemed to be gifted with an agility, a nervous force and
strength, that I have never seen equalled in a man of his slightness.
This rejuvenation, during which he often sang rondeaux and tinkled an
accompaniment on an old lyre, would last for some ten hours, perhaps,
and would be followed by two or three days, or sometimes a week, of
collapse, during which he appeared on the verge of dissolution, and
either Gaston or myself had to be with him every minute, administering
from time to time a few drops from an acrid-smelling vial.
But, as I have said, this was one of his youthful days.
I had been awakened in the morning early by a strange sound, and had
found him jumping the colt backwards and forwards over a hurdle on the
grass-plot before the house, Gaston standing by, a grim spectator, with
no interest in his dull, lack-lustre eyes. For an hour the old man had
put me through a practice with a small sword (he was the best fencer I
have ever seen), until I almost cried out from weariness, and we changed
the exercise for pistol practice. Now we returned to Belair, and despite
my complaining, I was forced to take up the foils again, and actually to
defend myself, for my uncle kept me up to my work by now and then giving
me a clip over the thigh or forearm. At last I grew angry, and pressed
him so close that a smile of pleasure drew his lips, and he muttered
"bravo" two or three time beneath his breath. Suddenly I noticed a gray
shadow cross his face, and his eyelids drooped. He raised his hand, and
without a word fell forward at my feet. It was one of the worst attacks
that he had experienced, and for five days Gaston and I nursed him, and
I found no chance to get away to the pasture bars, or to the flat rock
where Mary had placed the book we had spoken of.
On the sixth day my uncle was up and as spry as ever, but now I found
that I was practically under surveillance; wherever I went the frightful
Gaston would go also. He was a most unpleasant person to have around,
for although his senses were most acute and he possessed the cunning of
a wolf, it was impossible to carry on a conversation with him. He had an
impediment in his speech, a combination of a stutter and the result of
having no roof to his mouth, that made his utterances sound like those
of a savage or wild beast. To say "yes" or "no" was an effort for him,
and he usually expressed his meaning by making signs.
One day, I remember, I had determined to test my authority over him (for
in most things he obeyed me implicitly, so far as the fetching and
carrying went, but upon this occasion, as I say, I determined to give
him a test). I had walked as far as the edge of our clearing, and paused
on the bank of the brook.
"Gaston," I said, "go back to the house. I'm going on alone." The only
reply was a shake of the head. "Do you hear me? I'm going on alone." (It
was my intention to make my way to the Tanner farm-house, where,
by-the-way, I had never been, and ask for Mary.)
Now, seeing that Gaston did not intend to obey me, I jumped down the
bank and dashed across the stream, but I had not taken a dozen strides
before the old servant had me by the arm; his long fingers closed on my
flesh like a steel clamp. The result was that I went back to the house.
But that evening I managed to get away, and went to the flat rock, under
which I found the book. I had to wait until daylight before I could
examine it, although Mary, a week or so before, had told me of its
contents.
It was an old volume relating the adventures of an Englishman named
Robinson Crusoe (I can recall the musty smell of its pages at this very
instant). Oh, the delight that I had for the next few hours, reading the
greatest story, to my mind, that was ever penned! Oh, the desire for
freedom and the longing to see the world which was builded up within me
as I turned each page! Ah! Robinson, Robinson! despite the moral you
intend to teach, you have turned many lads' minds to the sea, and given
them a burning, dry thirst for adventure not to be quenched at home! I
had read few stories in English up to this time, but I fairly shook, as
I read this one, with the intensity of my sensations.
I am afraid that living this life gave me a tendency for dissimulation,
although in my gaoler, Gaston, I had a hard one to deceive. Nevertheless
I succeeded in getting away one afternoon, and made my way through the
woods to Farmer Tanner's. Suffice it to say that I was chased out of the
door-yard by the goodwife, with a broom in her hand, who informed me
that Mary had gone away--where, she did not state. I was threatened,
incidentally, with the ox-goad, if I should return; and so my errand was
not altogether successful.
Now to give a big jump over time. Another year went by. Oh, the misery
of it all! The long, snowed-in days of the winter when, although my
uncle had money, I think, I had scarcely sufficient clothing to keep me
warm, and barely enough to eat. M. de Brienne's conduct and manner by
now had become so strange and his mind was so volatile that I could
never say that I felt affection toward him. I had begun to hate Gaston
generously.
When spring came, to amuse myself, I delved in the garden, and was
rewarded by seeing all my green things prosper wondrously. An illness
that had lasted over a month almost brought me to my grave in April, but
I cannot complain for lack of nursing. Now, however, there had entered
my mind but one idea--to escape, and that right soon. Why I had not
thought of it seriously before must excite wonder. The determination to
begin to prepare for an actual separation came to me in this fashion.
Owing to the strangeness of the costumes I was forced to wear, I had
much hesitancy about going abroad. People would have taken me, I fear,
for a mountebank. My coat, much too small, was of velvet; my breeches,
of stained and heavy brocaded silk, much patched; and my hose tattered
and threadbare. I was well shod, as my uncle possessed a box of shoes
and boots of curious fashion and superior workmanship, that fitted me,
even if those I wore were not always mates. But I determined I must have
other clothing.
I knew nothing of the goings on of the outside world. Now to come to the
day on which I was enlightened.
June again. I had escaped from Gaston's eye (the old man had begun to
show some signs of age), and had gone down to the highway that led to
Miller's Falls. Half hid in the bushes, I was seated, hoping to catch a
glimpse of some human being, when I saw walking down the hill a man
whose appearance made my heart give a leap--a tall, broad-shouldered
figure, dressed in a sailor jacket and wide trousers. A great bundle,
that he carried as if it was a bag of feathers, was on his back, and he
was whistling merrily as he swung along the road. I knew him in an
instant, and his name came to me. It was Silas Plummer, who had been one
of the crew of the _Minetta_. I sung out to him by name. He came to a
halt, but showed half fright upon my appearing through the bushes.
"What in the name of Moll Roe have we here?" he cried.
"It is I, Master Plummer," I answered, and I told him who I was. In my
eagerness I must have appeared half crazed, I judge, for he looked at me
askance as I grasped him by the arm.
"What are you doing, lad?" he inquired. "And how you've grown!"
In a few words, and in an incoherent fashion, I fear, I told him of my
life and my virtual imprisonment. Evidently the explanation that I made
set his mind at rest in regard to my sanity.
"Why don't you clear out?" he said. "There's a chance for a fine lad
like yourself to the southward. The sea is not far away (how my heart
leapt at the word 'sea'!), and there are great goings on there. We've
taken their frigates, and given the lion's tail a twist until it is
kinked like a fouled hawser."
"What do you mean?" I inquired.
"Hear the lad!" Plummer responded, setting down his bundle and going
into the pocket of his jacket and drawing out a newspaper. "There's a
war between America and England. I'm just in off the _Comet_ privateer.
Listen to this," he said. He slapped his trousers pocket, and it chinked
to the sound of gold. "And listen here," he repeated, and he tapped the
other side. It jingled musically. "Ho, but we are getting even with them
for all their mail-stealing!"
"A war with England!" I cried, taking the paper that had "Victory!"
spread across it in large type. "Do you remember Dash, and his hand
there on the deck?"
"Ay, like a glove thrown in the face of the King," said the sailor; "and
the news of it is about the world."
"Plummer," I said, "sell me some clothes. I'll pay you for them--if
you'll wait." I had hidden three or four of the gold pieces under the
flat rock. "I will run and fetch you the money," I continued, eagerly.
"Not a penny, not a farthing," answered the man, giving my shoulder a
push. "Come into the woods. I have some duds that might fit you here in
my bundle."
My hands and, indeed, my knees also, were trembling so that I had to
have his assistance (a strange tiring-maid) in getting into my clothes.
But in ten minutes I was rigged out all-a-taun-to in the outfit of a
swaggering privateers-man, even to the shirt opened at the throat and
the half-fathom of neckerchief. I recollect that I was crazy to see how
I looked in it.
"And here's a cap, too," he said. "It has a Portugee rake to it, but
never mind; now you're ship-shape."
He stood off and looked at me, with his head sidewise, as if I was
wholly some workmanship of his own hands.
[Illustration: "ANCHOR'S ATRIP!" HE CRIED; "SET SAIL AND AWAY."]
"Anchor's atrip," he cried, imitating the shrilling of a boatswain's
whistle; "set sail and away."
"How--_how_ can I thank you?" I said, half faltering, and blushing, for
I felt hot all over.
"By meeting me ten days from now in Stonington. There's a crack brig,
the _Young Eagle_, about to sail from there; and though they'll take few
greenhorns, togged out that way you can pass muster. Ship with me,
mess-mate. I'll help you out!" He grasped my hand. "Ah, you've got a
good grip for a rope! And look at the chest and the arm of you! Big as
my own, I'll warrant."
I had never realized what a size I had become; but I had been finding
out that it was only my uncle's skill that kept me from disarming him in
our fencing-bouts of late, and that Gaston had not laid hands on me
since some time before my illness. Now I was fully recovered and in fine
fettle.
"I'll go with you," I replied, grasping Plummer's hand again, "and God
bless you!"
"The _Young Eagle_, then, at Stonington, eh?" He slapped his pockets and
started off. "I'm bound up-country to see my sweetheart," he shouted
back from over his shoulder, and I heard him chanting the "Sailor's
Return" as he disappeared about a bend in the road.
I gathered my rags and made for the brook, where I looked at myself
until I became fairly ashamed, and threw a stone at my reflection in the
water. Then taking off my clothes, I donned the old ones, and hiding my
bundle beneath the old flat rock where I kept the _Robinson Crusoe_, an
old horse-pistol, and many treasures (including a half-score of the De
Brienne buttons), I went up to the house. I could see that my uncle was
in a strange excitement (that he was going mad I have no doubt of now).
Gaston cast a suspicious look at me, in return for which I, elated by
the doings of the day, made a threatening gesture. Of a truth, I think
the man had grown afraid of me, for he cringed.
At twelve o'clock that night I was awakened by some one stirring in my
room. I looked up. It was my uncle. He was in his night-dress, and his
gray hair straggled over his ears. Held close to his side, as if it
rested in a scabbard, was a narrow court sword, whose naked blade
flashed in the ray of the moonlight that came in at the curtainless
window.
"No, by St. Michel, they shall not enter!" he cried, and he stopped
suddenly, rigid, as if he were listening for some one coming up the
stairs. Then he turned to the bed on which I lay.
"Arise, your Majesty!" he said. "They're upon us. Come, gentlemen, stand
fast!"
Again he listened. "No, they're gone," he whispered, softly. "Is the
Princess calling for me?" He made as if to sheathe the sword, and I saw,
in doing so, the sharp blade cut into the palm of his left hand; but he
paid no attention to it, and went down stairs.
To say that I had shuddered would not express it. And suddenly, as if a
burst of light had come upon me, the idea that I need no longer stay
flooded my brain.
"Why, he might murder me!" I thought, the conviction coming then for the
first time that he had turned mad-man. I arose, and only putting on half
my clothing and my shoes, I lowered myself out of the window.
It was cloudless, and the moon was at the full. My shadow chased before
me as I ran down the path. Freedom! freedom! seemed to beckon me. I
breathed the same sensation that I had on that clear moonlight night
when the salt breeze was in my hair, and when the wide sea rose and fell
and the little brig dashed through it--as if she had caught my
exultation of I hers.
I leaped the brook and scattered the sleeping birds out of the bushes up
the banks. "Ho for the sea! Hurrah!" I cried; and I never turned to give
even a farewell look at the Château de Belair.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
TYPICAL ENGLISH SCHOOLS.
BY JOHN CORBIN.
RUGBY.
Rugby was founded in 1567, almost two hundred years later than
Winchester. Its founder was not a great bishop and statesman, like
Wykeham, and much less a King, like the founder of Eton, but plain
Lawrence Sheriff, one of the gentlemen of the Princess Elizabeth
(afterward Queen Bess), and a warden of the Grocers' Company. At first
Rugby was a mere grammar-school; and it never ranked high as a public
school until Dr. Thomas Arnold, "The Doctor" of _Tom Brown's
School-Days_, became head master. To-day Rugby holds firmly to its
middle-class traditions. There is not a title in the whole place. The
boys are mainly the sons of midland manufacturers, and of the doctors
and lawyers of the neighboring cities.
When Dr. Arnold came to Rugby in 1837 he found about as unruly and
turbulent a school as there was in the kingdom. The "houses" were mere
boarding-houses, and the masters, who usually eked out their incomes by
means of church "livings," often resided at some vicarage or rectory in
the neighborhood. Arnold, who was an old Wykehamist, required the
masters to live in the houses and govern them, as the Winchester masters
have always done. Next to the masters in authority he placed the
sixth-form boys, giving them much the same powers as the Winchester
prefects and Eton captains. When there are not enough sixth-form boys to
keep order in a house, as sometimes happens, the master selects a few of
the best scholars and athletes in the fifth form, and gives them the
power and responsibility of sixth-form boys. Instead of gathering all
the "scholars" together in one "college," as is done at Winchester and
Eton, each house has a fair proportion of scholars. This plan is
followed at Harrow also; and, as I mentioned in the first of these
articles, the college at Winchester is likely soon to be broken up and
scattered among the houses. As a result of this plan the Rugby
"school-house"--of which Tom Brown was a member--is made up not of a
picked set of scholars, but of the same proportion of scholars and other
boys as the houses.
[Illustration: THE SCHOOL-HOUSE QUADRANGLE--SHOWING TOM BROWN'S CLOCK
TOWER.]
Arnold's admirable manner of dealing with the boys is familiar to all
readers of _Tom Brown_, but besides the fighting, betting, and bullying
which lingered in Tom's day, Arnold encountered a great deal of open and
systematic rule-breaking. The boys used to keep guns and beagles in the
backs of shops, and employed much of their spare time in poaching in the
neighborhood. This sort of thing Arnold easily quelled by telling the
shopkeepers that he would "put their shops out of bounds"--that is,
forbid the boys from entering them, even to buy things,--if they kept on
helping the boys to go poaching. The horsy cliques among the boys caused
Arnold more trouble. Rugby is in a first-rate hunting country, so that
the temptation was very great to mount a nag and go scurrying off over
fences and hedges. On one occasion, a boy who fancied himself as a
steeple-chaser bragged that he could give any fellow in the school the
pick of all the horses in Rugby town and beat him. A boy named Corbett
accepted the challenge, selecting as a mount the best fencer he could
find. The challenger picked the fastest horse in town. In the race the
fast horse refused several of the fences, so that Corbett won. After the
race the challenger blustered so much about the superiority of Corbett's
horse as a fencer that Corbett challenged him to swap horses and try
another race. This time Corbett was so careful in taking the fences
that he fell behind; yet he did not miss a single obstacle. On the
homestretch he gave his speedy animal the spurs, and, as he had planned,
sported in ahead amid wild enthusiasm from his friends. Of all this
Arnold took no notice. This so elated the boys that they got up a grand
steeple-chase, for which seven horses entered. At this juncture Arnold
sent for Corbett, and told him that he had winked at the first two races
only because if he had taken any notice of it he should have had to
expel both boys. He added that if the steeple-chase came off he would
expel every boy who rode or was present at it. There was no
steeple-chase. Soon after, however, a great national steeple-chase took
place at Dunchurch, a neighboring town, and Arnold "put the course in
bounds" for the day. The whole school went to see it, and every sensible
and manly boy must have been won over to his master's side.
[Illustration: RUGBY SCHOOL-HOUSE FROM THE CLOSE.]
Fights among the boys Arnold handled with similar moderation and
firmness. It had been the custom to settle quarrels by knock-out
contests somewhere out of bounds, where there was little or no chance of
interruption. Arnold ruled that all fights should take place within the
close--that is, in the great playing-field just behind the school--every
part of which his study windows overlooked. The penalty for the breach
of this rule was the expulsion of all parties concerned. The fight
between Tom Brown and Slogger Williams, which took place in the close
behind the chapel, was no child's play; but the appearance of the Doctor
at least cut it off short of manslaughter. Once fighting was put under
rules, it was in the plain road toward being suppressed altogether.