opinion with regard to the discipline of schoolboys, to Arnold's sole
influence would perhaps not be just. His plan of governing the school,
as I have said, was only a modification of that which Wykeham had framed
centuries earlier for his school at Winchester. In only one particular
did Arnold attempt to improve on Wykeham's plan. He tried to make the
sixth form report offenders to him for punishment. In the few cases in
which this was done the informers lost caste forever. The sixth form
would lick offenders, as upper boys have done, I suppose, ever since
Wykeham's day, but they wouldn't blab. It shows what a good plan Wykeham
established, that even Arnold couldn't better it. Arnold's ideas about
influencing his upper boys he seems also to have learned at Winchester.
When he was himself an upper boy his master once set him to construe a
hard passage in Thucydides, of whom he was so fond that later he edited
his works. When his master objected to the rendering, Arnold stood up
for it stoutly, even obstinately. "Very well," said the master, quietly,
"we will have some one who will construe it my way." Some hours after
school Arnold came to the master looking very crestfallen. "I have come
to tell you, sir, that I have found out I was wrong." "Ay, Arnold," said
the master, holding out his hand in forgiveness, "I knew you would
come." The question of kneeling to pray in the dormitory, over which Tom
Brown struggled so manfully in defence of Arthur, cropped out at other
public schools at the same time and even earlier. In a word, Arnold's
mastership at Rugby fell in a time when all matters of life not only in
public schools, but in general society, were being elevated and
purified. The prominent place which Rugby took in the general movement
was due partly to the fact that it was the most turbulent of the
schools, and partly to the fact that of all head masters Arnold was the
most manly, devout, and beloved.
Since Arnold's time, the work he began has been carried steadily on.
To-day the boys break bounds chiefly to go bicycling or to take a swim
in the Avon. Bullying is almost entirely a thing of the past. Of the old
fighting spirit little remains. The very site of Tom's famous encounter
is now occupied by the chancel of the new chapel, and choir-boys sing
whereof old Rattle, in his thunder-and-lightning waist-coat, wagered
"two to one in half-crowns on the big 'un." All this, of course, is as
it should be; but one of the masters admitted to me that spite and
backbiting are probably commoner than they were in the days of black
eyes and bloody noses. I could not help suspecting that if Tom Brown
were to come back to his old haunts he would find life pretty dull, and
perhaps even hanker for another encounter with the bully Flashman. It
would be a capital joke, I often think, to make a born reformer live in
a place that was just as he liked it.
All the dearest associations at Rugby, at any rate, have to do with the
fight that was fought in Arnold's time, and the most sacred landmarks
and customs are those which are mentioned in _Tom Brown_. As you are
shown through the school-house your guide points out the "double
study"--fully five feet by six--which is said to have been occupied by
Tom and Arthur. The boys who use it now, I am certain, never doubt that
an actual Tom Brown once lived in it. In the corridor, to be sure, the
top of the old hall table, with T. HUGHES carved boldly upon it in
capitals, is hung reverently upon the wall; but the explanation of this
is precisely that which a schoolboy once gave to the question of the
authorship of Homer. If _Tom Brown's School-Days_ was not about Tom
Brown, it was about another boy of the same name.
In one of the dormitories you will find the oak table on top of which
new boys were--and still are--made to sing. The rule is that they must
stand with their legs as wide astraddle as possible, and hold a lighted
candle in each hand. Your guide will show you the tin candle-guards or
"parishes" in which the candles were held. On the table beside the boy
is always placed a jug of drink, composed of beer, salt, mustard, soap,
and other savory ingredients, a swallow of which the new boy is made to
gulp down if he fails to sing a song. About the walls of the room are
ranged eleven little oak cots, beside one of which Arthur most certainly
knelt to pray on his first night in school. Or if you insist that Arthur
never lived, why, then, you remember that every fellow has knelt down,
or wished he dared to, on his first night of homesickness in a strange,
rough place.
The school-house dining-room stands almost exactly as it stood in Tom
Brown's days. There are tables all around the sides, and a table in the
middle. The small boys sit about the side tables, and, as the years go
by, move gradually around the room, until at last they are admitted to
the middle table. To sit here means much more than merely being in the
sixth form. At the side of the hall is the fireplace where Flashman
roasted Tom for refusing to sell the lottery ticket on Harkaway; and the
very benches stand beside it upon which the bully's head struck, a few
days later, when Tom and East finally got the better of him. From the
dining-room there are two doors leading into the quad, one through a
long and difficult passage, and the other opening directly upon it. The
little boys who sit at the side tables have to go out through the long
passage; only the big boys at the middle table can go out directly. For
a little boy to go out through the big boys' door would be unheard-of
arrogance. This, Rugbeians think, is an excellent custom, both because
it existed in Tom Brown's time, and because it teaches boys their
places. When I told my guide that it reminded me of the farmer who had a
big hole in his barn door for his cat, and a little hole for his kitten,
I think he thought me irreverent.
Across the court, outside the hall, are the turret stairs leading up to
the school-rooms where Arnold met his sixth form. Many a man who is now
old and gray remembers these rooms as the place where he learned more
about obedience and more about ruling vigorously and justly than he
might ever have known except for his head master at Rugby. The walls of
the rooms are covered with old table-tops, upon which are carved the
names of these ancient Rugbeians. The tables now in use are untouched.
If a boy carves so much as his initials, he has to have the wood planed
and polished, or pay the price of a new table. Fame, you see, comes
harder nowadays.
We walk out at last into the ample close. The three trees which used to
stand within the football-field are all gone; and many another
well-known tree was blown over in a recent wind-storm. Still, there are
plenty left for shade, and though one always grudges an old and
beautiful landmark, perhaps the football and cricket fields are better.
To an American, the Rugby close will always be of interest as the
birthplace and original home of that form of football which gave rise to
our own familiar game; but if he has read _Tom Brown_ in his boyhood, he
will think of it rather as the place where Tom made his entry to Rugby
life in the big-side football game, and where, with Arthur on his
eleven, he played his final game of cricket. About the close the
pleasantest memories of the school hover; and of all public schools
Rugby is the one which appeals most strongly to the democratic instincts
of an American. Here boys are equal not only by custom, as at Eton, but
by birth; and here many generations have learned to value themselves, in
Arnold's phrase, as Christians, gentlemen, and scholars.
To speak of the other public schools--Harrow, Westminster, Shrewsbury,
Marlborough, Wellington, Clifton, Repton, and the rest--would of course
be interesting, but I could scarcely hope to illustrate more clearly
what a public school really is. At all of them the boys live in
"houses," much as men at the universities live in colleges. At all the
discipline is more strict than is usual at our preparatory schools, and
at all the older boys have power to flog the younger, and are
responsible for their good behavior. To an American the discipline seems
too strict to be compatible with real independence, and the idea of a
big boy flogging a little one is brutal. Certainly it is not well for an
American boy to be sent to school in England. Yet granted the strictness
with which English parents bring up their children, and the careful
watch which is kept on young men at the universities, the public-school
system seems to me the best that could possibly be devised. Independence
of character and the power of using opportunities are perhaps not to be
looked for among English schoolboys; but from their stricter rules they
learn obedience and self-restraint, while from the exercise of power the
older boys learn to govern justly and with decision.
* * * * *
A GIRL'S BRAVE ACT.
"She will bear the marks of her fight the rest of her life." The doctor
who made this observation referred to Miss Anna McDowell, a young girl
of nineteen, who by her heroic act on the afternoon of November 22 has
gained an enviable reputation for bravery and presence of mind. The
heroine is a resident of Quakake Valley, Pennsylvania. A small trout
stream runs through the valley, skirting the main road. This stream was
a source of delight to little three-year-old Nettie Hinckle, who
constantly played on its banks and fished in its waters. Nettie was
fishing on the afternoon of the 22d when a whir of wings startled her,
and looking up she saw a giant bald-head eagle flying savagely towards
her. With screams of fright she started to run, but the bird fought her
back with his beak and talons.
Miss McDowell, who was passing, heard the screams and hastened to the
bank of the stream. Without hesitating, she seized the child and tore
her away from the eagle. This apparently served to enrage the bird
further, and, defeated in its attempt to carry off the child, it turned
its attention to the rescuer. It circled around, tearing at her with his
beak and talons in the most ferocious manner.
Nettie had fallen down on the ground, and the young girl stooped over,
guarding her, at the same time vainly trying to ward off the bird's
attacks. The bird grew more and more furious, and repeatedly dashed at
the girl, cutting ugly gashes in her shoulders and head. Without any
other means of defence, she used her arms to fight his onslaughts, but
strength was fast leaving her what with loss of blood and her high
nervous state of excitement.
In the struggle her hat became loose, and instantly she thought of her
hat-pin. It was one of the usual long, thin, steel pins, and drawing it
out she defended herself with it against the savage bird, who,
regardless of the stabs she gave, flew at her with renewed fury. Her
heart failed her and her strength was nearly gone. Why did not somebody
come? The bird had circled off, and was coming at her with a wild swoop,
his beak half open ready to tear, and his talons extended.
She grasped him around the neck as he struck at her, and holding him
with all the strength she had left, she thrust the hat-pin into his
head, fortunately killing him. At the same moment her senses left her,
and she stumbled forward on the ground, falling on the dead bird. Little
Nettie ran screaming to her house, a short distance away, and people
hurried to the scene. They tenderly lifted the brave girl up and took
care of her, as the bird had inflicted some bad wounds. Miss McDowell
proposes to have the bird stuffed to keep in her room as a memento of
the occasion, but the memory of her brave act will never be forgotten by
the people of her neighborhood.
FAMOUS CAVALRY CHARGES.
AT BEVERLY FORD.
BY RICHARD BARRY.
It is a fact that has been noted by many historians, in writing of the
actions in the civil war, that the sabre wounds that were reported at
the hospital were few and far between. This is easily accounted for in
the first two years of the war, for the reason that the Confederates,
from whom the Union forces learned the severest kind of lessons, used
their cavalry forces as dragoons, or mounted infantry. The celerity with
which they moved bodies on horseback from one point to another caused
consternation throughout the North. General McClellan, who had been, it
must be confessed, not very much impressed with the need of a cavalry
force, at last declared himself as almost helpless without this
assistance; and from this time on this branch of the service received
the attention so long denied it.
Although the Confederates could rightly point with pride to their
well-organized cavalry divisions, there can be no record prouder than
that of the First Cavalry Division, known as Buford's Cavalry. To quote
from the writings of Brigadier-General Wesley Merritt, "Its history
shows that from the time of its organization until the end of the war it
captured more men, horses, guns, and munitions than would equip it twice
over, and yet that during this time it never suffered a surprise, never
lost a wheel captured by the enemy, and never met the enemy but to
defeat it."
From the very day of the new organization that took place under General
Hooker the cavalry force of the Army of the Potomac began to live and
move, and the contempt that the victorious Southern horsemen held for
the riders of the North slowly diminished, until in its place was the
respect born of fear.
The Richmond _Examiner_, one of the strongest journals of the
Confederacy, thus speaks of the new order of things that began to exist.
This extract is taken from that issue which speaks of the great cavalry
fight at Beverly Ford:
"If the war was a tournament, invented and supported for the pleasure
and profit of a few vain and weak-headed officers, these disasters might
be dismissed with compassion; but the country pays dearly for the
blunders which encourage the enemy to overrun and devastate the land
with a cavalry which is daily learning to despise the mounted troops of
the Confederacy. It is high time that this branch of the service should
be reformed.
"The surprise of this occasion was the most complete that has occurred.
The Confederate cavalry was carelessly strewn over the country, with the
Rappahannock only between it and an enemy who has always proven his
enterprise to our cost. It is said that its camp was supposed to be
secure, because the Rappahannock was not supposed to be fordable at the
point where it was actually forded. What? Do Yankees, then, know more
about this river than our own soldiers, who have done nothing but ride
up and down its banks for the last six months?
"They knew at least the weather was dry, the water low, and that fifteen
or twenty horse, confident from impunity and success, were on the other
side. They could not have failed to know this much, and they were
surprised, caught at breakfast, made prisoners on foot, with guns empty
and horses grazing. Although the loss was insignificant, the events of
that morning were among the least creditable that have occurred. Later,
some of our best officers sacrificed their lives to redeem the day. A
very fierce fight ensued, in which it is said, for the first time in
this war, a considerable number of sabre wounds were given and received.
In the end, the enemy retired or was driven--it is not yet clearly known
which--across the river. Nor is it certainly known whether the fortunate
result was achieved by the cavalry alone or with the assistance of
Confederate infantry in the neighborhood."
From this account it may be seen that the Confederates regarded this
action as a surprise. Maybe it was, but the Union forces had been
preparing for it for some time. Some of the divisions had been in the
saddle, moving from one point to another, for hours, in full sight of
the Confederates on the further side of the Rappahannock.
At early dawn on the 9th of June, 1863, the Second Cavalry, with the
Fifth leading the regular brigade, moved out. But one small brigade had
passed over the river before them, led by Colonel B. F. Davis, of the
Eighth New York. With the muddied water of the river up to their
saddle-girths, several thousand men forded the stream without
opposition, and climbed the bank to the level land beyond, where the
Southern army was making ready with great haste to meet the advance of
the wide blue lines.
No sooner had the first division formed than a volley broke out from the
fringe of timber at the edge of the rising land, and in a charge upon
the enemy that had now marched into sight, Davis had fallen, mortally
wounded. This was the news that greeted the First, Second, and Fifth as
they ranged up from the river and climbed this slippery bank, furrowed
deep by the hoof-marks of the hundreds of horsemen that had preceded
them. It was about five o'clock in the morning, and with this advance
commenced the most memorable cavalry combat ever placed on record in any
war. For twelve hours' time the struggle continued, and it was not until
seven o'clock that the Second Cavalry left the field. Brave Captain
Canfield fell dead, shot through the body. Captain Rodenbough, who had
been despatched to the front, found his squadron hotly engaged.
Dismounting his men and taking possession of a stone wall, he defended
it against attacks of more than ten times his number, until his command
was relieved by the squadron under command of Captain Loeser.
But the well-directed artillery fire and the singing bullets of the
Confederate sharp-shooters from the hill were playing havoc with the
waiting ranks of the men in blue, who, awaiting the general orders to
advance, moved from one position to another as the Confederate
artillerists got range of them. At last the long-hoped-for order came
from General Buford, and the cavalry was ordered to advance and charge
the batteries and riflemen in the woods. The men on foot were captured
in their improvised defences, and forward rolled the Union line, a
battery of artillery keeping company with them. Now for some time
commenced an artillery battle, and then again the order was given to
charge. The column of platoons under rapid motion were broken into fours
to avoid a fence, and man after man scrambled over a sunken road, and
then stopping only for half a moment, rapidly to reform, hot of foot and
shouting, they rode with drawn sabres upon the hitherto invincible
Southerners, who, seated on their horses, had been waiting the order to
advance themselves.
It is a rule of cavalry fighting that no force of horsemen ever meet
another force while standing still, for with the impetus of quick
movement those in motion have force that would make up greatly for lack
of numbers. Unfortunately for the Confederates their regiment that had
charged the Union skirmishers, halted and broke before the main body of
troopers as they came flying up the hill, and now ensued one of the
strangest happenings of the war--the Southern line, stampeded and
broken, was mingled with the horsemen of the North. Sabre blows and
pistol-shots rang on every hand. No one halted to make prisoners, but
riding on in one great fighting charge, it became an individual
conflict, the victor never pausing to see how well he had done his work,
but surging in the wild rush for a fresh foeman worthy of his steel.
The Captains, Lieutenants, non-commissioned officers, privates, fought
boot to boot. Through the fierce heat and dust and smoke could be heard
the chough of the sabre or the cracking of the revolver. Up the hill and
across the plateau to the crest of the ridge they fought it out. So
weakened had the men's sword-arms become from continual blows and
parrying, that oftentimes two troopers of opposing sides rode on
together, neither having the strength to unhorse the other.
Rodenbough, a good swordsman, who had lost his best horse early in the
action, found himself opposite a tall Virginian, who also knew his
sword-play, and succeeded in wounding the gallant Captain. But an
instant later he was brought to the ground by a stroke of Rodenbough's
sabre. Captain Loeser was severely wounded, and his two Lieutenants
also.
[Illustration: SABRE BLOWS AND PISTOL SHOTS RANG ON EVERY HAND.]
Although the charge had swept everything before it, or at least along
with it, it was seen, when the top of the hill was gained, that fresh
bodies of troops were hurrying up from beyond in order to take advantage
of the confusion of the Union line. Obeying the hurried orders of their
officers and the call of the bugle, the Second whirled about and
returned to the rolling ground in order to reform and be in better
condition to meet the enemy. This regiment had defeated in its charge,
in a hand-to-hand fight, more than double its own number; its losses had
been terrible, but soon it was in condition to fight once more. But now
the battle had been renewed by the enemy's firing rifle and carbine from
the woods on the south. To quote from what General Wesley Merritt says
of his personal adventures during the charge:
"The charge was begun with the sabre, of course; but when the enemy
broke and fled, a number of us in advance drew our pistols, and enforced
our demands for surrender by rapid shots with our revolvers, still
riding at a charge, with sabres in hand. I had emptied my revolver, and
before returning it, rode at an officer whom, in the dust and smoke, I
thought to be refusing to surrender to one of my men. I brought my sabre
to a point, with the remark, 'Colonel, you are _my_ prisoner!' His reply
was more forcible than courteous, as, after a moment's surprise, he made
a cut at my head with his sabre. I partially parried the cut, and at the
same time Lieutenant Quirk called to me that we were surrounded and
alone. The rebels, who were all around us, then commenced a rapid fire
with their pistols, and must have been surprised to see Lieutenant Quirk
and myself, in spite of their firing and orders to surrender, ride
safely back to the regiment. A kindly Hibernian of the Second made good
my only personal loss by giving me the hat off his own head. From a
description of the officer who didn't surrender on this occasion,
General Buford was of the opinion that it was Colonel (afterwards
General) Wade Hampton."
He also related the following episode, which shows how close and upon
what _intimate_ relations the conflict had continued:
"As Sergeant-major Delacour was assisting Lieutenant Lennox from under
fire, a horseman in gray rode up and fired at the officer, who said,
'Don't shoot; I'm wounded!' With an oath the Confederate emptied another
barrel of his revolver within a few feet of Lennox's head, when
Delacour, pausing, drew his pistol, fired, and as the unfortunate
tumbled off his horse, coolly remarked, 'And now _you_ are wounded.'"
The account of every regiment was a repetition of this, except that the
Second engaged more men and suffered a heavier loss. Late in the day it
was relieved by the Sixth United States Cavalry--one of the few regular
bodies of mounted men in the service which was not separated into small
detachments.
But it was a great day for the mounted forces of the Union army.
Major-General Henry J. Hunt, Chief of Artillery of the Army of the
Potomac, says, in referring to this action: "This was in the main a true
cavalry battle, and enabled the Federals to dispute the superiority
hitherto claimed and conceded to the Confederate cavalry. Stuart
reported his losses at 485, of whom 301 were killed and wounded.
Pleasanton reports an aggregate loss of 907, of whom 421 were wounded."
The Second Cavalry alone lost, out of 225 men who were engaged, 68 in
killed and wounded, and 73 horses killed or disabled. "From that day,"
says Merritt, "the prestige of the Confederate cavalry was broken and
its superiority gone forever."
In a volume called _A Rebel War-clerk's Diary_ occurs the following
entry: "The surprise of Stuart on the Rappahannock has chilled every
heart. Notwithstanding it does not appear that we have lost more men in
the encounter, the question is on every tongue, 'Have our Generals
relaxed in vigilance?' If so, sad is the prospect."
Although the fact of this combat did not check Lee's advance materially,
it gave a confidence to our troops that bore fruit afterwards.
[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORTS]
The annual Thanksgiving-day game between Berkeley School and St. Paul's,
Garden City, resulted in a victory of 24-2 for St. Paul's. The
Long-Islanders fairly outclassed the Berkeley players, who have not been
quite up to the standard this year. If it had not been for carelessness
on the part of Pettit, Berkeley would not have scored. By lack of
judgment on the part of this half-back at a critical moment, St. Paul's
was forced to make a safety.
The feature of the game was Starr's kicking of goals. He had four
chances, and accepted them all, two of them being at good angles.
Berkeley had the kick-off, and Bien sent the ball down to St. Paul's
twenty-five-yard line, whence Pettit made a run of twenty yards before
he was stopped. The ball was kept going by steady advances, until it was
carried across the line. S. Starr caught the ball on the next kick-off,
and ran thirty-five yards, protected by good interference. When he was
downed, the ball was within fifteen yards of the line, and by a couple
of plunges through the centre, and Starr around the left end, St. Paul's
scored again.