the pupils sat at dinner. Quiet reigned here, broken only by a subdued
conversation at the masters' table, and the voice of a tutor who from a
desk at the upper end of the room read a Latin oration for the
entertainment of those present.
Samuel was conducted to a vacant seat at one of the long tables, where a
wooden bowl of soup and a slice of bread awaited him. These he quickly
despatched, and turning to the boy on his right, was about to inquire
modestly how he should get a fresh supply, when his neighbor hastily
pressed his finger to his lips, as a sign that speech was forbidden.
Samuel was surprised at this injunction, especially as he was still
hungry, and glancing about the board, he discovered that every other
bowl was as empty as his own, and that no single crumb of bread was to
be seen.
No one addressed him, but he was aware that numerous pairs of eyes were
fixed curiously upon him. He shrank from this open scrutiny, although
the boys at his table were all near his own age; and reddening, he gazed
persistently at his bowl.
"Ss--ss!" came in a soft hiss from a lad across the table.
"Ss--ss! Ss--ss!" cautiously echoed a dozen others.
Samuel wriggled uncomfortably in his chair, but to his surprise, his
neighbor on the right reached over and grasped his knee with friendly
force. Samuel instantly responded by seizing the stranger's knee, and,
fortified by this unlooked-for support, threw back his head and eyed in
turn each lad at the table. There was something in his fearless glance
that caused the hisses quickly to subside; and when the bell rang, and
the students trooped out, no word of challenge was offered to him.
Moreover, no other kind of words came either, for it was the hour of
recreation, and the boys swarmed the campus, shouting, whistling,
singing, and engaging in various athletic games. The most popular sports
seemed to be leap-frog and basting-the-bear, for groups everywhere were
indulging in these rollicking pastimes.
Samuel stood alone watching, for even his neighbor at table had joined
the merry-makers. He decided that if he wished to become one of them he
must make a bold move; so, marching up to one of the leap-frog
companies, he ventured to enter the game. The effort was quickly foiled,
however, for one pupil seized him by the leg, another by the hair,
while twenty voices shouted at once,--
"Clear out! Don't you know you can't play with us till you get your blue
coat?"
Samuel retired, much crestfallen, wondering when he should be promoted
to the prevailing uniform. He wandered up and down the schoolyard,
watching here, watching there, hearing never a word of greeting, nor
meeting with a friendly nod or smile. At length he came upon an outer
stairway, which seemed to lead somewhere, and climbing it, more with the
desire to get away from the hordes of strangers than to explore the
premises, he came out upon a flat, leaded roof. Resting his folded arms
upon the parapet, he stood gazing at the evening sky, solitary and sad.
Up to him came the shouts of the students and the roar of the city's
noises, and for the first time since he had come to London, his heart
turned back with a mighty longing to the fields, the river, and the
simple folk of his native village. If only he might hear the lapping of
the water and the tinkling of the sheep bells, he would give all that he
possessed in the world. He thought of his mother and of his big brother
Luke, and the vision of their faces came before him with such startling
plainness that he set his teeth and clenched his hands to stem the tide
of homesickness that surged over him.
At sound of the deep-toned bell, he hurried down the stair, suspecting
that the slender supper was about to be supplemented by a tea or
luncheon of some sort; but he was mistaken, for, although the western
sky was still ablaze, the boys were filing toward the dormitories.
"This way, Coleridge," called the steward, appearing on the green.
"Where are they going?" inquired Samuel.
"To bed," rejoined the other briefly.
"To bed!" ejaculated Samuel; "why, it's only seven o'clock!"
"Seven is the hour for bed at this school," explained the other
shortly, and Samuel gathered from his tone that further comment would be
unacceptable.
Awakened next morning by the signal bell, Samuel sat up in his narrow
cot and blinked sleepily. Across his bed was thrown a complete uniform
such as the other boys wore, and springing up, he gladly donned the
costume, and marched down with the others.
At breakfast he sat in the same seat he had occupied last night, and his
right-hand neighbor greeted him with a cordial pinch on the arm.
The meal this morning consisted of a quarter-of-a-penny-loaf, on a
wooden plate, and a small leathern cup of beer. Samuel was accustomed to
rich country milk, fruit, and vegetables; but with yesterday's hunger
still unappeased, he could not afford to be fastidious. In a twinkling
the bread and beer had disappeared, and he was unconsciously glancing
about in search of some one who would serve him with more, when he
chanced to notice that every plate and cup at the table was swept
clean, and that the lads were shifting about in their chairs as though
anxious to be dismissed. Then it was that Samuel realized with a curious
pang that plates were never refilled at Christ's Hospital, and that the
allowance was always distressingly small. Almost as hungry as when he
had sat down, he rose with the others and passed outside.
He was about to speak to his table neighbor, when that young person
suddenly set off for the high iron palings. Without stood a half-grown
girl, holding a little basket on her arm, and when the boy came up with
her, she took something from the tiny hamper, and passed it through the
fence. That the gift was in the nature of food of some sort, Samuel
discovered from the alacrity with which the boy proceeded to devour it;
and the lad from Devonshire stood watching the operation with the
strangest of gnawing sensations inside him. Other boys looked greedily
at this spectacle, but went about their affairs as though the sight
were a familiar one; and Samuel, following their example, was turning
mechanically away when a beckoning gesture from the lad at the fence
called him thither.
"Here, I like you, and I'll give you a bit. Come on!"
Before Samuel had time to accept or decline, the stranger had crowded
into his hand a hot roll, and was all but pouring a small can of tea
down his throat.
"Thank you--it's fine," gurgled Samuel, "but I don't want to take the
things you ought to have."
"I can spare some. You see I'm ashamed to have this stuff brought to me
when the other boys can't get any, but when it comes, I'm so starved I
eat it anyway. My sister brings a little breakfast over every day, for
our house isn't very far away, and it helps out, I can tell you. Here's
another piece of crust. Eat it, quick, for I know you want it."
Samuel accepted the proffered fragments gladly, frankly confessing that
he had not felt quite satisfied at breakfast.
"Oh, we never have enough here," remarked the other calmly. "Wednesdays
are the best, for then they give us meat stew; but that happens only one
day in seven."
While Samuel swallowed the pleasing morsels, he keenly examined the face
of his generous host. The strange boy was apparently a year or two
younger than himself, slightly Jewish in appearance, and very handsome.
He was frail-looking, with curling black hair, bright dark eyes, and
sensitive lips. His expression was thoughtful, and something in his
impulsive manner had attracted Samuel from the beginning.
"What's your name?" demanded the younger lad, when Samuel had finished
his unexpected breakfast.
"Samuel Taylor Coleridge. What's yours?"
"Charles Lamb; and this is my sister Mary."
The girl smiled prettily, and waving her basket as she turned to go,
called back, "You must come to see us some time with Charles."
Samuel thanked her and promised; and as the bell rang, summoning the
pupils to lessons, he inquired,--
"How many boys are there here?"
"Six hundred."
"Plus one, now I've come."
"I like you," declared Charles again, linking his arm with that of the
new boy, as they fell into line.
"I like you, too," responded the other warmly; and so began a friendship
that grew stronger with each succeeding day.
Samuel was speedily installed in school work, and having been a
book-lover from the age of three, he was placed in a class of boys who
were generally older than himself. With these he made friends at once,
for his originality, both in work and play, won the admiration of the
lads. With the teachers, too, Samuel fared better than most, for while
James Bowyer was not a man to be trifled with, having always a birch
twig within reach for the correction of young offenders, his wrath
seldom descended upon pupils so apt as Samuel.
"But," cautioned Charles, "look out for Jemmy Bowyer when he wears his
passy wig!" He meant _passionate_, for on some occasions the head master
appeared in the school-room with his smooth and carefully powdered wig
replaced by an old, unkempt, and discolored one, and woe to the pupil
who failed in his lessons or otherwise displeased him while thus
decorated! His head-dress was the barometer that warned the boys of his
moods, and they modelled their conduct accordingly.
Mr. Bowyer was a conscientious teacher, who desired to give the lads
most thorough and careful instruction, and the boys who studied
earnestly were safe from the touch of his rod except on the days when
he wore the "passy wig." Then his temper was most uncertain, and worker
and laggard alike were frequently brought to judgment.
At the end of a week, Samuel felt as though he had been a member of
Christ's Hospital for a long, long time. Each day was spent like every
other day, and he soon found himself going through the routine of study,
recitation, play, and sleep as familiarly as the oldest student there.
On Saturday morning Charles said,--
"This is our weekly holiday, you know. Where will you go?"
"Nowhere, I suppose," replied Samuel. "My uncle has left town, and I
don't know anybody else in London, so I think I'll have to stay here."
"You can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because nobody is allowed to stay inside the grounds on leave-days. We
are all turned out as soon as breakfast is over, the gates are locked,
and we can't come in again until evening."
"But surely they won't send us out who have no friends in London!"
"Oh, yes, they will. But come along, and we'll spend the day together
somewhere. I'm not going home this time, because my people are away at
work."
At eight o'clock six hundred boys filed into Newgate Street and
scattered in all directions. For those whose parents resided in town,
this weekly holiday was always most welcome; but to the boys who had
neither kindred nor friends within reach, the enforced leave-day was
often a difficult one.
To-day Samuel and Charles walked about the streets for a time, then made
their way to the bank of the New River. Here, to Samuel's delight, green
fields stretched before them, birds twittered in the trees, and sleek
cows browsed along the shore.
"Oh, oh!" he exclaimed, "this is almost as good as the real country."
With one accord the boys snatched off their garments and plunged into
the stream. Both were good swimmers, and they splashed about, diving,
floating, and showing their skill in various ways, until they grew
tired. Ascending the bank, they dressed quickly and wandered farther up
the stream. For a while they threw stones into the current, watching the
eddies widen from each pebble that sank into the water; and after a time
they lounged against a convenient tree, Samuel relating stories that he
had read of ancient heroes, and Charles eagerly listening.
"I wonder what time it is," hinted the latter at length.
"Not much past noon," replied Samuel, glancing at the sun with the
experienced eye of the country-bred.
"Wouldn't it be fine if we were cows, with a whole field-full of dinner
spread before us," murmured Charles, gazing at the Alderneys beyond.
"And see how fat that bird is! He must eat four or five meals every
day!" exclaimed Samuel; then hastening to turn the conversation to
topics less vital, he asked genially,--
"What things do you like best in the world?"
"Let me see," mused Charles; "yes, I know very well. I like money,
vegetables, and my sister Mary. What do you?"
"Homes, churches, trees, and old people's faces," returned Samuel
promptly. "What shall we do now,--go back into town?"
"Not yet, for if we do, we must keep on walking for four or five hours."
"Let's go swimming again, then."
"I'm with you," and a minute later they descended into the river for the
second time.
Both were almost as much at home in water as on land, and they swam
about, teaching one another aquatic tricks until they became quite
breathless. Making for the shore, they climbed weakly up the bank, and
only partially robing, dropped side by side upon the sward.
Overcome by fatigue, Charles fell asleep, while Samuel lay panting and
composing verses about the Seven Champions of Christendom.
Finally they rose, languid and drooping, and trudged back to the school
in Newgate Street, sorry that their holiday was done, but thankful for
the supper, however meagre, that would presently be served to them.
As the weeks passed by and summer slowly gave place to autumn, Samuel
made rapid progress in his classes. He studied almost constantly, not
that he meant to be especially dutiful, but because he loved printed
pages better than any other company. He was born with a thirst for
books, which made him con his lessons eagerly in the absence of other
and more entertaining volumes; and at Christ's Hospital the boys had no
access to books of any kind besides the text-books used in their regular
courses.
With no fresh stories, histories, or poems to feed his ravenous young
mind, Samuel was obliged to dwell upon the tales and truths he had read
before coming to London. He soon became known among the students as a
capital storyteller, and often he would be found seated tailor-fashion
in a remote corner of the playground, surrounded by a dozen choice
spirits who listened open-eyed and open-mouthed to his dramatic
recitals.
One Saturday in November he was walking down the Strand. Charles had
gone to spend this leave-day with his parents, and Samuel was tramping
about the streets alone. His thoughts were busy with his favorite hero,
Leander, and so absorbed did he become in the story that he entirely
forgot the presence of the crowds in the busy thoroughfare. Reviewing
the stirring scene when Leander swims the Hellespont to visit the
priestess, on the opposite shore, Samuel unconsciously threw out both
arms as though buffeting the waves, and one hand smartly rapped the coat
tails of a respectable gentleman walking immediately before him.
Samuel started in confusion at being brought back so suddenly from
Grecian clouds to London pavements, and offered a stammering apology;
but the citizen wheeled abruptly, grasped his arm, and frowned down upon
him with mingled horror and distaste.
"What! So young and so wicked! Who could believe that a stripling like
you would attempt to pick my pocket in broad daylight! Mm--mm!"
"You're mistaken, you're mistaken, indeed you are," protested Samuel; "I
was thinking about Leander crossing the Hellespont, and I must have been
swimming too. I didn't even see you, sir, truly I didn't."
"Leander! Well, my young gentleman, what do you know about Leander?"
Samuel explained that he had read and re-read all the mythical tales of
Greece, and that he often thought them over for amusement.
The stranger's expression softened.
"You are fond of books, then?"
"I love 'em, sir!"
"Do you read every day?"
"Not since I came to London, for we have no books except our lesson
books at school."
"Mm--mm! Should you like to read if you had the opportunity?"
"Wouldn't I?" burst out Samuel, with enthusiasm.
"I think we can arrange matters then. A boy who swims with Leander down
London Strand, causing people to take him for a sneak thief, ought
surely to have books to read," and pressing a yellow card into Samuel's
hand, he continued,--
"This is a ticket to a circulating library in Cheapside. By showing this
to the librarian you can draw as many books as you like. Good day, my
young gentleman!"
Without waiting to hear Samuel's exclamations of gratitude, the
stranger was off, leaving the boy overjoyed in the street.
From that day the school life was made more bearable by the precious
fruit of the yellow ticket. Hunger, cold, loneliness, and punishments
were daily forgotten in the adventures of knights of old. Samuel took
all risks in slipping out to get the books, but, fortunately, he was
never detected, and he proceeded to read straight through the library at
the rate of two volumes daily.
The ruggedness of his present life, however, could not be entirely
smoothed by stories and poetry. Christ's Hospital did not differ from
other charity schools of the time in its discipline and arrangements for
the welfare of its inmates; and indeed many of the great schools of
England, Germany, and France, whose walls could be entered only by the
payment of extravagant fees, were similarly conducted. Instructors had
not yet learned that young bodies should be cared for as zealously as
young brains, and that happiness promotes better work than does
distress. They managed their schools exactly as had their fathers before
them, deeming it the most natural thing in the world that growing boys
should be poorly nourished and poorly warmed.
As winter drew on, Samuel yearned deeply for his home. He pictured to
himself the family in the comfortable old house in Devonshire, and his
thoughts clung so feverishly to the images of his mother and his big
brother Luke that even his dreams enfolded them, and often he awoke
weeping in the night. He could not inform the loved ones of his dreary
condition, for all letters written by the students were read by the
masters before being posted, and if unfavorable comments were found
therein, the notes were promptly destroyed.
Charles Lamb was ever Samuel's greatest solace. They met their little
world together, fighting, dreaming, hoping, and depending upon each
other for company at all times. Both were gayly disposed and many were
the daring pranks they played on their mates and upon each other. The
leave-days were almost the hardest of the week for Samuel, as Charles
usually went home, and he was left to walk the streets alone from
morning till night. Sometimes he, too, paid a visit to the Lambs, but
finding that they were very poor and very busy people, he feared that
his presence might seem an intrusion, so he usually stayed away.
One winter's day Samuel was walking slowly round Newgate market. He had
no interest in Newgate market, but he must walk somewhere, and this was
as good a place as any. A cold rain beat pitilessly upon his uncovered
head, and from time to time he drew his blue coat more closely about
him. Everyone but himself seemed in a hurry to get to places of shelter,
and occasionally persons would pause to stare curiously at the lad who
stood motionless in the downpour, gazing listlessly into shop windows.
Whenever he found a deserted stair or vestibule, he stole in and read
until he was curtly despatched by owner or policeman. Round and round
the square he trod, jaded, famished, waiting for the hours to drag
themselves by.
Suddenly revolting at the sights and sounds of the market, Samuel
hurried into a by-street, turning to the right here, to the left there,
bent only upon leaving the deadly familiar spot behind. On he went,
shivering and footsore. On he went, purposeless and oppressed. He was
usually able to gather odd bits of pleasure and information from these
weekly excursions, but to-day the city seemed like a dull and winding
lane, where one had no choice but to walk and walk until nightfall
brought the end. Even cathedrals, bird-stores, and persons attired in
black, which ordinarily proved highly diverting, failed to arrest his
attention, and he tramped the flooded pavements hour after hour and mile
upon mile.
Finally he halted before a toy-shop whose windows looked into a narrow
court, and was glancing over the display of balls, dolls, and
fishing-rods, when a delicious odor of cooked food greeted him from
behind. Samuel faced about so sharply that he almost sent a baker's boy
sprawling, who chanced to be turning into the court with a huge basket
on his shoulder.
"Look out! Look out! Would you try to upset a hard-workin' cove?" bawled
the white-capped 'prentice; but Samuel allowed him to pass unanswered,
for with the whiff of meaty fragrance his stomach gave a furious lurch,
and his head seemed about to swim off his shoulders. He swayed
unsteadily, caught blindly at the window ledge, and leaned his forehead
against the dripping stone as he struggled to regain his self-command.
"Blue Coat!"
The name was shouted into his ear, and Samuel was dizzily conscious of
being collared from behind, while a strong arm pulled him smartly erect.
"I beg your pardon, sir," quavered the boy, alarmed at the gruff tone
and iron hand. Twisting his head about, he got a glimpse of a very fat
man with a round red face and protruding blue eyes.
"What made ye look so hard at my baker's boy? Anything wrong?"
"No-o!"
"Must ha' been. You glared after him like a tiger."
"Nothing was the matter except I was so hungry,--and--when I smelled the
bread and meat--I couldn't help it, I suppose."
For the first time since he had become a pupil at Christ's Hospital,
Samuel gave voice to his privations, and, unmanned by sheer want and
exhaustion, the truth came out, while tears of misery rained down his
pallid cheeks.
"Hungry!" The ejaculation came like the report of a small cannon.
Samuel could only nod in speechless, desperate assent.
"Come in here!" roared the captor, enforcing his order with a ferocious
tug at the blue collar.
Samuel feared that he had somehow trespassed upon the big man's rights,
and that punishment was likely to follow. He longed vaguely to run, but
weakness held him chained, and he felt himself being pushed before his
jailer through the toy-shop and into a small parlor at the rear.
"Mother! This Blue Coat is so hungry that he nearly devoured our dinner
through his eyes as the baker brought it in."
"Hungry?" echoed a piping feminine voice, and from the farther corner of
the parlor a little woman approached with a napkin thrown over her arm.
"Sakes alive, ain't you had no dinner over to the school?" she asked in
a motherly tone that set Samuel's heart beating.
"No. We don't have any dinner on Saturdays. They give us a little
supper when we go back," and Samuel explained the holiday system.
"What, then, did you have for breakfast?"
"A slice of bread and a cup of beer."
"How perfectly outraging! Our dinner is just ready, so sit up to the
table as quick as you can. 'Tain't a fancy meal, but it's good enough to
fill up a hollow, faintin' stomach. How perfectly outraging!"
Before Samuel could consent or object, he was thrust into a chair at the
small round table, where several steaming dishes awaited the pleasure of
the party. Host and hostess took their places, and a heaped-up plate was
speedily set before the astonished guest.
"Eat that slice of hot mutton," adjured the woman pleasantly; "and after
that, you'll find those potatoes and beans pretty satisfyin'."
The substantial repast seemed a kingly banquet to Samuel, and he ate
with almost wolfish appreciation. His plate was like the widow's cruse
of oil, which was promptly refilled as soon as emptied; and the fat man
and the little woman looked on, the while, with benevolence shining from
their faces.
"Now," said the hostess, when Samuel could take no more, not even a
second slice of currant pudding, "while we sip our tea, we'll tell each
other who each other is. My husband over there is Mr. Crispin, and I'm
Mrs. Crispin. He has the toy-shop that you came through, and he is a
shoemaker, besides. We never had any children, and we just live along
here, contented with what good things we have. Now Mr. Crispin is the
best man in the world--"