"We were, fair queen,Two lads that thought there was no more behind,But such a day to-morrow as to-day,And to be boy eternal."--WINTER'S TALE, i. 2.
The holidays were over. Vernon was to have a tutor at Fairholm, and Eric was to return alone, and be received into Dr. Rowlands' house.
As he went on board the steam-packet, he saw numbers of the well-known faces on deck, and merry voices greeted him.
"Hallo, Williams! here you are at last," said Duncan, seizing his hand. "How have you enjoyed the holidays? It's so jolly to see you again."
"So you're coming as a boarder," said Montagu, "and to our noble house, too. Mind you stick up for it, old fellow. Come along, and let's watch whether the boats are bringing any more fellows; we shall be starting in a few minutes."
"Ha! there's Russell," said Eric, springing to the gangway, and warmly shaking his friend's hand as he came on board.
"Have your father and mother gone, Eric?" said Russell, after a few minutes' talk.
"Yes," said Eric, turning away his head, and hastily brushing his eyes. "They are on their way back to India."
"I'm so sorry," said Russell; "I don't think anyone has ever been so kind to me as they were."
"And they loved you, Edwin, dearly, and told me, almost the last thing, that they hoped we should always be friends. Stop! they gave me something for you." Eric opened his carpet-bag, and took out a little box carefully wrapped up, which he gave to Russell. It contained a pretty silver watch, and inside the case was engraved--"Edwin Russell, from the mother of his friend Eric."
The boy's eyes glistened with joyful surprise. "How good they are," he said; "I shall write and thank Mrs. Williams directly we get to Roslyn."
They had a fine bright voyage, and arrived that night. Eric, as a new comer, was ushered at once into Dr. Rowlands' drawing-room, where the head master was sitting with his wife and children. His greeting was dignified, but not unkindly; and, on saying "good night," he gave Eric a few plain words of affectionate advice.
At that moment Eric hardly cared for advice. He was full of life and spirits, brave, bright, impetuous, tingling with hope, in the flush and flower of boyhood. He bounded down the stairs, and in another minute entered the large room where all Dr. Rowlands' boarders assembled, and where most of them lived, except the few privileged sixth form, and other boys who had "studies." A cheer greeted his entrance into the room. By this time most of the Rowlandites knew him, and were proud to have him among their number. They knew that he was clever enough to get them credit in the school, and, what was better still, that he would be a capital accession of strength to the cricket and football. Except Barker, there was not one who had not a personal liking for him, and on this occasion even Barker was gracious.
The room in which Eric found himself was large and high. At one end was a huge fire-place, and there was generally a throng of boys round the great iron fender, where, in cold weather, a little boy could seldom get. The large windows opened on the green playground; and iron bars prevented any exit through them. This large room, called "the boarders' room," was the joint habitation of Eric and some thirty other boys; and at one side ran a range of shelves and drawers, where they kept their books and private property. There the younger Rowlandites breakfasted, dined, had tea, and, for the most part, lived. Here, too, they had to get through all such work as was not performed under direct supervision. How many and what varied scenes had not that room beheld! had those dumb walls any feeling, what worlds of life and experience they would have acquired! If against each boy's name, as it was rudely cut on the oak panels, could have been also cut the fate that had befallen him, the good that he had there learnt, the evil that he had there suffered--whatnoblehistories would the records unfold of honor and success, of baffled temptations and hard-won triumphs; whatawfulhistories of hopes blighted and habits learned, of wasted talents and ruined lives!
The routine of school-life was on this wise:--At half-past seven the boys came down to prayers, which were immediately followed by breakfast. At nine they went into school, where they continued, with little interruption, till twelve. At one they dined, and, except on half-holidays, went into school again from two till five. The lock-up bell rang at dusk; at six o'clock they had tea--which was a repetition of breakfast, with leave to add to it whatever else they liked--and immediately after sat down to "preparation," which lasted from seven till nine. During this time one of the masters was always in the room, who allowed them to read amusing books, or employ themselves in any other quiet way they liked, as soon as ever they had learnt their lessons for the following day. At nine Dr. Rowlands came in and read prayers, after which the boys were dismissed to bed.
The arrangement of the dormitories was peculiar. They were a suite of rooms, exactly the same size, each opening into the other; six on each side of a lavatory, which occupied the space between them, so that, when all the doors were open, you could see from one end of the whole range to the other. The only advantage of this arrangement was, that one master walking up and down could keep all the boys in order while they were getting into bed. About a quarter of an hour was allowed for this process, and then the master went along the rooms putting out the lights. A few of the "study-boys" were allowed to sit up till ten, and their bedrooms were elsewhere. The consequence was, that in these dormitories the boys felt perfectly secure from any interruption. There were only two ways by which a master could get at them; one up the great staircase, and through the lavatory; the other by a door at the extreme end of the range, which led into Dr. Rowlands' house, but was generally kept locked.
In each dormitory slept four or five boys, distributed by their order in the school list, so that, in all the dormitories, there were nearly sixty; and of these a goodly number were, on Eric's arrival, collected in the boarders' room, the rest being in their studies, or in the classrooms which some were allowed to use in order to prevent too great a crowd in the room below.
At nine o'clock the prayer-bell rang. Immediately all the boarders took their seats for prayers, each with an open Bible before him; and when the school servants had also come in, Dr. Rowlands read a chapter, and offered up an extempore prayer. While reading, he generally interspersed a few pointed remarks or graphic explanations, and Eric learnt much in this simple way. The prayer, though short, was always well suited to the occasion, and calculated to carry with it the attention of the worshippers.
Prayers over, the boys noisily dispersed to their bed rooms, and Eric found himself placed in a room immediately to the right of the lavatory, occupied by Duncan, Graham, Llewellyn, and two other boys named Bull and Attlay, all in the same form with himself They were all tired with their voyage, and the excitement of coming back to school, so that they did not talk much that night, and before long Eric was fast asleep, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming that he should have a very happy life at Roslyn school, and seeing himself win no end of distinctions, and make no end of new friends.
"We are not worst at once; the course of evilBegins so slowly, and from such slight source,An infant's hand might stop the breach with clay;But let the stream grow wider, and Philosophy--Ay, and Religion too--may strive in vainTo stem the headlong current!"--ANON.
With intense delight Eric heard it announced next morning, when the new school-list was read, that he had got his remove into the "Shell," as the form was called which intervened between the fourth and the fifth. Russell, Owen, and Montagu also got their removes with him, but his other friends were left for the present in the form below.
Mr. Rose, hiss new master, was in every respect a great contrast with Mr. Gordon. He was not so brilliant in his acquirements, nor so vigorous in his teaching, and therefore clever boys did not catch fire from him so much as from the fourth-form master. But he was a far truer and deeper Christian; and, with no less scrupulous a sense of honor, and detestation of every form of moral obliquity, he never yielded to those storms of passionate indignation which Mr. Gordon found it impossible to control. Disappointed in early life, subjected to the deepest and most painful trials, Mr. Rose's fine character had come out like gold from the flame. He now lived in and for the boys alone, and his whole life was one long self-devotion to their service and interests. The boys felt this, and even the worst of them, in their worst moments, loved and honored Mr. Rose. But he was not seeking for gratitude, which he neither expected nor required; he asked no affection in return for his self-denials; he worked with a pure spirit of human and self-sacrificing love, happy beyond all payment if ever he were instrumental in saving one of his charge from evil, or turning one wanderer from the error of his ways.
He was an unmarried man, and therefore took no boarders himself, but lived in the school-buildings, and had the care of the boys in Dr. Rowlands' house.
Such was the master under whom Eric was now placed, and the boy was sadly afraid that an evil report would have reached his ears, and given him already an unfavorable impression. But he was soon happily undeceived. Mr. Rose at once addressed him with much kindness, and he felt that, however bad he had been before, he would now have an opportunity to turn over a new leaf, and begin again a career of hope. He worked admirably at first, and even beat, for the first week or two, his old competitors, Owen and Russell.
From the beginning, Mr. Rose took a deep interest in him. Few could look at the boy's bright blue eyes and noble face without doing so, and the more when they knew that his father and mother were thousands of miles away, leaving him alone in the midst of so many dangers. Often the master asked him, and Russell, and Owen, and Montagu, to supper with him in the library, which gave them the privilege of sitting up later than usual, and enjoying a more quiet and pleasant evening than was possible in the noisy rooms. Boys and master were soon quite at home with each other, and in this way Mr. Rose had an opportunity of instilling many a useful warning without the formality of regular discipline or stereotyped instruction.
Eric found the life of the "boarders' room" far rougher than he had expected. Work was out of the question there, except during the hours of preparation, and the long dark winter evenings were often dull enough. Sometimes, indeed, they would all join in some regular indoor boys' game like "baste the bear," or "high-cockolorum;" or they would have amusing "ghost-hunts," as they called them, after some dressed-up boy among the dark corridors and staircases. This was good enough fun, but at other times they got tired of games, and could not get them up, and then numbers of boys felt the idle time hang heavy on their hands. When this was the case, some of the worse sort, as might have been expected, would fill up their leisure with bullying or mischief.
For some time they had a form of diversion which disgusted and annoyed Eric exceedingly. On each of the long iron-bound deal tables were placed two or three tallow candles in tin candlesticks, and this was the only light the boys had. Of course, these candles often, wanted snuffing, and as snuffers were sure to be thrown about and broken as soon as they were brought into the room, the only resource was to snuff them with the fingers, at which all the boys became great adepts from necessity. One evening Barker, having snuffed the candle, suddenly and slyly put the smouldering wick unnoticed on the head of a little quiet inoffensive fellow named Wright, who happened to be sitting next to him. It went on smouldering for some time without Wright's perceiving it, and at last Barker, highly delighted, exclaimed--
"I see a chimney," and laughed.
Four or five boys looked up, and very soon every one in the room had noticed the trick except little Wright himself, who unconsciously wrote on at the letter he was sending home.
Eric did not like this; but not wishing to come across Barker again, said nothing, and affected not to have observed. But Russell said quietly, "There's something on your head, Wright," and the little boy putting up his hand, hastily brushed off the horrid wick.
"What a shame!" he said, as it fell on his letter, and made a smudge.
"Who told you to interfere?" said Barker, turning fiercely to Russell. Russell, as usual, took not the slightest notice of him, and Barker, after a little more bluster, repeated the trick on another boy. This time Russell thought that every one might be on the look out for himself, and so went on with his work. But when Barker again chanted maliciously--
"I see a chimney," every boy who happened to be reading or writing, uneasily felt to discover this time he was himself the victim or no; and so things continued for half an hour.
Ridiculous and disgusting as this folly was, it became, when constantly repeated, very annoying. A boy could not sit down to any quiet work without constant danger of having some one creep up behind him and put the offensive fragment of smoking snuff on his head; and neither Barker nor any of his little gang of imitators seemed disposed to give up their low mischief.
One night, when the usual exclamation was made, Eric felt sure, from seeing several boys looking at him, that this time some one had been treating him in the same way. He indignantly shook his head, and sure enough the bit of wick dropped off. Eric was furious, and springing up, he shouted--
"By Jove! Iwon'tstand this any longer."
"You'll have to sit it then," said Barker.
"O, it wasyouwho did it, was it? Then take that;" and, seizing one of the tin candlesticks, Eric hurled it at Barker's head. Barker dodged, but the edge of it cut open his eyebrow as it whizzed by, and the blood flowed fast.
"I'll kill you for that," said Barker, leaping at Eric, and seizing him by the hair.
"You'll get killed yourself then, you brute," said Upton, Russell's cousin, a fifth-form boy, who had just come into the room--and he boxed his ears as a premonitory admonition. "But, I say, young un," continued he to Eric, "this kind of thing won't do, you snow. You'll get into rows if you shy candlesticks at fellows' heads at that rate."
"He has been making the room intolerable for the last month by his filthy tricks," said Eric hotly; "some one must stop him, and I will somehow, if no one else does."
"It wasn't I who put the thing on your head, you passionate young fool," growled Barker.
"Who was it then? How was I to know? You began it."
"You shut up, Barker," said Upton; "I've heard of your ways before, and when I catch you at your tricks, I'll teach you a lesson. Come up to my study, Williams, if you like."
Upton was a fine sturdy fellow of eighteen, immensely popular in the school for his prowess and good looks. He hated bullying, and often interfered to protect little boys, who accordingly idolised him, and did anything he told them very willingly. He meant to do no harm, but he did great harm. He was full of misdirected impulses, and had a great notion of being manly, which he thought consisted in a fearless disregard of all school rules, and the performance of the wildest tricks. For this reason he was never very intimate with his cousin Russell, whom he liked very much, but who was too scrupulous and independent to please him. Eric, on the other hand, was just the boy to take his fancy, and to admire him in return; his life, strength, and pluck, made him a ready pupil in all schemes of mischief, and Upton, who had often noticed him, would have been the first to shudder had he known how far his example went to undermine all Eric's lingering good resolutions, and ruin for ever the boy of whom he was so fond.
From this time Eric was much in Upton's study, and constantly by his side in the playground. In spite of their disparity in age and position in the school, they became sworn friends, though, their friendship was broken every now and then by little quarrels, which united them all the more closely after they had not spoken to each other perhaps for a week.
"Your cousin Upton has 'taken up' Williams," said Montagu to Russell one afternoon, as he saw the two strolling together on the beach, with Eric's arm in Upton's.
"Yes, I am sorry for it."
"So am I. We shan't see so much of him now."
"O, that's not my only reason," answered Russell, who had a rare habit of always going straight to the point.
"You mean you don't like the 'taking-up' system."
"No, Montagu; I used once to have fine theories about it. I used to fancy that a big fellow would do no end of good to one lower in the school, and that the two would stand to each other in the relation of knight to squire. You know what the young knights were taught, Monty--to keep their bodies under, and bring them into subjection; to love God, and speak the truth always. That sounds very grand and noble to me. But when a big fellow takes up a little oneyouknow pretty well thatthoseare not the kind of lessons he teaches."
"No, Russell; you're quite right. It's bad for a fellow in every way. First of all, it keeps him in an unnatural sort of dependence; then ten to one it makes him conceited, and prevents his character from really coming out well. And besides, the young chap generally gets paid out in kicks and abuse from the jealousy and contempt of the rest; and if his protector happens to leave, or anything of that kind, woe betide him!"
"No fear for Eric in that line, though," said Russell; "he can hold his own pretty well against any one. And after all, he is a most jolly fellow. I don't think even Upton will spoil him; it's chiefly the soft self-indulgent fellows, who are all straw and no iron, who get spoilt by being 'taken up.'"
Russell was partly right. Eric learnt a great deal of harm from Upton, and the misapplied hero-worship led to bad results. But he was too manly a little fellow, and had too much self-respect, to sink into the effeminate condition which usually grows on the young delectables who have the misfortune to be "taken up."
Nor did he in the least drop his old friends, except Owen. A coolness grew up between the latter and Eric, not unmingled with a little mutual contempt. Eric sneered at Owen as a fellow who did nothing but grind all day long, and had no geniality in him; while Owen pitied the love of popularity which so often led Eric into delinquencies, which he himself despised. Owen had, indeed, but few friends in the school; the only boy who knew him well enough to respect and like him thoroughly was Russell, who found in him the only one who took the same high, ground with himself. But Russell loved the good in every one, and was loved by all in return, and Eric he loved most of all, while he often mourned over his increasing failures.
One day as the two were walking together in the green playground, Mr. Gordon passed by; and as the boys touched their caps, he nodded and smiled pleasantly at Russell, but hardly noticed, and did not return Eric's salute. He had begun to dislike the latter more and more, and had given him up altogether as one of the reprobates.
"What a surly devil that is," said Eric, when he had passed; "did you see how he purposely cut me?"
"A surly ...? Oh Eric, that's the first time I ever heard you swear."
Eric blushed. He hadn't meant the word to slip out in Russell's hearing, though similar expressions were common enough in his talk with other boys. But he didn't like to be reproved, even by Russell, and in the ready spirit of self-defence, he answered--
"Pooh, Edwin, you don't call that swearing, do you? You're so strict, so religious, you know. I love you for it, but then, there are none like you. Nobody thinks anything of swearing here."
Russell was silent.
"Besides, what can be the harm of it? it means nothing. I was thinking the other night, and I concluded that you and Owen are the only two fellows here who don't swear."
Russell still said nothing.
"And, after all, I didn't swear; I only called that fellow a surly devil."
"O, hush! Eric, hush!" said Russell sadly. "You wouldn't have said so half-a-year ago."
Eric knew what he meant. The image of his father and mother rose before him, as they sate far away in their lonely Indian home, thinking of him, praying for him, centring all their hopes in him. In him!--and he knew how many things he was daily doing and saying, which would cut them to the heart. He knew that all his moral consciousness was fast vanishing, and leaving him a bad and reckless boy.
In a moment, all this passed through his mind. He remembered how shocked he had been at swearing at first; and even when it became too familiar to shock him, how he determined never to fall into the habit himself. Then he remembered how gradually it had become quite a graceful sound in his ears; a sound of entire freedom and independence of moral restraint; an open casting off, as it were, of all authority, so that he had begun to admire it, particularly in Duncan, and above all, in his new hero, Upton; and he recollected how, at last, an oath had one day slipped out suddenly in his own words, and how strange it sounded to him, and how Upton smiled to hear it, though conscience had reproached him bitterly; but now that he had done it once, it became less dreadful, and gradually grew common enough, till even conscience hardly reminded him that he was doing wrong.
He thought of all this, and hung his head. Pride struggled with him for a moment, but at length he answered, "O Edwin, I fear I am getting utterly bad; I wish I were more like you," he added, in a low sad tone.
"Dear Eric, I have no right to say it, full of faults as I am myself; but you will be so much happier, if you try not to yield to all the bad things round us. Remember, I know more of school than you."
The two boys strolled on silently. That night Eric knelt at his bedside, and prayed as he had not done for many a long day.
"In the twilight, in the evening, in the black and dark night." PROV. vii. 9.
At Roslyn, even in summer, the hour for going to bed was half-past nine. It was hardly likely that so many boys, overflowing with turbulent life, should lie down quietly, and get to sleep. They never dreamt of doing so. Very soon after the masters were gone, the sconces were often relighted, sometimes in separate dormitories, sometimes in all of them, and the boys amused themselves by reading novels or making a row. They would play various games about the bedrooms, vaulting or jumping over the beds, running races in sheets, getting through the windows upon the roofs, to frighten the study-boys with sham ghosts, or playing the thousand other pranks which suggested themselves to the fertile imagination of fifteen. But the favorite amusement was a bolstering match. One room would challenge another, and, stripping the covers off their bolsters, would meet in mortal fray. A bolster well wielded, especially when dexterously applied to the legs, is a very efficient instrument to bring a boy to the ground; but it doesn't hurt very much, even when the blows fall on the head. Hence these matches were excellent trials of strength and temper, and were generally accompanied with shouts of laughter, never ending until one side was driven back to its own room. Many a long and tough struggle had Eric enjoyed, and his prowess was so universally acknowledged, that his dormitory, No. 7, was a match for any other, and far stronger in this warfare than most of the rest. At bolstering, Duncan was a perfect champion; his strength and activity were marvellous, and his mirth uproarious. Eric and Graham backed him up brilliantly; while Llewellyn and Attlay, with sturdy vigor, supported the skirmishers. Bull, the sixth boy in No. 7, was the onlyfainéantamong them, though he did occasionally help to keep off the smaller fry.
Happy would it have been for all of them if Bull had never been placed in No. 7; happier still if he had never come to Roslyn school. Backward in work, overflowing with vanity at his supposed good looks, of mean disposition and feeble intellect, he was the very worst specimen of a boy that Eric had ever seen. Not even Barker so deeply excited Eric's repulsion and contempt. And yet, since the affair of Upton, Barker and Eric were declared enemies, and, much to the satisfaction of the latter, never spoke to each other; but with Bull--much as he inwardly loathed him--he was professedly and apparently on good terms. His silly love of universal popularity made him accept and tolerate the society even of this worthless boy.
Any two boys talking to each other about Bull would probably profess to like him "well enough," but if they were honest, they would generally end by allowing their contempt.
"We've got a nice set in No. 7, haven't we?" said Duncan to Eric one day.
"Capital. Old Llewellyn's a stunner, and I like Attlay and Graham."
"Don't you like Bull then?"
"O yes; pretty well."
The two boys looked each other in the face, then, like the confidential augurs, burst out laughing.
"You know you detest him," said Duncan.
"No, I don't. He never did me any harm that I know of."
"Him!--well,Idetest him."
"Well!" answered Eric, "on coming to think of it, so do I. And yet he is popular enough in the school. I wonder how that is."
"He's notreallypopular. I've often noticed that fellows pretty generally despise him, yet somehow don't like to say so."
"Why do you dislike him, Duncan?"
"I don't know. Why do you?"
"I don't know either."
Neither Eric nor Duncan meant this answer to be false, and yet if they had taken the trouble to consider, they would have found out in their secret souls the reasons of their dislike.
Bull had been to school before, and of this school he often bragged as the acmé of desirability and wickedness. He was always telling boys what they did at "his old school," and he quite inflamed the minds of such as fell under his influence by marvellous tales of the wild and wilful things which he and his former school-fellows had done. Many and many a scheme of sin and mischief, at Roslyn was suggested, planned, and carried out on the model of Bull's reminiscences of his previous life.
He had tasted more largely of the tree of the knowledge of evil than any other boy, and strange to say, this was the secret why the general odium was never expressed. He claimed his guilty experience so often as a ground of superiority, that at last the claim was silently allowed. He spoke from the platform of more advanced iniquity, and the others listened first curiously, then eagerly to his words.
"Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." Such was the temptation which assailed the other boys in dormitory No. 7; and Eric among the number. Bull was the tempter. Secretly, gradually, he dropped into their too willing ears the poison of his polluting acquirements.
In brief, Bull was cursed with a degraded and corrupting mind.
I hurry over a part of my subject inconceivably painful; I hurry over it, but if I am to perform my self-imposed duty of giving a true picture of what school lifesometimesis, I must not pass it by altogether.
The first time that Eric heard indecent words in dormitory No. 7, he was shocked beyond bound or measure. Dark though it was, he felt himself blushing scarlet to the roots of his hair, and then growing pale again, while a hot dew was left upon his forehead. Bull was the speaker; but this time there was a silence, and the subject instantly dropped. The others felt that "a new boy" was in the room; they did not know how he would take it; they were unconsciously abashed.
Besides, though they had themselves joined in such conversation before, they did not love it, and on the contrary, felt ashamed of yielding to it.
Now, Eric, now or never! Life and death, ruin and salvation, corruption and purity, are perhaps in the balance together, and the scale of your destiny may hang on a single word of yours. Speak out, boy! Tell these fellows that unseemly words wound your conscience; tell them that they are ruinous, sinful, damnable; speak out and save yourself and the rest. Virtue is strong and beautiful, Eric, and vice is downcast in her awful presence. Lose your purity of heart, Eric, and you have lost a jewel which the whole world, if it were "one entire and perfect chrysolite," cannot replace.
Good spirits guard that young boy, and give him grace in this his hour of trial! Open his eyes that he may see the fiery horses and the fiery chariots of the angels who would defend him, and the dark array of spiritual foes who throng around his bed. Point a pitying finger to the yawning abyss of shame, ruin, and despair that even now perhaps is being cleft under his feet. Show him the garlands of the present and the past, withering at the touch of the Erinnys in the future. In pity, in pity show him the canker which he is introducing into the sap of the tree of life, which shall cause its root to be hereafter as bitterness, and its blossom to go up as dust.
But the sense of sin was on Eric's mind. Howcouldhe speak? was not his own language sometimes profane? How--how could he profess to reprove another boy on the ground of morality, when he himself said did things less ruinous perhaps, but equally forbidden?
For half an hour, in an agony of struggle with himself, Eric lay silent. Since Bull's last words nobody had spoken. They were going to sleep. It was too late to speak now, Eric thought. The moment passed by for ever; Eric had listened without objection to foul words, and the irreparable harm was done.
How easy it would have been to speak! With the temptation, God had provided also a way to escape. Next time it came, it was far harder to resist, and it soon became, to men, impossible.
Ah Eric, Eric! how little we know the moments which decide the destinies of life. We live on as usual. The day is a common day, the hour a common hour. We never thought twice about the change of intention, which by one of the accidents--(accidents!)--of life determined for good or for evil, for happiness or misery, the color of our remaining years. The stroke of the pen was done in a moment which led unconsciously to our ruin; the word was uttered quite heedlessly, on which turned for ever the decision of our weal or woe.
Eric lay silent. The darkness was not broken by the flashing of an angel's wing, the stillness was not syllabled by the sound of an angel's voice; but to his dying day Eric never forgot the moments which passed, until, weary and self-reproachful, he fell asleep.
Next morning he awoke, restless and feverish. He at once remembered what had passed. Bull's words haunted him; he could not forget them; they burnt within him like the flame of a moral fever. He was moody and petulant, and for a time could hardly conceal his aversion to Bull. Ah Eric! moodiness and petulance cannot save you, but prayerfulness would; one word, Eric, at the throne of grace--one prayer before you go down among the boys, that God in his mercy would wash away, in the blood of his dear Son, your crimson stains, and keep your conscience and memory clean.
The boy knelt down for a few minutes, and repeated to himself a few formal words. Had he stayed longer on his knees, he might have given way to a burst of penitence and supplication--but he heard Bull's footstep, and getting up, he ran down stairs to breakfast; so Eric did not pray.
Conversations did not generally drop so suddenly in dormitory No. 7. On the contrary, they generally flashed along in the liveliest way, till some one said "Good night;" and then the boys turned off to sleep. Eric knew this, and instantly conjectured that it was only a sort of respect for him, and ignorance of the manner in which he would consider it, that prevented Duncan and the rest from taking any further notice of Bull's remark. It was therefore no good disburdening his mind to any of them; but he determined to speak about the matter to Russell in their next walk.
They usually walked together on Sunday. Dr. Rowlands had discontinued the odious and ridiculous custom of the younger boys taking their exercise under a master's inspection. Boys are not generally fond of constitutionals, so that on the half-holidays they almost entirely confined their open-air exercise to the regular games, and many of them hardly left the play-ground boundaries once a week. But on Sundays they often went walks, each with his favorite friend or companion. When Eric first came as a boarder, he invariably went with Russell on Sunday, and many a pleasant stroll they had taken together, sometimes accompanied by Duncan, Montagu, or Owen. The latter, however, had dropped even this intercourse with Eric, who for the last few weeks had more often gone with his new friend Upton.
"Come a walk, boy," said Upton, as they left the dining-room.
"O excuse me to-day, Upton," said Eric, "I'm going with your cousin."
"Ohverywell," said Upton, in high dudgeon, and, hoping to make Eric jealous, he went a walk with Graham, whom he had "taken up" before he knew Williams.
Russell was rather surprised when Eric came to him and said, "Come a stroll to Fort Island, Edwin--will you?"
"O yes," said Russell cheerfully; "why, we haven't seen each other for some time lately! I was beginning to fancy that you meant to drop me, Eric."
He spoke with a smile, and in a rallying tone, but Eric hung his head, for the charge was true. Proud of his popularity among all the school, and especially at his friendship with so leading a fellow as Upton, Eric hadnotseen much of his friend since their last conversation about swearing. Indeed, conscious of failure, he felt sometimes uneasy in Russell's company.
He faltered, and answered humbly, "I hope you will never dropme, Edwin, however bad I get? But I particularly want to speak to you to-day."
In an instant Russell had twined his arm in Eric's, as they turned towards Fort Island; and Eric, with an effort, was just going to begin, when they heard Montagu's voice calling after them--
"I say, you fellows, where are you off to! may I come with you?"
"O yes, Monty, do," said Russell, "It will be quite like old times; now that my cousin Horace has got hold of Eric, we have to sing 'When shall we three meet again?'"
Russell only spoke in fun; but, unintentionally, his words jarred in Eric's heart. He was silent, and answered in monosyllables, so the walk was provokingly dull. At last they reached Fort Island, and sat down by the ruined chapel looking on the sea.
"Why what's the row with you, old boy," said Montagu, playfully shaking Eric by the shoulder, "you're as silent as Zimmerman on Solitude, and as doleful as Harvey on the Tombs. I expect you've been going through a select course of Blair's Grave, Young's Night Thoughts, and Drelincourt on Death."
To his surprise Eric's head was still bent, and, at last, he heard a deep suppressed sigh.
"My dear child, what is the matter with you?" said Russell, affectionately taking his hand, "surely you're not offended at my nonsense?"
Eric had not liked to speak while Montagu was by, but now he gulped down his rising emotion, and briefly told them of Bull's vile words the night before. They listened in silence.
"I knew it must come, Eric," said Russell at last, "and I am so sorry you didn't speak at the time."
"Do the fellows ever talk in that way in either of your dormitories?" asked Eric.
"No," said Russell.
"Very little," said Montagu.
A pause followed, during which all three plucked the grass and looked away.
"Let me tell you," said Russell solemnly; "my father (he is dead now you know, Eric), when I was sent to school, warned me of this kind of thing. I had been brought up in utter ignorance of such coarse knowledge as is forced upon one here, and with my reminiscences of home, I could not bear even that much of it which was impossible to avoid. But the very first time such talk was begun in my dormitory I spoke out. What I said I don't know, but I felt as if I was trampling on a slimy poisonous adder, and, at any rate, I showed such pain and distress that the fellows dropped it at the time. Since then I have absolutely refused to stay in the room if ever such talk is begun. So it never is now, and I do think the fellows are very glad of it themselves."
"Well," said Montagu, "I don't profess to look on it from the religious ground, you know, but I thought it blackguardly, and in bad taste, and said so. The fellow who began it, threatened to kick me for a conceited little fool, but he didn't; and they hardly ever venture on that ground now."
"It is more than blackguardly--it is deadly," answered Russell; "my father said it was the most fatal curse which could ever become rife in a public school."
"Why do masters never give us any help or advice on these matters?" asked Eric thoughtfully.
"In sermons they do. Don't you remember Rowlands' sermon not two weeks ago on Kibroth-Hattaavah? But I for one think them quite right not to speak to us privately on such subjects, unless we invite confidence. Besides, they cannot know that any boys talk in this way. After all, it is only a very few of the worst who ever do."
They got up and walked home, but from day to day Eric put off performing the duty which Russell had advised, viz.--a private request to Bull to abstain from his offensive communications, and an endeavor to enlist Duncan into his wishes.
One evening they were telling each other stories in No. 7. Bull's turn came, and in his story the vile element again appeared. For a while Eric said nothing, but as the strain grew worse, he made a faint remonstrance.
"Shut up there, Williams," said Attlay, "and don't spoil the story."
"Very well. It's your own fault, and I shall shut my ears."
He did for a time, but a general laugh awoke him. He pretended to be asleep, but he listened. Iniquity of this kind was utterly new to him; his curiosity was awakened; he no longer feigned indifference, and the poison flowed deep into his veins. Before that evening was over, Eric Williams was "a god, knowing good from evil."
O young boys, if your eyes ever read these pages, pause and beware. The knowledge of evil is ruin, and the continuance in it hell. That little matter--that beginning of evil,--it will be like the snowflake detached by the breath of air from the mountain-top, which, as it rushes down, gains size, and strength, and impetus, till it has swollen to the mighty and irresistible avalanche that overwhelms garden, and field, and village, in a chaos of undistinguishable death.
Kibroth-Hattaavah! Many and many a young Englishman has perished there! Many and many a happy English boy, the jewel of his mother's heart,--brave, and beautiful, and strong,--lies buried there. Very pale their shadows rise before us--the shadows of our young brothers who have sinned and suffered. From the sea and the sod, from foreign graves and English churchyards, they start up and throng around us in the paleness of their fall. May every schoolboy who reads this page be warned by the waving of their wasted hands, from that burning marle of passion, where they found nothing but shame and ruin, polluted affections, and an early grave.
[Greek: Aspasiae trillistos hepaeluths nux herebennae.]HOM.
For a few days after the Sunday walk narrated in the last chapter, Upton and Eric cut each other dead. Upton was angry at Eric's declining the honor of his company, and Eric was piqued at Upton's unreasonableness. In the "taking up" system, such quarrels were of frequent occurrence, and as the existence of a misunderstanding was generally indicated in this very public way, the variations of good will between such friends generally excited no little notice and amusement among the other boys. But both Upton and Eric were too sensible to carry their differences so far as others similarly circumstanced; each thoroughly enjoyed the other's company, and they generally seized an early opportunity for effecting a reconciliation, which united them more firmly than ever.
As soon as Eric had got over his little pique, he made the first advances, by writing a note to Upton, which he slipped under his study door, and which ran as follows:--
"Dear Horace--Don't let us quarrel about nothing. Silly fellow, why should you be angry with me because for once I wanted to go a walk with Russell, who, by the bye, is twice as good a fellow as you? I shall expect you to make it up directly after prayers.--Yours, if you are not silly, E.W."
The consequence was, that as they came out from prayers, Upton seized Eric's hand, and slapped him on the back, after which they had a good laugh over their own foolish fracas, and ran up stairs chattering merrily.
"There's to be an awful lark in the dormitories tonight," said Eric; "the doctor's gone to a dinner-party, and we're going to have no end of fun."
"Are you? Well, if it gets amusing, come to my study and tell me, I'll come and look on."
"Very well; depend upon it, I'll come." And they parted at the foot of the study stairs.
It was Mr. Rose's night of duty. He walked slowly up and down the range of Dormitories until every boy seemed ready to get into bed, and then he put out all the candles. So long as he was present, the boys observed the utmost quiet and decorum. All continued quite orderly until he had passed away through the lavatory, and one of the boys following him as a scout, had seen the last glimmer of his candle disappear round the corner at the foot of the great staircase, and heard the library door close behind him.
After that, particularly as Dr. Rowlands was absent, the boys knew that they were safe from disturbance, and the occupants of No. 7 were the first to stir.
"Now for some fun," said Duncan, starting up, and by way of initiative pitching his pillow at Eric's head.
"I'll pay you out for that when I'm ready," said Eric, laughing; "but give us a match, first."
Duncan produced some vestas, and no sooner had they lighted their candle, than several of the dormitory doors began to be thrown open, and one after another all requested a light, which Duncan and Eric conveyed to them in a sort of emulous lampadephoria, so that a length all the twelve dormitories had their sconces lit, and the boys began all sorts of amusement, some in their night-shirts and others with their trousers slipped on. Leap-frog was the prevalent game for a time, but at last Graham suggested theatricals, and they were agreed on.
"But we're making a regular knock-me-down shindy," said Llewellyn; "somebody must keep cavè."
"O, old Rose is safe enough at his Hebrew in the library; no fear of disturbing him if we were dancing hippopotami," answered Graham.
But it was generally considered safest to put some one at the top of the stairs, in case of an unexpected diversion in that direction, and little Wright consented to go first. He had only to leave the lavatory door open; and stand at the top of the staircase, and he then commanded for a great distance the only avenue in which danger was expected. If any master's candle appeared n the hall, the boys had full three minutes' warning, and a single loudly-whispered "cave" would cause some one in each dormitory instantly to "douse the glim," and shut the door; so that by the time of the adversary's arrival, they would all be (of course) fast asleep in bed, some of them snoring in an alarming manner. Whatever noise the master might have heard, it would be impossible to fix it on any of the sleepers.
So at the top of the stairs stood little Wright, shoeless, and shivering in his night-gown, but keenly entering into the fun, and not unconscious of the dignity of his position. Meanwhile the rest were getting up a scenic representation of Bombastes Furioso, arranging a stage, piling a lot of beds together for a theatre, and dressing up the actors in the most fantastic apparel.
The impromptu Bombastes excited universal applause, and just at the end Wright ran in through the lavatory.
"I say," said the little fellow, "it's jolly cold standing at the top of the stairs. Won't some one relieve guard?"
"O, I will," answered Eric, good-naturedly; "it's a shame that one fellow should have all the bother and none of the fun;" and he ran to take Wright's post.
After watching a minute or two, he felt sure that there was no danger, and therefore ran up to Upton's study for a change.
"Well, what's up?" said the study-boy, approvingly, as he glanced at Eric's laughing eyes.
"O, we've been having leap-frog, and then Bombastes Furioso. But I'm keeping 'cavè' now; only it's so cold that I thought I'd run up to your study."
"Little traitor; we'll shoot you for a deserting sentinel."
"O no;" said Eric, "it's all serene; Rowley's out, and dear old Rose'd never dream of supposing us elsewhere than in the arms of Morpheus. Besides the fellows are making less row now."
"Well! look here! let's go and look on, and I'll tell you a dodge; put one of the tin washing-basins against the iron door of the lavatory, and then if any one comes he'll make clang enough to wake dead; and while he's amusing himself with this, there'll be lots of time to 'extinguish the superfluous abundance of the nocturnal illuminators.' Eh?"
"Capital!" said Eric, "come along."
They went down and arranged the signal very artistically, leaving the iron door ajar a little, and then neatly poising the large tin basin on its edge, so as to lean against it. Having extremely enjoyed this part of the proceeding, they went to look at the theatricals again, the boys being highly delighted at Upton's appearance among them.
They at once made Eric take a part in some very distant reminiscences of Macbeth, and corked his cheeks with whiskers and mustachios to make him resemble Banquo, his costume being completed by a girdle round his nightshirt, consisting of a very fine crimson silk handkerchief, richly broidered with gold, which had been brought to him from India, and which at first, in the innocence of his heart, he used to wear on Sundays, until he acquired the sobriquet of "the Dragon." Duncan made a superb Macbeth.
They were doing the dagger-scene, which was put on the stage in a most novel manner. A sheet had been pinned from the top of the room, on one side of which stood a boy with a broken dinner knife, the handle end of which he was pushing through a hole in the middle of the sheet at the shadow of Duncan on the other side.
Duncan himself, in an attitude of intensely affected melodrama, was spouting--
"Is this a dagger which I see before me?The handle towards me now? come, let me clutch thee;"
And he snatched convulsively at the handle of the protruded knife; but as soon as he nearly touched it, this end was immediately withdrawn, and the blade end substituted, which made the comic Macbeth instantly draw back again, and recommence his apostrophe. This scene had tickled the audience immensely, and Duncan, amid shouts of laughter, was just drawing the somewhat unwarrantable conclusion that it was
"A dagger of the mind, a false creation,"
when a sudden grating, followed by a reverbrated clang, produced a dead silence.
"Cavè," shouted Eric, and took a flying leap into his bed. Instantly there was a bolt in different directions; the sheet was torn down, the candles dashed out, the beds shoved aside, and the dormitories at once plunged in profound silence, only broken by the heavy breathing of sleepers, when in strode--not Mr. Rose or any of the under masters--but--Dr. Rowlands himself!
He stood for a moment to survey the scene. All the dormitory doors were wide open; the sheet which had formed the stage curtain lay torn on the floor of No. 7; the beds in all the adjoining rooms were in the strangest positions; and half-extinguished wicks still smouldered in several of the sconces. Every boy was in bed, but the extraordinary way in which the bed clothes were huddled about told an unmistakeable tale.
He glanced quickly round, but the moment he had passed into No. 8, he heard a run, and, turning, just caught sight of Upton's figure vanishing into the darkness of the lavatory, towards the study stairs.
He said not a word, but stalked hastily through all dormitories, again stopping at No. 7 on his return.
He heard nothing but the deep snores of Duncan, and instantly fixed on him as a chief culprit.
"Duncan!"
No reply; but calm stertorous music from Duncan's bed.
"Duncan!" he said, still louder and more sternly, "you sleep soundly, sir, too soundly; get up directly," and he laid his hand on the boy's arm.
"Get away, you old donkey," said Duncan sleepily; "'t, aint time to get up yet. First bell hasn't rung."
"Come, sir, this shamming will only increase your punishment;" but the imperturbable Duncan stretched himself lazily, gave a great yawn, and then awoke with such an admirably feigned start at seeing Dr. Rowlands, that Eric, who had been peeping at the scene from over his bed-clothes, burst into an irresistible explosion of laughter.
Dr. Rowlands swung round on his heel--"What! Williams! get out of bed, sir, this instant."
Eric, forgetful of his disguise, sheepishly obeyed; but when he stood on the floor, he looked so odd in his crimson girdle and corked cheeks, with Dr. Rowlands surveying him in intense astonishment, that the scene became overpoweringly ludicrous to Duncan, who now in his turn was convulsed with a storm of laughter, faintly echoed in stifled titterings from other beds.
"Verygood," said Dr. Rowlands, now thoroughly angry, "you will hear of this to-morrow;" and he walked away with a heavy step, stopping at the lavatory door to restore the tin basin to its proper place, and then mounting to the studies.
Standing in the passage into which the studies opened, he knocked at one of the doors, and told a boy to summon all their occupants at once to the library.
Meanwhile, the dormitory-boys were aghast, and as soon as they heard the doctor's retreating footsteps, began flocking in the dark to No. 7, not daring to relight their candles.
"Good gracious!" said Attlay, "only to think of Rowley appearing! How could he have twigged?"
"He must have seen our lights in the window as he came home," said Eric.
"I say, what a row that tin-basin dodge of yours made! What a rage the Doctor will be in to-morrow?"
"Won't you just catch it!" said Barker to Duncan, but intending the remark for Eric.
"Just like your mean chaff," retorted Duncan. "But I say, Williams," he continued, laughing, "youdidlook so funny in the whiskers."
At this juncture they heard all the study-boys running down stairs to the library, and, lost in conjecture, retired to their different rooms.
"What do you think he'll do to us?" asked Eric.
"I don't know," said Duncan uneasily; "flog us, for one thing, that's certain. I'm so sorry about that basin, Eric; but it's no good fretting. We've had our cake, and now we must pay for it, that's all."
Eric's cogitations began to be unpleasant, when the door opened, and somebody stole noiselessly in.
"Who's there?"
"Upton. I've come to have a chat. The Doctor's like a turkey-cock in sight of a red handkerchief. Never saw him in such a rage."
"Why, what's he been saying?" asked Eric, as Upton came and took a seat on his bed.
"Oh! he's been rowing us like six o'clock," said Upton, "about 'moral responsibility,' 'abetting the follies of children,' 'forgetting our position in the school,' and I don't know what all; and he ended by asking who'd been in the dormitories. Of course I confessed the soft impeachment, whereon he snorted 'Ha! I suspected so. Very well, Sir, you don't know how to use a study; you shall be deprived of it till the end of term.'"
"Did he really, Horace?" said Eric. "And it's all my doing that you've got into the scrape. Do forgive me."
"Bosh! My dear fellow," said Upton, "it's twice as much my fault as yours; and, after all, it was only a bit of fun. It's rather a bore losing the study, certainly; but never mind, we shall see all the more of each other. Good night; I must be off."
Next morning, prayers were no sooner over than Dr. Rowlands said to the boys, "Stop! I have a word to say to you."
"I find that there was the utmost disorder in the dormitories yesterday evening. All the candles were relighted at forbidden hours, and the noise made was so great that it was heard through the whole building. I am grieved that I cannot leave you, even for a few hours, without your taking such advantage of my absence; and that the upper boys, so far from using their influence to prevent these infractions of discipline, seem inclined rather to join in them themselves. On this occasion I have punished Upton, by depriving him of a privilege which he has abused; and as I myself detected Duncan and Williams, they will be flogged in the library at twelve. But I now come to the worst part of the proceeding. Somebody had been reckless enough to try and prevent surprise by the dangerous expedient of putting a tin basin against the iron door. The consequence was, that I was severely hurt, andmighthave been seriously injured in entering the lavatory. I must know the name of the delinquent."
Upton and Eric immediately stood up. Dr. Rowlands looked surprised, and there was an expression of grieved interest in Mr. Rose's face.
"Very well," said the Doctor, "I shall speak to you both privately."
Twelve o'clock came, and Duncan and Eric received a severe caning. Corporal punishment, however necessary and desirable for some dispositions, always produced on Eric the worst effects. He burned, not with remorse or regret, but with shame and violent indignation, and listened, with a glare in his eye, to Dr. Rowlands' warnings. When the flogging was over, he almost rushed out of the room, to choke in solitude his sense of humiliation, nor would he suffer any one for an instant to allude to his disgrace. Dr. Rowlands had hinted that Upton was doing him no good; but he passionately resented the suggestion, and determined, with obstinate perversity, to cling more than ever to the boy whom he had helped to involve in the same trouble with himself.
Any attempt on the part of masters to interfere in the friendships of boys is usually unsuccessful. The boy who has been warned against his new acquaintance not seldom repeats to him the fact that Mr. So-and-so doesn't like seeing them together, and after that they fancy themselves bound in honor to show that they are not afraid of continuing their connection. It was not strange, therefore, that Eric and Upton were thrown more than ever into each other's society, and consequently, that Eric, while he improved daily in strength, activity, and prowess, neglected more and more his school duties and honorable ambitions.
Mr. Rose sadly remarked the failure of promise in his character and abilities, and did all that could be done, by gentle firmness and unwavering kindness, to recal his pupil to a sense of duty. One night he sent for him to supper, and invited no one else. During the evening he drew out Eric's exercise, and compared it with, those of Russell and Owen, who were now getting easily ahead of him in marks. Eric's was careless, hurried, and untidy; the other two were neat, spirited, and painstaking, and had, therefore, been marked much higher.
"Your exercisesusedto be far better--I may say incomparably better," said Mr. Rose; "what is the cause of this falling off?"
Eric was silent.
Mr. Rose laid his hand gently on his head. "I fear, my boy, you have not been improving lately. You have got into many scrapes, and are letting boys beat you in form who are far your inferiors in ability. That is a very badsign, Eric; in itself it is a discouraging fact, but I fear it indicates worse evils. You are wasting the golden hours, my boy, that can never return. I only hope and trust that no other change for the worse is going on in your character."
And so he talked on till the boy's sorrow was undisguised. "Come," he said gently, "let us kneel down together before we part."
Boy and master knelt down humbly side by side, and, from a full heart, the young man poured out his fervent petitions for the child beside him. Eric's heart seemed to catch a glow from his words, and he loved him as a brother. He rose from his knees full of the strongest resolutions, and earnestly promised amendment for the future.
But poor Eric did not yet know his own infirmity. For a time, indeed, there was a marked improvement; but daily life flowed on with its usual allurements, and when the hours of temptation came, his good intentions melted away, so that, in a few more weeks, the prayer, and the vows that followed it, had been obliterated from his memory without leaving any traces in his life.