Chapter Four.Experiences at School—My First Fight.On entering the playground I saw about forty boys amusing themselves in various ways. Some were jumping with a pole, others were leaping over a tape, whilst several were talking in groups. As I approached the ground, I heard several boys call out, “Here he is!”“Now where’s Fraser?” whilst eight or ten boys came round me, and seemed looking at me as a curiosity.“You’re going to be an engineer, aren’t you?” said one boy.“Yes,” I replied.A shout of laughter was the result of this remark of mine, the reason for which I could not comprehend.“You’re very clever, I suppose,” said the same boy; “an awful hand at Swat.”“I can do rule-of-three,” I replied.“Lor! what a clever fellow!” replied the boy. “I say,” he shouted, “Ansell, James, come here! We have a Sir Isaac Newton here!”As he called, four or five boys came up and joined the others near me.“He’s going to be an engineer,” said the same boy; “and he knows rule-of-three! Isn’t he likely to get them?”“Where have you come from?” asked another boy.“From the New Forest, Hampshire,” I replied.“Then you’d better go back to the New Forest, Hampshire, and feed the pigs there.”“You are very rude,” I said, “to speak like that.”A shout of laughter greeted this speech, whilst the same boy intimated that I was “a confounded young prig!”“Oh, here you are!” said Fraser, who suddenly appeared on the scene. “I’ve been looking for you. What do you mean by shying a book at me?”“Why, you kicked me for no reason at all,” I replied. “It is I who have cause to complain of you.”“Oh, you have, have you? then take that?”Before I knew what was going to be done, Fraser suddenly struck me full in the face. The blow was so severe that for a second or two I scarcely knew what had happened. Then, however, I realised the fact, and, rushing at Fraser, I struck wildly at him. Without seeming to disturb himself much, Fraser either guarded off my blows or quickly dodged so as to avoid them; and when he saw an opportunity, as he soon did, he punished me severely.Fraser was smaller than I was, but was certainly stouter, and he possessed what I did not, viz, skill in the use of his fists. This was the first fight I had ever been in, whilst he was an old hand at pugilistic encounters. The result, consequently, was what might be expected, viz, in ten minutes I was entirely beaten, all my strength seemed gone, and I was unable to raise a hand in my defence.“Don’t you shy a book at me again,” said Fraser as he left me leaning against the wall, trying to recover myself.“Bravo, Fraser! well done!” said one or two boys who had formed a ring round us as we fought. Not a boy seemed to pity me, or to be disposed to help me, and I felt as utterly miserable as a boy could feel.As I leant against the wall, with my handkerchief to my nose, a boy named Strong came up and said,—“You’d better wash the blood off your face, Shepard, or there’ll be a row.”“I don’t care,” I replied, “whether there’s a row or not.”“Come along,” said Strong; “don’t be downhearted. Fraser is an awful mill and a great bully, and always bullies a new boy just to show off his fighting. Come and wash your face.”I went with Strong, and removed as much as possible the evidence of my late combat—Strong all the time trying his best to cheer me up.“You’ve never been at a boarding-school before?” said Strong inquiringly.“No; and I don’t think I shall stop here long,” I replied.“Oh, there will be another new boy soon, and then you’ll lead an easy life.”“But is every new boy treated as I am?”“Well, very nearly the same. Then they are down upon you because you boasted you were going to get the Engineers’.”“Boasted? I didn’t mean to boast. I came here to prepare for the Engineers.”“But don’t you know that it’s only about one in twenty who go to the Academy who are clever enough for the Engineers? and when you say you are going to be an engineer it looks like boasting. You may be very clever, and a first-rate hand at Euclid and Swat; but it doesn’t do to boast.”This speech opened my eyes at once. In my ignorance I knew no difference between being an engineer or anything else; but I now saw why it was that all the boys seemed to make such game of me when I said I was intended for the Engineers, as it was like asserting that I was very clever, and claiming to have it in my power to beat nineteen out of twenty boys who might compete with me. I now began to realise it as a fact that I was utterly ignorant on nearly every subject that was likely to be of use to me at Mr Hostler’s. I knew nothing either of schoolboys or school-life. To me it seemed most ungenerous that I should be laughed at because I made a mistake, not knowing that schoolboys as a rule are disposed to make butts of those who are not as well acquainted as themselves with the few facts on which they pride themselves.In the afternoon of this my first day at Mr Hostler’s, my pride again received a severe blow. The subject studied in the afternoon was arithmetic and algebra; and on coming into the schoolroom Mr Monk asked me where I had left off in arithmetic.In order not to make any mistake, I replied that rule-of-three was what I had last done.I remember well that Aunt Emma, who used to teach me arithmetic, had a book out of which she used to copy a sum of a very simple nature, but which she as well as I thought at the time rather difficult. She then used to show me an example to point out how it was done; and, when I had finished it, used to compare my answer with that given in the book. She was rather hazy about the problem as a rule, and never ventured to give me any explanation as to where I was wrong in case my answer did not correspond with that in the book; but still I was supposed to have learnt rule-of-three, though I soon found out my mistake. The style of questions that I used to solve at home were such as the following:—“If a bushel of coals costs two shillings and sixpence, what would be the price of fifty bushels?”These I could fairly accomplish without much probability of making a mistake; and so I hoped I might succeed in passing Mr Monk’s examination of my rule-of-three.“Just write down this question,” said Mr Monk; “we shall soon see if you know anything about rule-of-three.”The following question was then dictated to me:—“If 10 men and 6 boys dig a trench 100 feet long, 8 feet wide, and 5 feet deep, in 12 days, how many boys ought to be employed to dig a trench 200 feet long, 3 feet deep, and 6 feet wide, in 8 days, if only 5 men were employed, 2 boys being supposed equal to 1 man?”As I read over this question I felt my heart sink within me. I knew I could not do it properly, and that I should again expose myself to ridicule in having said I could accomplish rule-of-three, when, if this were rule-of-three, I knew nothing of it. I sat for several minutes looking at the question, and trying to discover some means for its solution. Boys were mixed in my mind with ditches, men with days, and deep holes with width. At least a quarter of an hour passed without my making the slightest advance in the way of solution; at the end of this time Mr Monk looked at my slate and said,—“So you don’t seem to know much about rule-of-three?”“I never saw a sum like this before,” I replied.“Then why did you tell me that you could do rule-of-three? Do you know your multiplication table?”“Yes,” I replied.“What’s 12 times 11?” he inquired.Now, of all the multiplication table, 11 times anything was to me the easiest, because I remembered that two similar figures, such as 66, was 6 times 11, 77 was seven times 11, and so on; but 12 times 11 was a number I was always rather shaky about. I hesitated a moment and then made a wild rush at it, and said, “One hundred and twenty-one?”Mr Monk looked at me with a mingled expression of pity and contempt, and said, “You’re nearly fifteen, and you don’t know your multiplication table, and yet you think you’re going to be an engineer! Why there’s not a boy at the charity-school who at twelve does not know more than you!”I listened attentively to this remark, for I felt that Mr Monk was a prophet. It was quite true that I was a dunce. I had learnt it, and realised it in half a day. It had been forcibly impressed on me as I tried to learn Euclid, as I was ignominiously defeated by Fraser in a pugilistic encounter in something like ten minutes, and now when it was proved to me! did not know my multiplication table.“You’d better commence at simple addition,” said Monk, “and work your way up. You can’t join any class; there’s no one so backward as you are. Your nursemaid ought to have taught you these things. At Mr Hostler’s we don’t expect to have to teach even arithmetic. It will take you three years to get up to quadratics!”“Well, Mr Monk,” said Hostler, bustling into the room, “I hope Shepard is well up in his algebra?”“He doesn’t even know his multiplication table?” said Monk.Hostler stared at me much as he would at a dog with only two legs or a bird with one wing. Having given me a long searching look, under which I blushed and felt inclined to shrink under the form, he said,—“Poor fellow! your friends have got a lot to answer for! What a pity it is, Mr Monk, that in civilised England people who are gentlefolks are not compelled by law to educate their children! Look at this boy, now. I dare say, at home and in the country, he was thought to be fit to run alone; and yet there he is, a regular dunce! Now, Shepard,” he said, “you must begin to learn; you must work hard; and if there’s no chance of your getting into the Academy, why, what you learn here will always be of use to you; so don’t be idle.”Having made this remark, Mr Hostler went about the school, looking at the slates of the various boys, talking to several, and explaining their problems to them. As for me, I was soon busily engaged in adding up a long row of pounds, shillings, and pence, which I did not accomplish without three times failing to obtain the right total. At length, however, I was successful, just as it was time to turn out for our afternoon walk.On going to bed that night I seemed to have passed through more, and to have gained more experience in that one day that I had in years before. I had learnt that I knew nothing—that my supposed knowledge was not real—that I was, in fact, a dunce, far behind all other boys of my own age—that I was weak in physical strength—and though my sisters used to think me awfully strong, yet this, too, was a mistake. Mixed with the depressing effect of this knowledge there was, however, a slight feeling of satisfaction in knowing that now at least I was among realities, whilst before I was among dreams. I had, too, a kind of presentiment that I had within me a capacity for doing work, if I could only get in the way of it. When I used to help my father in his microscope work, and sketched some of the wonderful details of the wings, legs, or bodies of the insects I saw, he always prophesied that I should do great things some day. Now, however, I realised the fact that I was a dunce—that I was so far behind other boys that it was improbable I could ever catch them up, and so to expect to excel was out of the question; if I could only attain to mediocrity I should be satisfied.Such thoughts passed through my mind as I dozed off to sleep, and dreamed I was untangling a skein of wire, that as fast as I undid one part another portion gathered itself in a knot.Suddenly I felt a choking sensation, and started up in bed with a strange bewildered feeling over me. The room was quite dark, and I could not see one of the ten beds occupied by the other boys in the room. I, however, heard a slight noise as of some one getting into bed, and then a smothered laugh. As I fully awoke I found I was drenched with water and my bed and pillow were wet—a fact I was much puzzled at.As I sat up, wondering what had happened, a boy called out, “Shepard! what are you about?”“I am wet through, somehow,” I said.“Ah! some one has given you a ‘cold pig,’ I suppose, because you snored so. Don’t you make such a row again.”When I was at home it was instilled into me that it was almost certain death to sleep in a damp bed, and numerous instances were quoted to me of persons who had either died of consumption, or been cripples for life in consequence of sleeping in wet sheets. In the present instance, however, there was no help for it. I must either sit up all night, or sleep in the bed, wet as it was. I was so completely tired, so utterly worn out, bodily and mentally, that I did not care who it was had thrown the water on me. My head ached, from over-thought as much as from the blows I had received in my fight, and I again laid down in the wet bed, and slept as well as though in my own room at home.I had not half completed what would have been a fair night’s rest under ordinary conditions when I was awoke by the shrill voice of a boy shouting “Quarter!” I at first imagined this cry might mean something connected with a battle, and that the enemy were calling out for quarter; but on fully awaking I found each boy jumping up, and rushing to a basin of water and washing in the greatest haste. I followed the example set me by the other boys, from whom I learnt that we all had to be in the schoolroom by six o’clock, and any boy who was not in the room when the clock struck got no breakfast. We all rushed from our room about a minute before the clock struck, and entered the school where I had been on the previous day; and I then found that between six and seven a proposition in Euclid had to be learnt on nearly every morning. So I was at once started at my definitions.In the hour allotted I managed to learn my definitions, and said them to the satisfaction of Mr Monk, and was able, therefore, to go out with the other boys for the half-hour preceding breakfast.During the next two days our routine was very similar to that of the first day. I soon fully realised the fact that I was more backward, if not more stupid, than any boy in the school; and I also learnt that no one believed it possible I could ever be prepared to pass the examination for entrance to the Academy. There were boys at the school of only twelve years of age, who were far beyond me, who were not to be sent up for examination until they were fifteen years of age. In those days a boy was allowed only one trial for entrance, and if he then failed he never had another given him; and he consequently lost all chance of becoming a cadet. So it was, at least, a prudent precaution to keep a boy at school until he was well qualified to pass his examination. There was also then, as now, considerable rivalry amongst the schoolmasters who prepared for Woolwich Academy, and it was considered a feather in the cap of the individual who had prepared the first boy on the list. To send up any boy, therefore, badly prepared was imprudent, and also not likely to reflect any credit on the establishment from which he had been sent.I used my best endeavours to get on, but found that my brain would not work as would that of other boys: it seemed like a limb that has not been used for many weeks and is suddenly called upon for some hard work; it becomes stiff and unable to work in a very short time. I also noticed that none of the masters seemed to take much trouble about me. It appeared as though they had agreed that I was not in the race for the Academy, and therefore it was unnecessary for them to trouble themselves much about me.In three days an entire change had come over me. I had lost all pride in myself, and felt that I must merely drag on an existence at this school for a time. I had not the courage to write to my father and tell him it was impossible I could pass my examination, as I was such a dunce; for I knew such an announcement would not be believed by him, or, if believed, it would be most unpleasant news. I hoped, too, that it was possible I might by practice get accustomed to the noise at the school, and might, like other boys, be able to learn like a parrot the problems in Euclid. My life was certainly a most miserable one. I was still the last new boy, and as such had various tricks played upon me; but it seemed that my nature was somehow changed, and that I did not feel as sensitively as I did on first joining Mr Hostler’s.One day per week at Mr Hostler’s was devoted to drawing of various kinds, and languages; and this day was a great relaxation after the perpetual Euclid, arithmetic, or algebra. I rather looked forward, also, to seeing Mr Walkwell, the drawing-master, who, I was told, was very amusing and quite a character, and who was very fond of boys. On going into school after breakfast, I saw Mr Walkwell. He was a short, spare man, with a flexible face, which he had the power of altering in a marvellous manner. His arms and legs also he could swing about in a wild kind of way that seemed quite dangerous. As we all entered the school, Mr Walkwell called out in a deep, loud voice that one would scarcely believe possible could emanate from so small a man,—“Every boy to his seat instantly?”Each boy jumped into a place except myself, and, not knowing where to go, I stood looking at Mr Walkwell.“New boy,” said Mr Walkwell, pointing his finger at me threateningly. “New boy! See. Ought to be an artist. Large perceptives, comparison well developed, ideality large, temperament nervous. New boy, you can draw?”“No, sir,” I said, “I can’t draw.”“What’s your name, new boy?”“Shepard, sir.”“Gentle Shepard—not of Salisbury Plains—come and sit here. That’s always to be your place. Now, boys, listen to the three great rules of drawing.”Mr Walkwell here took a piece of chalk and sketched on a black board in about half a dozen lines a small landscape. As he drew these lines, he said,—“Listen, boys! There are three rules in drawing to be attended to. There is the distant, or delicate—see here the distant hills; the middle ground, or spirited; and the foreground, or bold.”As he completed his remarks, he lowered his voice from the high falsetto at which he had commenced to the deepest base, whilst at the same time he ran his chalk about in a most skilful manner over the lines he had drawn, and filled in a very effective landscape.“Now, Shepard,” he said, “you, as new boy, always remember these golden rules, and you must draw. Take a pencil now and copy this gate.”I was here given a copy, a piece of drawing-paper, and a spare piece of paper to try my pencil on. I very soon copied the gate, and then amused myself in sketching a yacht, such as I had seen in the Solent, and making the Isle of Wight the distant, or delicate, and some posts the foreground, or bold. It was a scene I could call to mind, and I seemed to be again in Hampshire, enjoying my liberty. So engrossed was I with this fancy sketch, that at first I did not notice all the boys’ eyes turned on me with curiosity. I soon saw, however, that I was the object of general attention; and on looking round I saw Mr Walkwell leaning over me, watching what I was doing.“New boy, give me that,” said Mr Walkwell; “you are idling.”I gave up the paper, feeling certain that either three cuts on the hand or some other punishment would be given to me. Mr Walkwell looked at the drawing, and then at me, and then said,—“Shepard, I must report you to Mr Hostler.”“Please, sir, don’t!” I said; “I’ll never idle again.”At that instant Mr Hostler came into the room and said,—“Well, Mr Walkwell, how are you? Are the boys doing well?”“Very fairly, sir, very fairly; but I have to report the new boy to you.”“What, Shepard? Ah, I’m afraid he is a failure. Come here, Shepard!”I got up from my seat and walked up to where Hostler and Walkwell were standing, feeling ready to faint from nervousness.“New boy Shepard, Mr Hostler, has told me a story. I asked him if he could draw, and he said ‘No,’ and I have now seen him out of his own head draw this sketch, sir. Look at the curve of that yacht’s sails; see the way he has fore-shortened her; look how she rests on the water. Why, for a man that’s a work of art. That boy is an artist, sir, and he told me he couldn’t draw.”It is very difficult to describe my feelings during this conversation. I had twice been surprised at discovering my ignorance during the past few days, and now I had a surprise in discovering that I was possessed of a skill in drawing which was above the average. I used to amuse myself when at home in drawing on a slate vessels and boats that I had seen when I had gone down to Lymington or Beaulieu, but that there was any great difficulty in drawing such things I had never imagined, or had I the slightest idea that other boys could not do so well—if not better than I did.I was certainly pleased to find that there was something in which I was not a dunce; and although I was a laughing-stock of the school on account of my ignorance of mathematics and Euclid, I was held up as something unusually clever in drawing.“Shepard,” said Mr Hostler, “I am glad to find you can do something well, but it’s a pity you have wasted your time in learning only drawing, to the neglect of mathematics. Drawing never passed a boy into the Academy, and it doesn’t count much afterwards. Very well, Mr Walkwell, make a good artist of him, and he’ll then have a profession always ready for him in case he wants it; but I wish, for his sake, he’d some knowledge of Euclid, and less of drawing.”From that day Mr Walkwell paid great attention to my instruction, and I improved rapidly under his tuition, and after some dozen lessons I was considered the best in the drawing-class.
On entering the playground I saw about forty boys amusing themselves in various ways. Some were jumping with a pole, others were leaping over a tape, whilst several were talking in groups. As I approached the ground, I heard several boys call out, “Here he is!”
“Now where’s Fraser?” whilst eight or ten boys came round me, and seemed looking at me as a curiosity.
“You’re going to be an engineer, aren’t you?” said one boy.
“Yes,” I replied.
A shout of laughter was the result of this remark of mine, the reason for which I could not comprehend.
“You’re very clever, I suppose,” said the same boy; “an awful hand at Swat.”
“I can do rule-of-three,” I replied.
“Lor! what a clever fellow!” replied the boy. “I say,” he shouted, “Ansell, James, come here! We have a Sir Isaac Newton here!”
As he called, four or five boys came up and joined the others near me.
“He’s going to be an engineer,” said the same boy; “and he knows rule-of-three! Isn’t he likely to get them?”
“Where have you come from?” asked another boy.
“From the New Forest, Hampshire,” I replied.
“Then you’d better go back to the New Forest, Hampshire, and feed the pigs there.”
“You are very rude,” I said, “to speak like that.”
A shout of laughter greeted this speech, whilst the same boy intimated that I was “a confounded young prig!”
“Oh, here you are!” said Fraser, who suddenly appeared on the scene. “I’ve been looking for you. What do you mean by shying a book at me?”
“Why, you kicked me for no reason at all,” I replied. “It is I who have cause to complain of you.”
“Oh, you have, have you? then take that?”
Before I knew what was going to be done, Fraser suddenly struck me full in the face. The blow was so severe that for a second or two I scarcely knew what had happened. Then, however, I realised the fact, and, rushing at Fraser, I struck wildly at him. Without seeming to disturb himself much, Fraser either guarded off my blows or quickly dodged so as to avoid them; and when he saw an opportunity, as he soon did, he punished me severely.
Fraser was smaller than I was, but was certainly stouter, and he possessed what I did not, viz, skill in the use of his fists. This was the first fight I had ever been in, whilst he was an old hand at pugilistic encounters. The result, consequently, was what might be expected, viz, in ten minutes I was entirely beaten, all my strength seemed gone, and I was unable to raise a hand in my defence.
“Don’t you shy a book at me again,” said Fraser as he left me leaning against the wall, trying to recover myself.
“Bravo, Fraser! well done!” said one or two boys who had formed a ring round us as we fought. Not a boy seemed to pity me, or to be disposed to help me, and I felt as utterly miserable as a boy could feel.
As I leant against the wall, with my handkerchief to my nose, a boy named Strong came up and said,—
“You’d better wash the blood off your face, Shepard, or there’ll be a row.”
“I don’t care,” I replied, “whether there’s a row or not.”
“Come along,” said Strong; “don’t be downhearted. Fraser is an awful mill and a great bully, and always bullies a new boy just to show off his fighting. Come and wash your face.”
I went with Strong, and removed as much as possible the evidence of my late combat—Strong all the time trying his best to cheer me up.
“You’ve never been at a boarding-school before?” said Strong inquiringly.
“No; and I don’t think I shall stop here long,” I replied.
“Oh, there will be another new boy soon, and then you’ll lead an easy life.”
“But is every new boy treated as I am?”
“Well, very nearly the same. Then they are down upon you because you boasted you were going to get the Engineers’.”
“Boasted? I didn’t mean to boast. I came here to prepare for the Engineers.”
“But don’t you know that it’s only about one in twenty who go to the Academy who are clever enough for the Engineers? and when you say you are going to be an engineer it looks like boasting. You may be very clever, and a first-rate hand at Euclid and Swat; but it doesn’t do to boast.”
This speech opened my eyes at once. In my ignorance I knew no difference between being an engineer or anything else; but I now saw why it was that all the boys seemed to make such game of me when I said I was intended for the Engineers, as it was like asserting that I was very clever, and claiming to have it in my power to beat nineteen out of twenty boys who might compete with me. I now began to realise it as a fact that I was utterly ignorant on nearly every subject that was likely to be of use to me at Mr Hostler’s. I knew nothing either of schoolboys or school-life. To me it seemed most ungenerous that I should be laughed at because I made a mistake, not knowing that schoolboys as a rule are disposed to make butts of those who are not as well acquainted as themselves with the few facts on which they pride themselves.
In the afternoon of this my first day at Mr Hostler’s, my pride again received a severe blow. The subject studied in the afternoon was arithmetic and algebra; and on coming into the schoolroom Mr Monk asked me where I had left off in arithmetic.
In order not to make any mistake, I replied that rule-of-three was what I had last done.
I remember well that Aunt Emma, who used to teach me arithmetic, had a book out of which she used to copy a sum of a very simple nature, but which she as well as I thought at the time rather difficult. She then used to show me an example to point out how it was done; and, when I had finished it, used to compare my answer with that given in the book. She was rather hazy about the problem as a rule, and never ventured to give me any explanation as to where I was wrong in case my answer did not correspond with that in the book; but still I was supposed to have learnt rule-of-three, though I soon found out my mistake. The style of questions that I used to solve at home were such as the following:—
“If a bushel of coals costs two shillings and sixpence, what would be the price of fifty bushels?”
These I could fairly accomplish without much probability of making a mistake; and so I hoped I might succeed in passing Mr Monk’s examination of my rule-of-three.
“Just write down this question,” said Mr Monk; “we shall soon see if you know anything about rule-of-three.”
The following question was then dictated to me:—
“If 10 men and 6 boys dig a trench 100 feet long, 8 feet wide, and 5 feet deep, in 12 days, how many boys ought to be employed to dig a trench 200 feet long, 3 feet deep, and 6 feet wide, in 8 days, if only 5 men were employed, 2 boys being supposed equal to 1 man?”
As I read over this question I felt my heart sink within me. I knew I could not do it properly, and that I should again expose myself to ridicule in having said I could accomplish rule-of-three, when, if this were rule-of-three, I knew nothing of it. I sat for several minutes looking at the question, and trying to discover some means for its solution. Boys were mixed in my mind with ditches, men with days, and deep holes with width. At least a quarter of an hour passed without my making the slightest advance in the way of solution; at the end of this time Mr Monk looked at my slate and said,—
“So you don’t seem to know much about rule-of-three?”
“I never saw a sum like this before,” I replied.
“Then why did you tell me that you could do rule-of-three? Do you know your multiplication table?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“What’s 12 times 11?” he inquired.
Now, of all the multiplication table, 11 times anything was to me the easiest, because I remembered that two similar figures, such as 66, was 6 times 11, 77 was seven times 11, and so on; but 12 times 11 was a number I was always rather shaky about. I hesitated a moment and then made a wild rush at it, and said, “One hundred and twenty-one?”
Mr Monk looked at me with a mingled expression of pity and contempt, and said, “You’re nearly fifteen, and you don’t know your multiplication table, and yet you think you’re going to be an engineer! Why there’s not a boy at the charity-school who at twelve does not know more than you!”
I listened attentively to this remark, for I felt that Mr Monk was a prophet. It was quite true that I was a dunce. I had learnt it, and realised it in half a day. It had been forcibly impressed on me as I tried to learn Euclid, as I was ignominiously defeated by Fraser in a pugilistic encounter in something like ten minutes, and now when it was proved to me! did not know my multiplication table.
“You’d better commence at simple addition,” said Monk, “and work your way up. You can’t join any class; there’s no one so backward as you are. Your nursemaid ought to have taught you these things. At Mr Hostler’s we don’t expect to have to teach even arithmetic. It will take you three years to get up to quadratics!”
“Well, Mr Monk,” said Hostler, bustling into the room, “I hope Shepard is well up in his algebra?”
“He doesn’t even know his multiplication table?” said Monk.
Hostler stared at me much as he would at a dog with only two legs or a bird with one wing. Having given me a long searching look, under which I blushed and felt inclined to shrink under the form, he said,—
“Poor fellow! your friends have got a lot to answer for! What a pity it is, Mr Monk, that in civilised England people who are gentlefolks are not compelled by law to educate their children! Look at this boy, now. I dare say, at home and in the country, he was thought to be fit to run alone; and yet there he is, a regular dunce! Now, Shepard,” he said, “you must begin to learn; you must work hard; and if there’s no chance of your getting into the Academy, why, what you learn here will always be of use to you; so don’t be idle.”
Having made this remark, Mr Hostler went about the school, looking at the slates of the various boys, talking to several, and explaining their problems to them. As for me, I was soon busily engaged in adding up a long row of pounds, shillings, and pence, which I did not accomplish without three times failing to obtain the right total. At length, however, I was successful, just as it was time to turn out for our afternoon walk.
On going to bed that night I seemed to have passed through more, and to have gained more experience in that one day that I had in years before. I had learnt that I knew nothing—that my supposed knowledge was not real—that I was, in fact, a dunce, far behind all other boys of my own age—that I was weak in physical strength—and though my sisters used to think me awfully strong, yet this, too, was a mistake. Mixed with the depressing effect of this knowledge there was, however, a slight feeling of satisfaction in knowing that now at least I was among realities, whilst before I was among dreams. I had, too, a kind of presentiment that I had within me a capacity for doing work, if I could only get in the way of it. When I used to help my father in his microscope work, and sketched some of the wonderful details of the wings, legs, or bodies of the insects I saw, he always prophesied that I should do great things some day. Now, however, I realised the fact that I was a dunce—that I was so far behind other boys that it was improbable I could ever catch them up, and so to expect to excel was out of the question; if I could only attain to mediocrity I should be satisfied.
Such thoughts passed through my mind as I dozed off to sleep, and dreamed I was untangling a skein of wire, that as fast as I undid one part another portion gathered itself in a knot.
Suddenly I felt a choking sensation, and started up in bed with a strange bewildered feeling over me. The room was quite dark, and I could not see one of the ten beds occupied by the other boys in the room. I, however, heard a slight noise as of some one getting into bed, and then a smothered laugh. As I fully awoke I found I was drenched with water and my bed and pillow were wet—a fact I was much puzzled at.
As I sat up, wondering what had happened, a boy called out, “Shepard! what are you about?”
“I am wet through, somehow,” I said.
“Ah! some one has given you a ‘cold pig,’ I suppose, because you snored so. Don’t you make such a row again.”
When I was at home it was instilled into me that it was almost certain death to sleep in a damp bed, and numerous instances were quoted to me of persons who had either died of consumption, or been cripples for life in consequence of sleeping in wet sheets. In the present instance, however, there was no help for it. I must either sit up all night, or sleep in the bed, wet as it was. I was so completely tired, so utterly worn out, bodily and mentally, that I did not care who it was had thrown the water on me. My head ached, from over-thought as much as from the blows I had received in my fight, and I again laid down in the wet bed, and slept as well as though in my own room at home.
I had not half completed what would have been a fair night’s rest under ordinary conditions when I was awoke by the shrill voice of a boy shouting “Quarter!” I at first imagined this cry might mean something connected with a battle, and that the enemy were calling out for quarter; but on fully awaking I found each boy jumping up, and rushing to a basin of water and washing in the greatest haste. I followed the example set me by the other boys, from whom I learnt that we all had to be in the schoolroom by six o’clock, and any boy who was not in the room when the clock struck got no breakfast. We all rushed from our room about a minute before the clock struck, and entered the school where I had been on the previous day; and I then found that between six and seven a proposition in Euclid had to be learnt on nearly every morning. So I was at once started at my definitions.
In the hour allotted I managed to learn my definitions, and said them to the satisfaction of Mr Monk, and was able, therefore, to go out with the other boys for the half-hour preceding breakfast.
During the next two days our routine was very similar to that of the first day. I soon fully realised the fact that I was more backward, if not more stupid, than any boy in the school; and I also learnt that no one believed it possible I could ever be prepared to pass the examination for entrance to the Academy. There were boys at the school of only twelve years of age, who were far beyond me, who were not to be sent up for examination until they were fifteen years of age. In those days a boy was allowed only one trial for entrance, and if he then failed he never had another given him; and he consequently lost all chance of becoming a cadet. So it was, at least, a prudent precaution to keep a boy at school until he was well qualified to pass his examination. There was also then, as now, considerable rivalry amongst the schoolmasters who prepared for Woolwich Academy, and it was considered a feather in the cap of the individual who had prepared the first boy on the list. To send up any boy, therefore, badly prepared was imprudent, and also not likely to reflect any credit on the establishment from which he had been sent.
I used my best endeavours to get on, but found that my brain would not work as would that of other boys: it seemed like a limb that has not been used for many weeks and is suddenly called upon for some hard work; it becomes stiff and unable to work in a very short time. I also noticed that none of the masters seemed to take much trouble about me. It appeared as though they had agreed that I was not in the race for the Academy, and therefore it was unnecessary for them to trouble themselves much about me.
In three days an entire change had come over me. I had lost all pride in myself, and felt that I must merely drag on an existence at this school for a time. I had not the courage to write to my father and tell him it was impossible I could pass my examination, as I was such a dunce; for I knew such an announcement would not be believed by him, or, if believed, it would be most unpleasant news. I hoped, too, that it was possible I might by practice get accustomed to the noise at the school, and might, like other boys, be able to learn like a parrot the problems in Euclid. My life was certainly a most miserable one. I was still the last new boy, and as such had various tricks played upon me; but it seemed that my nature was somehow changed, and that I did not feel as sensitively as I did on first joining Mr Hostler’s.
One day per week at Mr Hostler’s was devoted to drawing of various kinds, and languages; and this day was a great relaxation after the perpetual Euclid, arithmetic, or algebra. I rather looked forward, also, to seeing Mr Walkwell, the drawing-master, who, I was told, was very amusing and quite a character, and who was very fond of boys. On going into school after breakfast, I saw Mr Walkwell. He was a short, spare man, with a flexible face, which he had the power of altering in a marvellous manner. His arms and legs also he could swing about in a wild kind of way that seemed quite dangerous. As we all entered the school, Mr Walkwell called out in a deep, loud voice that one would scarcely believe possible could emanate from so small a man,—
“Every boy to his seat instantly?”
Each boy jumped into a place except myself, and, not knowing where to go, I stood looking at Mr Walkwell.
“New boy,” said Mr Walkwell, pointing his finger at me threateningly. “New boy! See. Ought to be an artist. Large perceptives, comparison well developed, ideality large, temperament nervous. New boy, you can draw?”
“No, sir,” I said, “I can’t draw.”
“What’s your name, new boy?”
“Shepard, sir.”
“Gentle Shepard—not of Salisbury Plains—come and sit here. That’s always to be your place. Now, boys, listen to the three great rules of drawing.”
Mr Walkwell here took a piece of chalk and sketched on a black board in about half a dozen lines a small landscape. As he drew these lines, he said,—
“Listen, boys! There are three rules in drawing to be attended to. There is the distant, or delicate—see here the distant hills; the middle ground, or spirited; and the foreground, or bold.”
As he completed his remarks, he lowered his voice from the high falsetto at which he had commenced to the deepest base, whilst at the same time he ran his chalk about in a most skilful manner over the lines he had drawn, and filled in a very effective landscape.
“Now, Shepard,” he said, “you, as new boy, always remember these golden rules, and you must draw. Take a pencil now and copy this gate.”
I was here given a copy, a piece of drawing-paper, and a spare piece of paper to try my pencil on. I very soon copied the gate, and then amused myself in sketching a yacht, such as I had seen in the Solent, and making the Isle of Wight the distant, or delicate, and some posts the foreground, or bold. It was a scene I could call to mind, and I seemed to be again in Hampshire, enjoying my liberty. So engrossed was I with this fancy sketch, that at first I did not notice all the boys’ eyes turned on me with curiosity. I soon saw, however, that I was the object of general attention; and on looking round I saw Mr Walkwell leaning over me, watching what I was doing.
“New boy, give me that,” said Mr Walkwell; “you are idling.”
I gave up the paper, feeling certain that either three cuts on the hand or some other punishment would be given to me. Mr Walkwell looked at the drawing, and then at me, and then said,—
“Shepard, I must report you to Mr Hostler.”
“Please, sir, don’t!” I said; “I’ll never idle again.”
At that instant Mr Hostler came into the room and said,—
“Well, Mr Walkwell, how are you? Are the boys doing well?”
“Very fairly, sir, very fairly; but I have to report the new boy to you.”
“What, Shepard? Ah, I’m afraid he is a failure. Come here, Shepard!”
I got up from my seat and walked up to where Hostler and Walkwell were standing, feeling ready to faint from nervousness.
“New boy Shepard, Mr Hostler, has told me a story. I asked him if he could draw, and he said ‘No,’ and I have now seen him out of his own head draw this sketch, sir. Look at the curve of that yacht’s sails; see the way he has fore-shortened her; look how she rests on the water. Why, for a man that’s a work of art. That boy is an artist, sir, and he told me he couldn’t draw.”
It is very difficult to describe my feelings during this conversation. I had twice been surprised at discovering my ignorance during the past few days, and now I had a surprise in discovering that I was possessed of a skill in drawing which was above the average. I used to amuse myself when at home in drawing on a slate vessels and boats that I had seen when I had gone down to Lymington or Beaulieu, but that there was any great difficulty in drawing such things I had never imagined, or had I the slightest idea that other boys could not do so well—if not better than I did.
I was certainly pleased to find that there was something in which I was not a dunce; and although I was a laughing-stock of the school on account of my ignorance of mathematics and Euclid, I was held up as something unusually clever in drawing.
“Shepard,” said Mr Hostler, “I am glad to find you can do something well, but it’s a pity you have wasted your time in learning only drawing, to the neglect of mathematics. Drawing never passed a boy into the Academy, and it doesn’t count much afterwards. Very well, Mr Walkwell, make a good artist of him, and he’ll then have a profession always ready for him in case he wants it; but I wish, for his sake, he’d some knowledge of Euclid, and less of drawing.”
From that day Mr Walkwell paid great attention to my instruction, and I improved rapidly under his tuition, and after some dozen lessons I was considered the best in the drawing-class.
Chapter Five.Mr Hostler’s Cram-School.It was the practice for our school to be taken out for a walk on Sunday mornings, and to go on to the barrack-field at Woolwich, to see the march past previous to the troops going to church. At this march past the splendid band of the Royal Artillery used to play at the head of the regiment, whilst immediately following the band, and heading the regiment, were two companies of gentlemen cadets.At the church-parade on Sundays the cadets turned out in full-dress, which consisted of white trowsers, a blue tailed coat with red facings, a shako and plume. Such a dress now would look old-fashioned, but to my boyish eyes it seemed in those days the pattern of neatness, and of a soldierlike appearance.To me everything military possessed the charm of novelty, but I must own that nothing I had ever imagined previously came up, in my ideas, to the magnificent sight that I for the first time now witnessed. I had never before heard a military band, and I gazed with wonder at the immense display of musicians, headed by a splendid-looking man, arrayed in gold lace, and swinging a huge gold-headed stick, as tall as himself, which he dexterously manipulated in time with the music. There is always something spirit-stirring in the sound of martial music, and I stood entranced as the band marched past me, turned sharp to the left as though worked by machinery, and, wheeling about, faced me, as they continued the slow march they were playing.“Here come the gentlemen cadets!” said some of the civilians, who by hundreds had assembled to see the Sunday march past. “Look how splendidly they march?”“What a fine set of young fellows!”I pushed myself into a front position as I heard these remarks, and saw advancing at a slow march a line of soldiers, moving as though they were part and parcel of each other. With heads erect, and shoulders well thrown back, this line advanced; the marching was perfect. As the leading company approached a flag, beside which were several officers, who I noticed were covered with medals, a tall cadet shouted, “Bear rank take open order!” and, coming out to the front, led the company onward. So new was the sight to me, so splendid did it all appear, and so imposing, that I felt a half-choking sensation as I looked at and admired every movement. As the leading cadet passed the flag I saw him go through some movement, which concluded with his raising his hand to his cap in what I knew must be a salute. I heard murmurs of applause among the bystanders, and the deep, decided voice of an old officer at the flagstaff exclaim, “Well marched, gentlemen; very well marched.”There was a something, I don’t know what to call it, but it seemed like a flash of intelligence passed across the faces of the cadets as they heard these words. They marched on as rigidly as ever, not a cadet an inch before or behind his neighbour, but there was a sparkle in the eye of each cadet that showed the words spoken by the officer had been heard and appreciated by front and rear rank of the cadets.“Who is that officer?” I heard a civilian ask.“That is Lord Bloomfield, the commandant,” was the reply.I looked at the commandant, and saw a handsome, soldierlike-looking man in a splendid uniform, but he was too far removed from me in years and rank to produce any special sympathy on my part; the hero of the day in my mind was the cadet who had given the order to open the ranks, whilst every one of the forty cadets forming the first company that had marched past was to me an object of admiration. At that moment I would have given much to have been one among that company, and to have marched past as they had marched.As the cadets marched before us, I could hear some of my schoolfellows calling attention to several cadets who were known to them.“There’s Duckworth, who passed third last Christmas,” said one of them. “He’s second of his batch now, and is sure of the Engineers, they say.”“There’s Hobson in the rear rank, with the brass collar; he got second-class mathematical prize; and see how well Jackson marches; he’s an awful swell now since he got sixty runs and carried out his bat in the last match with the officers. Look at that brute Tims,” exclaimed another; “I hope he’ll be spun at his probationary, or he’ll be an awful bully as an old cadet when I am a neux.”These and other similar remarks I heard near me, just as a feeling of utter misery came over me as I realised the fact that it was impossible I could ever be a cadet. What I had seen on that parade had instilled into me military ambition, and if I had then and there been offered the option of a peerage or of being a gentleman cadet, I am perfectly certain I should have jumped at the chance of being a cadet. I now fully realised the absurdity of my having said at Mr Hostler’s that I was going to be an engineer, for I had already discovered that I was, compared to other boys, a dunce, and that it required a boy to be not only very clever, but to have been thoroughly well prepared, to stand any chance of being among the first flight in the intellectual race at the Academy. Consequently my remarks about being an engineer, though uttered in all simplicity and ignorance by me, appeared to others as conceited and vain-glorious, as though it were announced that a screw of a horse was going to Epsom to win the Derby. I was now not surprised that I had been, and still remained, a laughing-stock to my schoolfellows on account of my ignorance.A third of a century has passed since that Sunday morning on which I was first a witness of a military display. During the interval, many strange and wonderful scenes have passed before us, and we have seen a large portion of our globe; but we cannot recall any pageant that has produced upon us half the effect that was produced by a simple marching-past parade, in which the gentlemen cadets, as the first company of the Royal Artillery, marched at the head of the regiment.Since those days years have produced their effect upon our mind and body, but we are convinced a far greater effect has been produced on society than on us individually. Formerly any man or boy, who by labour, gallant deeds, intellectual power, or skill, had distinguished himself, and had thereby, even temporarily, gained a position of eminence, received the deference considered then due to him.To the Woolwich schoolboy the gentleman cadet was a being so far above him that he was to be approached only with bated breath and whispering humbleness. To the cadet the officer was an emblem of authority and rank far above criticism, and to be treated only with respect, and obeyed without murmur. To the last-joined cadet the old cadet was an object of mingled fear and admiration—fear because, in the days of which we write, fagging was at its height, and too often was abused, and degenerated into bullying; and admiration because the old cadet had surmounted difficulties which it had yet to be proved the young cadet could surmount. What may be described as “veneration” for rank and seniority was then at its height, and impressed its influence even on the members of a cram-school such as Mr Hostler’s.He himself, as master of the school, used his best endeavours to keep this sentiment alive. The career of those boys who had done well at the Academy was often referred to by Hostler, and comparisons made between what had been accomplished by other and former pupils, and what was likely to be done by those now at the school. Amongst those whose reputation stood highest at Hostler’s I found the name of my friend Howard was well known. He had done well at the Academy, had gained several prizes, and had left behind him a reputation that was not likely to die out soon.In those days a boy at school used to look with a mingled feeling of respect and fear at a cadet; to be seen speaking familiarly with a cadet was enough to give a boy a position in a school, whilst an officer was regarded as belonging entirely to another order of being, whose sayings and doings were merely to be quoted as examples for future guidance.A change, however, has taken place in these things. Now it is no unusual thing for the visitor to Woolwich to see four or five young men at school lounging down the common arm in arm, each with his pipe in his mouth, jostling off the pavement an officer covered with medals, or puffing their tobacco-smoke in the faces of ladies, whom they almost force into the road, and eye in a half sneering, half patronising manner. To them a cadet is nothing superior in any way to themselves; an officer they imagine to be a man behind his time, and one to whom they could give lots of useful hints. Let people only wait till they become officers, and (so they believe) then they will show how things should be done.Others, again, in the present day, stand on what they imagine their rights, and will not admit that any deference is due to either age, rank, or experience—a sentiment largely demonstrated during the reign of the Paris Commune, a sort of “down with everything that’s up” style, that is more dangerous to a country than are the armies of her enemies.Thirty years ago such sentiments had little hold in England, and none whatever among those who were candidates for Woolwich, or who wore the coveted uniform of a gentleman cadet; and we cannot but think that much of that military devotion which so characterised every branch of the army during the earlier part of the present century was due to theesprit de corpsfelt by all officers at that time, when soldiering was not so much a business as an honourable profession. That men of the Anglo-Saxon race should ever fail in courage, or in a sense of duty, is not likely, but there is a marked difference between work done from a sense of duty and that donecon amore; and where discontent is not unknown, we too often find mere duty is most irksome.During four months that I remained at Mr Hostler’s, previous to a brief vacation, I made very slow progress; it seemed to me that there was a disinclination on the part of the masters to push me forward. I was kept over and over again at the same things, whilst other boys were pushed on to more advanced subjects. I had obtained a reputation for being stupid and having no capacity for mathematics, and this case seemed an example of giving a dog a bad name, and you may as well hang him. The neglect with which I was treated produced its effect on me, for I failed to use all my powers to advance, as it seemed a useless effort on my part; so I only did as much as would save me from the whalebone cane, and this I often failed to escape.I hailed with delight the day that I left Mr Hostler’s for a three weeks’ holiday, for I hoped I should never return, as I intended to explain to my father how matters were, and to get him either to send me to another school, or to withdraw me entirely from the proposed competition for Woolwich. I had a keen sense of the discredit that would attach to me if I went up for my examination and failed, for I knew slightly a boy near Salisbury, who had been prepared for Woolwich, had gone up to the Academy, and been, as it was termed, “spun.” Many persons who knew nothing of the difficulty of the examination, or were unacquainted with the fact that out of forty who went up for examination it was rare for more than twenty or twenty-five to be taken, yet pitied the friends of this boy on account of his “discreditable failure,” as they termed it. Believing that it was no question of probability, but a certainty, that I could not qualify for my examination, I considered it would be more prudent to withdraw under some excuse, rather than go up and fail. I was also assured by several boys that Mr Hostler would not allow me to go up unless he was tolerably certain I should pass, as it would bring discredit on his school if I failed.It was late in the evening when I reached my father’s lodge, and was welcomed by all my relatives. The change that had taken place in me was marked, and was noticed by all. I was thinner, and the care and thought of the past four months had given me an aged appearance, that made me look a year older than I was. I could scarcely conceal my feelings as my sisters hoped I was getting on splendidly, and would soon be an engineer, like Howard. To enter into all the details of my difficulties with them would, I knew, be useless, and so I avoided answering them, and made up my mind to wait till I could have a quiet talk with my father, and explain matters to him.After dinner that evening I found my opportunity of speaking to my father when we were alone. I was most eager to open my heart to him, and let him know how things really stood. Without any preface I suddenly said, “I want to tell you, there’s no possible chance of my passing for a cadet.”“No chance! What do you mean? Why, it’s nearly ten months to your examination! Don’t you mean to try?”“I may try all I can, and yet it’s impossible; it would take me two years to get into the class that goes up for examination.”“Mr Hostler thinks differently, Bob, for he says that he hopes you will pass, if you will work; but that up to the present time you have been very idle.”I listened with astonishment to my father’s remarks, and could hardly believe it possible that Mr Hostler had written such words. My doubts, however, were soon removed, by the production of Mr Hostler’s letter, in which were the very words quoted. I knew that what I had stated was correct, and that Mr Hostler knew, even better than I did, that there was no chance of my success; but at the time I had no idea of the reason for his sending such a letter to my father. It was, I found, the intention to send me back to Hostler’s at the termination of my three weeks’ vacation, and I began to count the days and hours of liberty previous to that, to me, unpleasant period.On the following morning I received an invitation from Howard, asking me to go over and pass a few days with him, and, having obtained my father’s consent, I started for his lodgings, which were at a farm-house near Lyndhurst.Howard was now to me even a greater hero than he had formerly appeared. I looked on him as one who had passed a distinguished career at Woolwich, and had also been abroad, and I felt somewhat afraid of him now that I knew how much he had done. He was, however, so kind and friendly that I was soon at my ease, and as we sat at ourtête-à-têtedinner I found myself telling him all my disappointments, hopes, and fears at Mr Hostler’s, and my difficulties as regarded the future.Howard seemed much amused at all I told him, and said that the first thing he must teach me was to be a good “mill,”—that meant, how to use my fists. He did not mean to bother me with work, as he believed I wanted rest more than anything; but he promised to write to Hostler, and ask him to push me on, and he thought that, although it was difficult, yet it was by no means impossible I might pass.On the following morning, soon after breakfast, Howard produced a pair of boxing-gloves, and, taking a seat on a chair, gave me instruction in what he called “the noble art of self-defence.” He first showed me how to stand, how to raise and hold my fists, how to strike out and make the foot and hand work together. He pointed out the danger of an open guard by giving me light taps in the face, and then explained how to guard them.“We’ll have an hour a day at this fun,” he said, “while you are here, and I’ll back you to lick Fraser when you go back to Woolwich. There’s nothing that can’t be done by thought and work.”During the week I passed with Howard I changed from a condition of despondency to one of Hope. I learnt from him the power to be derived from thought and work. He explained to me his own difficulties, and how he had overcome them, and encouraged me by saying that, although I was backward, he believed I had brains enough to come to the front after all. By constant practice I had become, as he said, quite a “dab” with my fists, and ought to hold my own with heavier weights than myself. “Don’t you ever seek a fight,” he advised, “if you are even sure to win, because that’s bad style; but, if a boy tries to bully you, never avoid a fight, and you’ll soon find you’ll lead an easier life, even though you get licked.”I returned home from my visit to Howard with a lighter heart than I had gone there, for hope now took the place of despair. If I could only manage to pass into the Academy, I thought, what a triumph it would be! but then the knowledge of the work before me cropped up, and it seemed as impossible I could accomplish what I had to do as that I could accomplish flying, or any other impossibility. Any way, I would try hard on my return to Hostler’s, and perhaps he would now push me on faster than he had done before.My three weeks soon passed, and I once more joined Hostler’s school at Woolwich. There were two new boys, who had, however, been to other schools, and were fairly forward both in Euclid and algebra, and got on very well after the first few days. I soon became better friends than I had been with Strong and two or three other boys; but Fraser, who was the bully of the school, was still very uncivil to me, and more than once had threatened to thrash me if I interfered with him.Remembering the advice that Howard had given me, I told Strong one day that if Fraser gave me any reason for doing so, I intended to challenge him to fight. Strong warned me against doing anything so rash, for he assured me he knew a case where Fraser had completely cut a boy’s cheek open in a fight, and that I should not be able to stand up against him for five minutes.
It was the practice for our school to be taken out for a walk on Sunday mornings, and to go on to the barrack-field at Woolwich, to see the march past previous to the troops going to church. At this march past the splendid band of the Royal Artillery used to play at the head of the regiment, whilst immediately following the band, and heading the regiment, were two companies of gentlemen cadets.
At the church-parade on Sundays the cadets turned out in full-dress, which consisted of white trowsers, a blue tailed coat with red facings, a shako and plume. Such a dress now would look old-fashioned, but to my boyish eyes it seemed in those days the pattern of neatness, and of a soldierlike appearance.
To me everything military possessed the charm of novelty, but I must own that nothing I had ever imagined previously came up, in my ideas, to the magnificent sight that I for the first time now witnessed. I had never before heard a military band, and I gazed with wonder at the immense display of musicians, headed by a splendid-looking man, arrayed in gold lace, and swinging a huge gold-headed stick, as tall as himself, which he dexterously manipulated in time with the music. There is always something spirit-stirring in the sound of martial music, and I stood entranced as the band marched past me, turned sharp to the left as though worked by machinery, and, wheeling about, faced me, as they continued the slow march they were playing.
“Here come the gentlemen cadets!” said some of the civilians, who by hundreds had assembled to see the Sunday march past. “Look how splendidly they march?”
“What a fine set of young fellows!”
I pushed myself into a front position as I heard these remarks, and saw advancing at a slow march a line of soldiers, moving as though they were part and parcel of each other. With heads erect, and shoulders well thrown back, this line advanced; the marching was perfect. As the leading company approached a flag, beside which were several officers, who I noticed were covered with medals, a tall cadet shouted, “Bear rank take open order!” and, coming out to the front, led the company onward. So new was the sight to me, so splendid did it all appear, and so imposing, that I felt a half-choking sensation as I looked at and admired every movement. As the leading cadet passed the flag I saw him go through some movement, which concluded with his raising his hand to his cap in what I knew must be a salute. I heard murmurs of applause among the bystanders, and the deep, decided voice of an old officer at the flagstaff exclaim, “Well marched, gentlemen; very well marched.”
There was a something, I don’t know what to call it, but it seemed like a flash of intelligence passed across the faces of the cadets as they heard these words. They marched on as rigidly as ever, not a cadet an inch before or behind his neighbour, but there was a sparkle in the eye of each cadet that showed the words spoken by the officer had been heard and appreciated by front and rear rank of the cadets.
“Who is that officer?” I heard a civilian ask.
“That is Lord Bloomfield, the commandant,” was the reply.
I looked at the commandant, and saw a handsome, soldierlike-looking man in a splendid uniform, but he was too far removed from me in years and rank to produce any special sympathy on my part; the hero of the day in my mind was the cadet who had given the order to open the ranks, whilst every one of the forty cadets forming the first company that had marched past was to me an object of admiration. At that moment I would have given much to have been one among that company, and to have marched past as they had marched.
As the cadets marched before us, I could hear some of my schoolfellows calling attention to several cadets who were known to them.
“There’s Duckworth, who passed third last Christmas,” said one of them. “He’s second of his batch now, and is sure of the Engineers, they say.”
“There’s Hobson in the rear rank, with the brass collar; he got second-class mathematical prize; and see how well Jackson marches; he’s an awful swell now since he got sixty runs and carried out his bat in the last match with the officers. Look at that brute Tims,” exclaimed another; “I hope he’ll be spun at his probationary, or he’ll be an awful bully as an old cadet when I am a neux.”
These and other similar remarks I heard near me, just as a feeling of utter misery came over me as I realised the fact that it was impossible I could ever be a cadet. What I had seen on that parade had instilled into me military ambition, and if I had then and there been offered the option of a peerage or of being a gentleman cadet, I am perfectly certain I should have jumped at the chance of being a cadet. I now fully realised the absurdity of my having said at Mr Hostler’s that I was going to be an engineer, for I had already discovered that I was, compared to other boys, a dunce, and that it required a boy to be not only very clever, but to have been thoroughly well prepared, to stand any chance of being among the first flight in the intellectual race at the Academy. Consequently my remarks about being an engineer, though uttered in all simplicity and ignorance by me, appeared to others as conceited and vain-glorious, as though it were announced that a screw of a horse was going to Epsom to win the Derby. I was now not surprised that I had been, and still remained, a laughing-stock to my schoolfellows on account of my ignorance.
A third of a century has passed since that Sunday morning on which I was first a witness of a military display. During the interval, many strange and wonderful scenes have passed before us, and we have seen a large portion of our globe; but we cannot recall any pageant that has produced upon us half the effect that was produced by a simple marching-past parade, in which the gentlemen cadets, as the first company of the Royal Artillery, marched at the head of the regiment.
Since those days years have produced their effect upon our mind and body, but we are convinced a far greater effect has been produced on society than on us individually. Formerly any man or boy, who by labour, gallant deeds, intellectual power, or skill, had distinguished himself, and had thereby, even temporarily, gained a position of eminence, received the deference considered then due to him.
To the Woolwich schoolboy the gentleman cadet was a being so far above him that he was to be approached only with bated breath and whispering humbleness. To the cadet the officer was an emblem of authority and rank far above criticism, and to be treated only with respect, and obeyed without murmur. To the last-joined cadet the old cadet was an object of mingled fear and admiration—fear because, in the days of which we write, fagging was at its height, and too often was abused, and degenerated into bullying; and admiration because the old cadet had surmounted difficulties which it had yet to be proved the young cadet could surmount. What may be described as “veneration” for rank and seniority was then at its height, and impressed its influence even on the members of a cram-school such as Mr Hostler’s.
He himself, as master of the school, used his best endeavours to keep this sentiment alive. The career of those boys who had done well at the Academy was often referred to by Hostler, and comparisons made between what had been accomplished by other and former pupils, and what was likely to be done by those now at the school. Amongst those whose reputation stood highest at Hostler’s I found the name of my friend Howard was well known. He had done well at the Academy, had gained several prizes, and had left behind him a reputation that was not likely to die out soon.
In those days a boy at school used to look with a mingled feeling of respect and fear at a cadet; to be seen speaking familiarly with a cadet was enough to give a boy a position in a school, whilst an officer was regarded as belonging entirely to another order of being, whose sayings and doings were merely to be quoted as examples for future guidance.
A change, however, has taken place in these things. Now it is no unusual thing for the visitor to Woolwich to see four or five young men at school lounging down the common arm in arm, each with his pipe in his mouth, jostling off the pavement an officer covered with medals, or puffing their tobacco-smoke in the faces of ladies, whom they almost force into the road, and eye in a half sneering, half patronising manner. To them a cadet is nothing superior in any way to themselves; an officer they imagine to be a man behind his time, and one to whom they could give lots of useful hints. Let people only wait till they become officers, and (so they believe) then they will show how things should be done.
Others, again, in the present day, stand on what they imagine their rights, and will not admit that any deference is due to either age, rank, or experience—a sentiment largely demonstrated during the reign of the Paris Commune, a sort of “down with everything that’s up” style, that is more dangerous to a country than are the armies of her enemies.
Thirty years ago such sentiments had little hold in England, and none whatever among those who were candidates for Woolwich, or who wore the coveted uniform of a gentleman cadet; and we cannot but think that much of that military devotion which so characterised every branch of the army during the earlier part of the present century was due to theesprit de corpsfelt by all officers at that time, when soldiering was not so much a business as an honourable profession. That men of the Anglo-Saxon race should ever fail in courage, or in a sense of duty, is not likely, but there is a marked difference between work done from a sense of duty and that donecon amore; and where discontent is not unknown, we too often find mere duty is most irksome.
During four months that I remained at Mr Hostler’s, previous to a brief vacation, I made very slow progress; it seemed to me that there was a disinclination on the part of the masters to push me forward. I was kept over and over again at the same things, whilst other boys were pushed on to more advanced subjects. I had obtained a reputation for being stupid and having no capacity for mathematics, and this case seemed an example of giving a dog a bad name, and you may as well hang him. The neglect with which I was treated produced its effect on me, for I failed to use all my powers to advance, as it seemed a useless effort on my part; so I only did as much as would save me from the whalebone cane, and this I often failed to escape.
I hailed with delight the day that I left Mr Hostler’s for a three weeks’ holiday, for I hoped I should never return, as I intended to explain to my father how matters were, and to get him either to send me to another school, or to withdraw me entirely from the proposed competition for Woolwich. I had a keen sense of the discredit that would attach to me if I went up for my examination and failed, for I knew slightly a boy near Salisbury, who had been prepared for Woolwich, had gone up to the Academy, and been, as it was termed, “spun.” Many persons who knew nothing of the difficulty of the examination, or were unacquainted with the fact that out of forty who went up for examination it was rare for more than twenty or twenty-five to be taken, yet pitied the friends of this boy on account of his “discreditable failure,” as they termed it. Believing that it was no question of probability, but a certainty, that I could not qualify for my examination, I considered it would be more prudent to withdraw under some excuse, rather than go up and fail. I was also assured by several boys that Mr Hostler would not allow me to go up unless he was tolerably certain I should pass, as it would bring discredit on his school if I failed.
It was late in the evening when I reached my father’s lodge, and was welcomed by all my relatives. The change that had taken place in me was marked, and was noticed by all. I was thinner, and the care and thought of the past four months had given me an aged appearance, that made me look a year older than I was. I could scarcely conceal my feelings as my sisters hoped I was getting on splendidly, and would soon be an engineer, like Howard. To enter into all the details of my difficulties with them would, I knew, be useless, and so I avoided answering them, and made up my mind to wait till I could have a quiet talk with my father, and explain matters to him.
After dinner that evening I found my opportunity of speaking to my father when we were alone. I was most eager to open my heart to him, and let him know how things really stood. Without any preface I suddenly said, “I want to tell you, there’s no possible chance of my passing for a cadet.”
“No chance! What do you mean? Why, it’s nearly ten months to your examination! Don’t you mean to try?”
“I may try all I can, and yet it’s impossible; it would take me two years to get into the class that goes up for examination.”
“Mr Hostler thinks differently, Bob, for he says that he hopes you will pass, if you will work; but that up to the present time you have been very idle.”
I listened with astonishment to my father’s remarks, and could hardly believe it possible that Mr Hostler had written such words. My doubts, however, were soon removed, by the production of Mr Hostler’s letter, in which were the very words quoted. I knew that what I had stated was correct, and that Mr Hostler knew, even better than I did, that there was no chance of my success; but at the time I had no idea of the reason for his sending such a letter to my father. It was, I found, the intention to send me back to Hostler’s at the termination of my three weeks’ vacation, and I began to count the days and hours of liberty previous to that, to me, unpleasant period.
On the following morning I received an invitation from Howard, asking me to go over and pass a few days with him, and, having obtained my father’s consent, I started for his lodgings, which were at a farm-house near Lyndhurst.
Howard was now to me even a greater hero than he had formerly appeared. I looked on him as one who had passed a distinguished career at Woolwich, and had also been abroad, and I felt somewhat afraid of him now that I knew how much he had done. He was, however, so kind and friendly that I was soon at my ease, and as we sat at ourtête-à-têtedinner I found myself telling him all my disappointments, hopes, and fears at Mr Hostler’s, and my difficulties as regarded the future.
Howard seemed much amused at all I told him, and said that the first thing he must teach me was to be a good “mill,”—that meant, how to use my fists. He did not mean to bother me with work, as he believed I wanted rest more than anything; but he promised to write to Hostler, and ask him to push me on, and he thought that, although it was difficult, yet it was by no means impossible I might pass.
On the following morning, soon after breakfast, Howard produced a pair of boxing-gloves, and, taking a seat on a chair, gave me instruction in what he called “the noble art of self-defence.” He first showed me how to stand, how to raise and hold my fists, how to strike out and make the foot and hand work together. He pointed out the danger of an open guard by giving me light taps in the face, and then explained how to guard them.
“We’ll have an hour a day at this fun,” he said, “while you are here, and I’ll back you to lick Fraser when you go back to Woolwich. There’s nothing that can’t be done by thought and work.”
During the week I passed with Howard I changed from a condition of despondency to one of Hope. I learnt from him the power to be derived from thought and work. He explained to me his own difficulties, and how he had overcome them, and encouraged me by saying that, although I was backward, he believed I had brains enough to come to the front after all. By constant practice I had become, as he said, quite a “dab” with my fists, and ought to hold my own with heavier weights than myself. “Don’t you ever seek a fight,” he advised, “if you are even sure to win, because that’s bad style; but, if a boy tries to bully you, never avoid a fight, and you’ll soon find you’ll lead an easier life, even though you get licked.”
I returned home from my visit to Howard with a lighter heart than I had gone there, for hope now took the place of despair. If I could only manage to pass into the Academy, I thought, what a triumph it would be! but then the knowledge of the work before me cropped up, and it seemed as impossible I could accomplish what I had to do as that I could accomplish flying, or any other impossibility. Any way, I would try hard on my return to Hostler’s, and perhaps he would now push me on faster than he had done before.
My three weeks soon passed, and I once more joined Hostler’s school at Woolwich. There were two new boys, who had, however, been to other schools, and were fairly forward both in Euclid and algebra, and got on very well after the first few days. I soon became better friends than I had been with Strong and two or three other boys; but Fraser, who was the bully of the school, was still very uncivil to me, and more than once had threatened to thrash me if I interfered with him.
Remembering the advice that Howard had given me, I told Strong one day that if Fraser gave me any reason for doing so, I intended to challenge him to fight. Strong warned me against doing anything so rash, for he assured me he knew a case where Fraser had completely cut a boy’s cheek open in a fight, and that I should not be able to stand up against him for five minutes.
Chapter Six.My First Victory.It was about a month after I had returned from my vacation that Mr Hostler gave us a holiday, and arrangements were made for our playing a match of cricket on Lessness Heath, a piece of open ground near Belvedere. Each boy took out his lunch, and the whole school turned out for the day, Mr Monk being in charge of us. We walked to Belvedere, and soon arranged sides and commenced our match—Mr Monk leaving us to take care of ourselves whilst he went down to Erith to see some friends.After my side had been in and scored forty runs, the other eleven, of which Fraser was one, went in, and had scored thirty-six runs, when Fraser, who had retained his bat during the whole match, was “stumped,” and given out by the boy who was umpire. Fraser disputed the decision, and refused to go out, although even his own side owned that there was no doubt about it. At this Fraser became very angry, and declared he would not give in as he had never gone out of his ground. I stood “point,” and saw he was more than a foot out of his ground when stumped by the wicket-keeper, and, on being appealed to, said there was no doubt about it. No sooner had I said so than Fraser dropped his bat and rushed at me, striking me on the side of the head. In an instant I returned the blow, and a fight commenced.Several of the older boys, seeing there was to be a fight, suggested we should go into a gravel-pit near the heath, as we should not be seen there, and if Mr Monk came back we should be able to see him from a distance, before he saw us. We both went to the gravel-pit, and a ring was formed—Strong acting as my second, whilst the majority of the boys, feeling that Fraser was in the wrong, were on my side. The reputation, however, which Fraser had obtained as a “mill” caused several of the smaller boys to stand by him for fear of future punishment if they excited his displeasure.We were soon opposite to one another, with our coats off, and our shirt sleeves rolled up, ready to commence, most of the boys looking upon my defeat as certain, and half afraid lest I should be severely punished by my opponent. Fraser was confident of success, and exclaimed, “I’ll soon stop your cheek for you; now look out!”He made a rush at me, hitting out vigorously, but I remembered Howard’s advice, and determined to keep my head, and try to put in practice what he had taught me. I guarded myself against Fraser’s blows, and succeeded in twice giving him straight hits in the face without receiving a touch from him in return.The first round seemed to astonish every one, but none more than Fraser himself. When he had thrashed me before, I knew no more about the use of my fists than a girl, and simply stood up to be knocked about. Now, however, I made use of my legs as well as my fists, and jumped away from Fraser’s rushes and blows as expertly as a cat; whilst I instantly recovered myself, and, making my hand and foot keep time, dealt two or three such staggering blows that Fraser was quite bewildered.There is nothing that so soon puts off a bully, or a man accustomed to easy victory, as being “collared.” The effect is not unusually to make the too confident man lose his head, forget his skill, and fall an easy victim to his opponent. This was the case with Fraser. In the second round he hit wildly and unskilfully at me, and exposed himself to my blows several times, opportunities which I did not neglect, and, finally, I gave him a fair knock-down blow. There were now cries of “Bravo, Shepard!” whilst several small boys who had been quietly watching the fight, and who had been bullied by Fraser on former occasions, jumped about outside the ring with a delight that they did not attempt to conceal.Three more rounds were fought, during each of which I became more and more confident, as my fear of my adversary’s skill and strength was gradually dispelled, and at the sixth round I commenced the attack and completely knocked Fraser out of time.Cheers greeted my victory, whilst I was patted on the back by nearly all the boys, and looked at with admiration by the smallest. Even the older boys looked at me with surprise, for, excepting one blow on the cheek, I was unmarked, and seemed untouched.Strong helped me on with my jacket, and seemed quite delighted at my victory.“This is a great day for you,” he said. “There’s no one in the school can lick you now; but I’m astonished to find what a mill you are, for six months ago you knew nothing about it.”“Ah,” I replied, “I did know nothing then but I determined to learn something, and so I got a friend to teach me. Who do you think gave me lessons?”“I can’t guess.”“Why Howard, who was at the Academy some years ago.”“Howard!” exclaimed Strong. “Why, he was the best boxer that was ever at the Academy, and it was he who licked the prizefighter at Charlton Fair. No wonder you thrashed Fraser so easily.”Fraser took his defeat with a very bad grace. He was a good deal punished, and I was surprised myself at the effect of my blows. It was my first experience of the result of skill in opposition to brute force, and of the advantage of practice before attempting any performance. It was a small thing, it was true, to merely thrash the bully of a school, but the means by which I had achieved this performance gave me a lesson that has never been forgotten. Labour and thought were the means by which I had gained this victory, as they are the means by which nearly every successful result in life is achieved.From that day I took quite a different position in the school, and led a life free from quizzing or bullying. Fraser hated me, but he feared me too, and to make up for his dislike I found the generality of the boys now sought my society, and always tried to walk with me when we went out for our daily constitutionals. It is a small thing at a school or in afterlife that makes the difference between popularity and unpopularity.Four months passed after my return from my vacation, and my life at Mr Hostler’s had grown into a sort of routine. I went through the various daily works there much as did the other boys; but I was not advanced as were the other pupils, and as the time went on and drew nearer to the limit of age at which I could go up for examination I felt more and more certain that my chances of being prepared grew less and less. There were now only six months to the date of my examination, and I had not commenced algebra, yet I had to take up cubic equations and three books of Euclid. In this difficulty and anxiety I wrote to Howard, and told him all my fears and anxieties. As I penned my letter to him I felt ill, and out of health and unfit to do anything; but I sent off the letter, and then hoped I should be more at my ease.On the following morning, when the “quarter” was shouted as usual, I tried to get up, but was unable to stand, and I knew I was very ill. I asked one of the boys to tell Mr Hostler I was too ill to get up, and in an hour a doctor came and immediately ordered me to be removed to a separate room, where I was physicked and attended by an old servant, who acted as nurse to the establishment. I became worse during the day, and at night was delirious, and it was then known that I had a bad attack of measles.During three weeks I was confined to bed, and of course made no progress towards qualifying for my examination, and at the end of that time was only able to walk about my room.It happened that the room in which I had been ill was separated by only a thin partition from a room in which Mr Hostler usually saw visitors, and what was said in the next room could be easily heard in mine. I was sitting one evening looking out of my window and wondering what my future would be, when I heard Mr Hostler’s voice in the next room, and my own name mentioned. I listened eagerly to what was said, for I fancied it might be Howard come to see me; but I was soon undeceived, for the second person I ascertained was Monk.“You see,” said Hostler, “next examination we must send up Hort and Fox, and perhaps two more. They will pass well, but Fraser we will keep another half. It won’t do to send up more than four; besides, I can easily keep him back, on account of his French being bad. Shepard, of course, I never intended to send up. He won’t do us any credit, and he can’t pass. I’ll keep him another month, and then will write to his father, and tell him that this attack of measles destroyed what little chance he had of passing. I think a boy ought to be here at least two years before he goes up, so as to be well grounded; and if Shepard did go up, and did pass by cramming, it would make the parents of other boys discontented if I kept their sons two years.”I listened to these words as I should to the revelation of an enemy’s plot against me. I now saw why I had been kept back, and why no hurry had been adopted to qualify me for my examination. My blood boiled with rage, as I felt that I had been, sacrificed to the personal interest of Hostler; and I at once wrote a letter to my father, telling him what I knew of Mr Hostler’s intentions. Several days passed without my receiving any answer from home, but at length I received a letter from my aunt, saying my father was too busy to write, and had requested her to reply to me. She said my father was much displeased with me for my suspicions of Mr Hostler—that I was like most idle schoolboys who disliked their tutors—that Mr Hostler had written home before I was ill, saying that I was idle, and that all the special attention he was giving me did not seem to have the desired effect, and that he feared I should not qualify. These faults she said she could quite understand, as when under her tuition she had always found me more fond of play than of work.At the receipt of this letter I was at a loss what to do. It seemed as if there was a plot against me, and I was helpless to make the truth known. As a last resource I wrote to Howard, and begged of him to come and see me.Three days after posting this letter, my old nurse came into my room and said a gentleman had come to see me, and I was to go into the dining-room. Upon entering the dining-room I saw, to my delight, Howard, who shook hands with me like an old friend. We drew our chairs together, and I told him how I had been kept back, and how I had heard Mr Hostler’s remarks about me, and, lastly, how my father had been prejudiced about me.When he had heard all I had to say, he thought for a minute and then said, “I don’t believe Hostler is a bad fellow at heart, and he, no doubt, fully believed that you could not pass. He has his regular routine of cramming, and won’t go out of it; and, if you stop here, there is no doubt you won’t pass. Now I’m thinking of a plan that may succeed: it is just possible, though not probable. You’ve four months in which to do twelve months’ work; but if it is to be done, I know the only way. There’s a man in London who takes only four or five pupils; he is the cleverest fellow I know, for I worked with him half a vacation once, and he got me on wonderfully. His name is Rouse. Now I’ll try to persuade your governor to send you there, and that’s the only chance I see. I shall be back in Hampshire to-morrow, and will see your governor about it.”On the fourth day after Howard’s visit I received a letter from my father, telling me to have my trunk packed, as he proposed removing me from Mr Hostler’s that day, and transferring me to Mr Rouse’s. I bade my schoolfellows good-bye, most of whom were sorry I was going, and I received their condolence in being withdrawn from Hostler’s, as having no chance of passing my examination.At about mid-day my father came, and, after a short interview with Mr Hostler, sent for me.“I’m sorry you’re obliged to be taken away,” said Hostler; “but it wouldn’t be fair to your friends to keep you any longer on the chance of your passing. You’ve only four months now, and it would take the cleverest boy I know a year to pass. If you’d been very quick, I might have done it at first, but now it’s too late! But what you’ve learnt at this school will be of use to you all your life.”A steamer was in those days the quickest mode of conveyance from Woolwich to London, and by this means we reached London Bridge, and from thence drove to Trinity Square, Tower Hill, where Mr Rouse lived.On entering Mr Rouse’s drawing-room we were soon joined by a clergyman, who was Mr Rouse himself.My father stated the case to Mr Rouse, and informed him of the short time before me, and of Hostler having stated the impossibility of my being able to qualify in a year. “The question now is,” said my father, “do you think you can qualify him for the next examination?”Mr Rouse smiled, and said, “You set me rather a difficult task, asking me to accomplish in four months what the celebrated Mr Hostler says can’t be done under a year. I can only say it is not probable I can do it, but it is not impossible. It depends entirely on your son’s genius and on how well he knows what he has already learnt. I shall be able to tell in a week what he is made of, and what chance there is for me.”I had watched Mr Rouse carefully from the time I had entered the room. He was rather tall and stout, with a clear dark eye and a half-bald head. There was a sparkle in his eye that at once indicated quickness and thought, whilst his calm, decided manner spoke of a confidence in himself that was not easily shaken. In ten minutes after entering my father left me, and I was installed as a pupil of Mr Rouse’s.“Come upstairs,” said Rouse; “I will introduce you to your companions.”I followed my new tutor upstairs, speculating on who the boys might be that I should meet, and was shown into a room that looked more like a drawing-room or study than a schoolroom. In it were three young men, whose ages might be about twenty. One was reading theTimes, another was lounging against the fireplace, and the third helping himself to a sandwich from a plate on a tray at the sideboard.“Let me introduce a new pupil to you,” said Mr Rouse, “Mr Shepard, who is going up for Woolwich. Mr Robinson, Mr Welton, and Mr Wynn, Addiscombe cadets. Will you have some lunch, Shepard?” continued Mr Rouse. “There’s a sandwich and a glass of ale. We dine at six.”I helped myself to a sandwich and a glass of ale, for I had now a tremendous appetite, as I was recovering from my late illness, and I then looked round at my companions. I felt I had come to a very different place to that I had left; my fellow-students were men, and I saw gentlemen, whilst Mr Rouse’s manner put me at my ease at once; there was none of the bullying, blustering style there used to be in Hostler, and I felt that I had made a good exchange as far as comfort was concerned, though I feared the manner of the cadets did not seem much like hard work.After about ten minutes’ conversation on politics, the performances at the various theatres, and the last good thing inPunch, Mr Rouse looked at his watch and said, “Well, shall we commence work again?”The three cadets took chairs beside the table, and commenced reading books. Mr Rouse gave me a slate and said, “I must find out to-day what you know, so that we may go on safe ground. How far have you gone in mathematics?”“I have just commenced addition in algebra,” I replied.“Very well, I will give you a couple of questions in rule-of-three, in decimals, in fractions, and in square and cube root, and be careful about your answers.”I was soon busily employed at these questions, and found little difficulty in solving them, for they seemed particularly easy questions. After a time I told Mr Rouse I had finished, and at once gave him the answers of each. To my surprise I found not a single answer was correct. Something must be wrong I knew, but where it was I did not know. Mr Rouse smiled, and said, “Now, have a careful look at each question, and don’t be in too much of a hurry about them, for sometimes there are difficulties you may not see.”I once more carefully examined the problems, and then found I had made a mistake at the very first, and had misread the questions in almost every case. I then reworked these, and eventually brought out the right answers.By the time I had completed my work the hour had arrived for leaving off study.“This evening,” said Mr Rouse, “you can work out these questions in this paper and have the answers ready by to-morrow morning.”We all dined together that evening like gentlemen. The scramble and noise that used to prevail at Hostler’s prevented me from ever enjoying a meal there, so that it was a luxury to sit down to a quiet dinner and to listen to the anecdotes and conversation of Mr Rouse. At no time, either during study hours or at meals, was there anything of the schoolmaster about Mr Rouse; he acted the part of a companion to perfection, and I believe it was as much by his pleasant manner, giving confidence to his pupils, and inducing them to ask his help in every difficulty, as by his knowledge, that he gained the successes he had gained at examinations.After dinner the three cadets went out. I found that my three companions were Addiscombe cadets, who were going into the Indian army, and who were working during the vacation to get either the Artillery or Engineers. They were so much older than I was, that they seemed like men to me, but they had none of the bullying manner about them that the elder boys had at Hostler’s.When I found myself alone in the study, at Rouse’s, after dinner, I felt I could work and think; everything was so quiet that I was able to get on without interruption, and the time passed rapidly and pleasantly. Question after question I worked out, and by the manner in which the solutions seemed to agree with the questions, I believed I was nearly, if not quite, correct in my work. I continued thus occupied till about ten o’clock, when, having a room to myself, I went to bed, with no fear of being disturbed by a “cold pig,” or the miserable cry of “Quarter?” that used to awake me at Hostler’s.Before going to sleep, however, I thought over the problems I had worked out, and fancied I had made a mistake in one, which I at once determined to re-examine, and soon found my second thoughts were correct, and that I had made an error.This was the first time I had ever worked out a problem in my head, when in bed, and the room was dark, but after this I regularly used to think over the various things I had done during the day, and try to recall each portion, and endeavour to repeat to myself what I had done. By this means I soon acquired a habit of thought quite new to me; instead of what I learnt seeming to rest only on the surface of my mind, as it had at Hostler’s, it seemed to impress itself on the brain, and to leave a mark so distinctly as never to be forgotten. I soon realised the fact that I was passing through a phase of mental development, produced, as I believed, by the quiet, calm, and reasonable manner in which I was now treated.Night after night I used to work out the questions given me, and in the morning handed the solutions to Mr Rouse. In the majority of cases I was correct, but if I were wrong Mr Rouse would go over the work with me, giving me hints as regards the way of arranging my figures or doing portions of the work. I often smiled to myself as I compared this system of teaching with the cramming practised by Hostler, and the reasonable manner in which Mr Rouse pointed out mistakes or want of care, with the three-cuts-on-the-hand system of Hostler. I found, after a week at Rouse’s, I had really learnt more than I should have done at Hostler’s in many months; and it was not only what I had learnt, but the additional power which seemed to have come to my mind, and the consequent ease with which I grappled with problems, that a month before, in the confusion at Hostler’s, would have been to me unintelligible.I discovered, too, at this time, how problems that perhaps for half an hour would appear impossible of solution, if put by for a day and re-tried, would often be found practicable. This, to me, important discovery led me to never give up anything that at first I could not accomplish, but I waited day after day, till I usually found I grew up as it were, so as to surmount the difficulty.Remembering what Mr Rouse had said relative to forming an opinion in a week, I was very anxious, as the week elapsed, to hear the result of his experience. He did not, however, mention a word to me, and I had not the courage to ask him whether he believed I had a chance of success. I worked steadily on, hoping to defer the evil day, when perhaps it would be pronounced that I had no chance.It was after I had been a fortnight at Rouse’s that one morning, as I read out the answers to my night’s work, Mr Rouse said, “Number six question is one you must look at carefully, for when you are at the Academy you will have many such questions in your half-yearly examinations there.”“Do you think I have a chance of passing, then?” I exclaimed.“Certainly; every chance, if you continue going on as well as you have done.”These words were long remembered; they gave me hope, and they excited my ambition. If I could only pass, what a blow it would be for Hostler! and what a surprise for many of the boys there, who had put me down as not only a dunce, but as too stupid to learn! I could not, however, believe there was more than a chance of success, though I had hopes now, especially when I found how easily I could solve many of the most difficult questions that Mr Rouse set me.Week after week passed, and I was pushed on with a rapidity that surprised me. I passed through the earlier rules of algebra, came to simple equations, understood them; passed on to quadratics, and at length came to cubics. Mr Rouse’s method of teaching was perfect. To him there was no such thing as a difficulty; if he found that I was puzzled at anything, he at once came to the rescue, and asserted that “it was a very simple thing.” In a few words he would give an explanation which made the problem thoroughly clear, and often caused me to wonder how I could have been so stupid as not to see clearly before he explained the difficulty to me.On several occasions Mr Rouse had willingly consented to my going to the theatre, his object seeming to be to give all the liberty he could, and to impress on his pupils the importance of self-dependence.Three months after joining Mr Rouse I was working at subjects that only the first and most advanced class attempted at Hostler’s. I could scarcely believe that all this was real. It had been so impressed on me at Hostler’s that I was intensely stupid, and that even a clever boy could not reach the first class from where I had been in less than a year, that I began to fear I must be cramming and had not a thorough sound knowledge of the subjects I was supposed to have learnt.One day I suggested this difficulty to Mr Rouse, telling him how slowly boys went on at Hostler’s, compared to the rate at which I had advanced.Mr Rouse replied that, instead of cramming, he hoped I had thought carefully over and thoroughly understood what I had done, and he believed I was less crammed than Mr Hostler’s boys, whom he knew learnt most things by rote like parrots.As regards their Euclid I knew this opinion was correct, for I understood now far more of geometry than I felt certain any of Hostler’s boys did. I could turn problems upside down, and prove principles as well as mere cases, this proficiency being due to the clear and quiet way in which Mr Rouse would explain the various propositions.Nothing could be more satisfactory than my progress up to within a month of the examination. I felt considerable hope myself, although I could not get over the feeling that the head boys at Hostler’s must know much more than I knew. One morning, however, on waking, I had a very bad fit of coughing; during the day it became worse. I scarcely slept the following night, and on the next day I learnt that I had a bad attack of hooping-cough.Mr Rouse looked very grave at the intelligence given him by the doctor, for he knew that I had to pass a medical as well as a mental examination, and that the doctor would not allow me to pass if I had the hooping-cough.I had now to keep my bed, and was soon leached and blistered, but the cough clung to me most obstinately, and so shook me that I felt too ill to work. I was in this state to within a week of the examination, but I had made up my mind I would take my chance at Woolwich, and well or ill I would go up.It has often since those days occurred to me that there is in the human mind and human will some power which, if exercised, has the effect of driving off or overcoming sickness; men, it is said, often sink and die from despondency, whilst others, by pure energy as it were, get well. To give in, as it were, to sickness often seems to increase the disease, whilst to fight against it staves it off.Whether the will to get well was the cause or the effect of the improvement I cannot state, but I suddenly improved wonderfully, and three days before the examination I scarcely coughed at all, though I was weak and felt barely able to walk.The evening before the examination I started with Mr Rouse for Woolwich, and we took up our quarters at the King’s Arms Hotel. There were several other candidates staying in the house, who, I understood, were going up for the examination on the morrow.Previous to going to bed Mr Rouse sat chatting with me in our sitting-room, giving me hints about the examination. “You must remember,” he said, “that your success or failure does not depend on what you have done or what you have learnt either with me or at Hostler’s, but it depends solely on what you write on your paper to-morrow. I have known boys fail at examinations merely on account of carelessness at the examination. They knew a problem well, but they wrote so carelessly, and described so loosely, that the examiner concluded they knew nothing about the matter. After you have finished a paper, read over slowly and patiently what you have written, and you will almost always find you have made some absurdly simple mistake. I have known men go to an examination as it is said a Dutchman did at a ditch. He ran a mile to get up his speed, and was then so done that, instead of jumping over, he jumped into the ditch. Concentrate all your power on the work in hand; take the easiest questions first, and when you find a difficulty you can’t get over, go on to another question; then you will sometimes find, on going back, that you can at once get over what before defeated you. Above all things, keep quite calm and thoughtful, and do not lose your head or get into a funk.”These and other similar precepts Mr Rouse gave me, as modern youths would style them, as “straight tips,” and I thought over them before I went to sleep, and impressed them on my memory.I woke early on the following morning, and though I tried hard to avoid feeling anxious, yet I could not forget that the whole of my future career hinged on what I did on that and the following days of examination. If I failed, a slur would be on me for life, though perhaps undeserved. If I succeeded, I believed I should accomplish what many considered, if not impossible, at least improbable.After an early breakfast I walked with Mr Rouse towards the Academy, where the examination was to be held, and on the common was joined by five of my old schoolfellows from Hostler’s.“What, Shepard!” said one of them, “you don’t mean to say you are going to try the examination? Why, I heard you’d given it up!”“Oh, I’m going to try, just for the fun of the thing,” I replied.“If I’d been you I’d have cut the affair, for it’s far better to withdraw than to have the discredit of being spun.”“How Hostler will laugh when he hears of your coming up!” said another of my old schoolfellows.“Fraser!” shouted another boy to some one I saw about a hundred yards ahead, “come here! here’s your old antagonist, Shepard?”Fraser waited for us to join him, and then said, “How are you, Shepard? You’re looking deuced seedy. What’s the matter, and what are you doing here?”“I’ve had a bad cough,” I replied, “and am coming up just for the fun of the examination.”“Why, you don’t expect you’ve a chance, do you?” he continued. “Hostler told us you had given it up as the wisest plan.”“Oh, I don’t suppose I’ve any chance,” I said; “at least, not with you fellows, but I thought I would come up to see what the examination was like.”“And have it always said of you that you’d been spun at Woolwich. I think you’re a muff for your pains.”On entering the Academy grounds we were shown to one of the cadets’ rooms, where we had to pass a medical examination. The marks of leeches and blisters on my chest at once attracted the doctor’s attention, and he declined to pass me, and sent me at once before a Board.To meet this Board I had to walk down to the hospital near the barracks, which I did with a sergeant of Artillery to show me the way; and I soon found myself being tapped on the chest and examined by the doctors as if I were a piece of goods they were about to buy. As good luck would have it I did not cough, or I might never have had a chance for my examination. But after a slight consultation I was passed, and was sent back to the Academy to commence my examination.I was shown into a fair-sized room, where I found about forty boys at work. They had already an hour’s start of me, and a short, smart-looking officer, who gave me a printed paper of questions, advised me to lose no time, as I was already behindhand.“Now for the actual trial,” I said to myself, as I looked over the paper, which contained twelve questions in arithmetic and the earlier part of algebra. A feeling of delight came over me as I read this paper, for out of the twelve questions there were eight almost exactly similar to questions I had worked out with Mr Rouse.I commenced my work without delay, but deliberately and carefully. The answers came out without difficulty, and I was tolerably certain that every question but one I had done correctly. When the time was up I gave my paper to the officer, left the Academy, and met Mr Rouse on the common, to whom I related the style of questions, and described how I had treated them.“You ought to have done well if you have been careful,” said Rouse, “and I am glad to find that I was correct in my surmise as to the style of questions you would have. The style varies from time to time, but there seems a kind of order in which they return, and on this I trained you. This afternoon you will very likely have a catch equation among the quadratics, such asx= 6. You remember that, don’t you?”“Oh, yes,” I replied; “I can work that out in my head.”“You must be careful about your Euclid, too,” he continued; “they lay great stress on that, and cramming won’t do for Euclid, because they give you a variation from the book, in order to test if you know principles.”In the afternoon a second paper was given me; and there, sure enough, I found the identical equation that Mr Rouse had told me of. This I solved at once, and, looking carefully round, saw that several boys were in difficulties, and seemed to be unable to advance.During the afternoon I felt certain I had done well, and now my only fear was for my Euclid, which would come off on the morrow.That evening Mr Rouse said, “I believe you will have one of five problems I can name in the first, second, and third books of Euclid, so if you are not too tired we will just go over them to-night.”An hour was devoted to the explanation of certain propositions, and I, as before, went to bed early, but was at least two hours before going to sleep, occupied in thinking over the various subjects we had worked at.On reaching the Academy on the following morning I found all the candidates assembled in the room in which we had worked on the previous day. From this room the candidates were sent for one by one, in order to be examined in Euclid.When it came to my turn I was shown into a small room, in which I found three officers and a civilian seated at a table, whilst opposite to them was a large black board.“Mr Shepard,” said the civilian, “will you tell us what the 20th proposition of the first book of Euclid treats of?”As this question was slowly and deliberately put I felt a strange feeling of nervousness come over me. It suddenly occurred to me, “Suppose I broke down here?” I knew if I did I should be spun to a certainty, and the idea for a moment quite unnerved me. There was a dead silence for about a minute, then, in half-broken sentences, I replied, “To prove two sides greater than the third.”“Very well,” continued the same gentleman; “will you now draw a figure on that board, and prove the problem, and be kind enough not to prove the same two sides to be greater than the third side that are proved in Euclid?”I took a piece of chalk, and, though my hand trembled, I drew the first line, and then thought which two sides I should prove to be those greater than the third. As I thought over this, my nervousness seemed to leave me, and I saw nothing but the board and the problem. It would have been no matter to me whether four people or four hundred had been present, for I forgot my audience. I experienced no difficulty in demonstrating the problem, thanks to Mr Rouse’s training; and having then demonstrated two other problems—one in the third, one in the second book—I was told that that would do.“May I ask who taught you your Euclid?” inquired the examiner.“Mr Rouse, sir.”I could not distinctly hear what was said by the examiner to the officers, but the words “that accounts” and “utterly opposed to cramming” were audible.A brief examination in drawing, in Latin, French, and German, and a paper in history and geography, completed the examination; and I returned with Mr Rouse to London, and on the following day started by coach for home.
It was about a month after I had returned from my vacation that Mr Hostler gave us a holiday, and arrangements were made for our playing a match of cricket on Lessness Heath, a piece of open ground near Belvedere. Each boy took out his lunch, and the whole school turned out for the day, Mr Monk being in charge of us. We walked to Belvedere, and soon arranged sides and commenced our match—Mr Monk leaving us to take care of ourselves whilst he went down to Erith to see some friends.
After my side had been in and scored forty runs, the other eleven, of which Fraser was one, went in, and had scored thirty-six runs, when Fraser, who had retained his bat during the whole match, was “stumped,” and given out by the boy who was umpire. Fraser disputed the decision, and refused to go out, although even his own side owned that there was no doubt about it. At this Fraser became very angry, and declared he would not give in as he had never gone out of his ground. I stood “point,” and saw he was more than a foot out of his ground when stumped by the wicket-keeper, and, on being appealed to, said there was no doubt about it. No sooner had I said so than Fraser dropped his bat and rushed at me, striking me on the side of the head. In an instant I returned the blow, and a fight commenced.
Several of the older boys, seeing there was to be a fight, suggested we should go into a gravel-pit near the heath, as we should not be seen there, and if Mr Monk came back we should be able to see him from a distance, before he saw us. We both went to the gravel-pit, and a ring was formed—Strong acting as my second, whilst the majority of the boys, feeling that Fraser was in the wrong, were on my side. The reputation, however, which Fraser had obtained as a “mill” caused several of the smaller boys to stand by him for fear of future punishment if they excited his displeasure.
We were soon opposite to one another, with our coats off, and our shirt sleeves rolled up, ready to commence, most of the boys looking upon my defeat as certain, and half afraid lest I should be severely punished by my opponent. Fraser was confident of success, and exclaimed, “I’ll soon stop your cheek for you; now look out!”
He made a rush at me, hitting out vigorously, but I remembered Howard’s advice, and determined to keep my head, and try to put in practice what he had taught me. I guarded myself against Fraser’s blows, and succeeded in twice giving him straight hits in the face without receiving a touch from him in return.
The first round seemed to astonish every one, but none more than Fraser himself. When he had thrashed me before, I knew no more about the use of my fists than a girl, and simply stood up to be knocked about. Now, however, I made use of my legs as well as my fists, and jumped away from Fraser’s rushes and blows as expertly as a cat; whilst I instantly recovered myself, and, making my hand and foot keep time, dealt two or three such staggering blows that Fraser was quite bewildered.
There is nothing that so soon puts off a bully, or a man accustomed to easy victory, as being “collared.” The effect is not unusually to make the too confident man lose his head, forget his skill, and fall an easy victim to his opponent. This was the case with Fraser. In the second round he hit wildly and unskilfully at me, and exposed himself to my blows several times, opportunities which I did not neglect, and, finally, I gave him a fair knock-down blow. There were now cries of “Bravo, Shepard!” whilst several small boys who had been quietly watching the fight, and who had been bullied by Fraser on former occasions, jumped about outside the ring with a delight that they did not attempt to conceal.
Three more rounds were fought, during each of which I became more and more confident, as my fear of my adversary’s skill and strength was gradually dispelled, and at the sixth round I commenced the attack and completely knocked Fraser out of time.
Cheers greeted my victory, whilst I was patted on the back by nearly all the boys, and looked at with admiration by the smallest. Even the older boys looked at me with surprise, for, excepting one blow on the cheek, I was unmarked, and seemed untouched.
Strong helped me on with my jacket, and seemed quite delighted at my victory.
“This is a great day for you,” he said. “There’s no one in the school can lick you now; but I’m astonished to find what a mill you are, for six months ago you knew nothing about it.”
“Ah,” I replied, “I did know nothing then but I determined to learn something, and so I got a friend to teach me. Who do you think gave me lessons?”
“I can’t guess.”
“Why Howard, who was at the Academy some years ago.”
“Howard!” exclaimed Strong. “Why, he was the best boxer that was ever at the Academy, and it was he who licked the prizefighter at Charlton Fair. No wonder you thrashed Fraser so easily.”
Fraser took his defeat with a very bad grace. He was a good deal punished, and I was surprised myself at the effect of my blows. It was my first experience of the result of skill in opposition to brute force, and of the advantage of practice before attempting any performance. It was a small thing, it was true, to merely thrash the bully of a school, but the means by which I had achieved this performance gave me a lesson that has never been forgotten. Labour and thought were the means by which I had gained this victory, as they are the means by which nearly every successful result in life is achieved.
From that day I took quite a different position in the school, and led a life free from quizzing or bullying. Fraser hated me, but he feared me too, and to make up for his dislike I found the generality of the boys now sought my society, and always tried to walk with me when we went out for our daily constitutionals. It is a small thing at a school or in afterlife that makes the difference between popularity and unpopularity.
Four months passed after my return from my vacation, and my life at Mr Hostler’s had grown into a sort of routine. I went through the various daily works there much as did the other boys; but I was not advanced as were the other pupils, and as the time went on and drew nearer to the limit of age at which I could go up for examination I felt more and more certain that my chances of being prepared grew less and less. There were now only six months to the date of my examination, and I had not commenced algebra, yet I had to take up cubic equations and three books of Euclid. In this difficulty and anxiety I wrote to Howard, and told him all my fears and anxieties. As I penned my letter to him I felt ill, and out of health and unfit to do anything; but I sent off the letter, and then hoped I should be more at my ease.
On the following morning, when the “quarter” was shouted as usual, I tried to get up, but was unable to stand, and I knew I was very ill. I asked one of the boys to tell Mr Hostler I was too ill to get up, and in an hour a doctor came and immediately ordered me to be removed to a separate room, where I was physicked and attended by an old servant, who acted as nurse to the establishment. I became worse during the day, and at night was delirious, and it was then known that I had a bad attack of measles.
During three weeks I was confined to bed, and of course made no progress towards qualifying for my examination, and at the end of that time was only able to walk about my room.
It happened that the room in which I had been ill was separated by only a thin partition from a room in which Mr Hostler usually saw visitors, and what was said in the next room could be easily heard in mine. I was sitting one evening looking out of my window and wondering what my future would be, when I heard Mr Hostler’s voice in the next room, and my own name mentioned. I listened eagerly to what was said, for I fancied it might be Howard come to see me; but I was soon undeceived, for the second person I ascertained was Monk.
“You see,” said Hostler, “next examination we must send up Hort and Fox, and perhaps two more. They will pass well, but Fraser we will keep another half. It won’t do to send up more than four; besides, I can easily keep him back, on account of his French being bad. Shepard, of course, I never intended to send up. He won’t do us any credit, and he can’t pass. I’ll keep him another month, and then will write to his father, and tell him that this attack of measles destroyed what little chance he had of passing. I think a boy ought to be here at least two years before he goes up, so as to be well grounded; and if Shepard did go up, and did pass by cramming, it would make the parents of other boys discontented if I kept their sons two years.”
I listened to these words as I should to the revelation of an enemy’s plot against me. I now saw why I had been kept back, and why no hurry had been adopted to qualify me for my examination. My blood boiled with rage, as I felt that I had been, sacrificed to the personal interest of Hostler; and I at once wrote a letter to my father, telling him what I knew of Mr Hostler’s intentions. Several days passed without my receiving any answer from home, but at length I received a letter from my aunt, saying my father was too busy to write, and had requested her to reply to me. She said my father was much displeased with me for my suspicions of Mr Hostler—that I was like most idle schoolboys who disliked their tutors—that Mr Hostler had written home before I was ill, saying that I was idle, and that all the special attention he was giving me did not seem to have the desired effect, and that he feared I should not qualify. These faults she said she could quite understand, as when under her tuition she had always found me more fond of play than of work.
At the receipt of this letter I was at a loss what to do. It seemed as if there was a plot against me, and I was helpless to make the truth known. As a last resource I wrote to Howard, and begged of him to come and see me.
Three days after posting this letter, my old nurse came into my room and said a gentleman had come to see me, and I was to go into the dining-room. Upon entering the dining-room I saw, to my delight, Howard, who shook hands with me like an old friend. We drew our chairs together, and I told him how I had been kept back, and how I had heard Mr Hostler’s remarks about me, and, lastly, how my father had been prejudiced about me.
When he had heard all I had to say, he thought for a minute and then said, “I don’t believe Hostler is a bad fellow at heart, and he, no doubt, fully believed that you could not pass. He has his regular routine of cramming, and won’t go out of it; and, if you stop here, there is no doubt you won’t pass. Now I’m thinking of a plan that may succeed: it is just possible, though not probable. You’ve four months in which to do twelve months’ work; but if it is to be done, I know the only way. There’s a man in London who takes only four or five pupils; he is the cleverest fellow I know, for I worked with him half a vacation once, and he got me on wonderfully. His name is Rouse. Now I’ll try to persuade your governor to send you there, and that’s the only chance I see. I shall be back in Hampshire to-morrow, and will see your governor about it.”
On the fourth day after Howard’s visit I received a letter from my father, telling me to have my trunk packed, as he proposed removing me from Mr Hostler’s that day, and transferring me to Mr Rouse’s. I bade my schoolfellows good-bye, most of whom were sorry I was going, and I received their condolence in being withdrawn from Hostler’s, as having no chance of passing my examination.
At about mid-day my father came, and, after a short interview with Mr Hostler, sent for me.
“I’m sorry you’re obliged to be taken away,” said Hostler; “but it wouldn’t be fair to your friends to keep you any longer on the chance of your passing. You’ve only four months now, and it would take the cleverest boy I know a year to pass. If you’d been very quick, I might have done it at first, but now it’s too late! But what you’ve learnt at this school will be of use to you all your life.”
A steamer was in those days the quickest mode of conveyance from Woolwich to London, and by this means we reached London Bridge, and from thence drove to Trinity Square, Tower Hill, where Mr Rouse lived.
On entering Mr Rouse’s drawing-room we were soon joined by a clergyman, who was Mr Rouse himself.
My father stated the case to Mr Rouse, and informed him of the short time before me, and of Hostler having stated the impossibility of my being able to qualify in a year. “The question now is,” said my father, “do you think you can qualify him for the next examination?”
Mr Rouse smiled, and said, “You set me rather a difficult task, asking me to accomplish in four months what the celebrated Mr Hostler says can’t be done under a year. I can only say it is not probable I can do it, but it is not impossible. It depends entirely on your son’s genius and on how well he knows what he has already learnt. I shall be able to tell in a week what he is made of, and what chance there is for me.”
I had watched Mr Rouse carefully from the time I had entered the room. He was rather tall and stout, with a clear dark eye and a half-bald head. There was a sparkle in his eye that at once indicated quickness and thought, whilst his calm, decided manner spoke of a confidence in himself that was not easily shaken. In ten minutes after entering my father left me, and I was installed as a pupil of Mr Rouse’s.
“Come upstairs,” said Rouse; “I will introduce you to your companions.”
I followed my new tutor upstairs, speculating on who the boys might be that I should meet, and was shown into a room that looked more like a drawing-room or study than a schoolroom. In it were three young men, whose ages might be about twenty. One was reading theTimes, another was lounging against the fireplace, and the third helping himself to a sandwich from a plate on a tray at the sideboard.
“Let me introduce a new pupil to you,” said Mr Rouse, “Mr Shepard, who is going up for Woolwich. Mr Robinson, Mr Welton, and Mr Wynn, Addiscombe cadets. Will you have some lunch, Shepard?” continued Mr Rouse. “There’s a sandwich and a glass of ale. We dine at six.”
I helped myself to a sandwich and a glass of ale, for I had now a tremendous appetite, as I was recovering from my late illness, and I then looked round at my companions. I felt I had come to a very different place to that I had left; my fellow-students were men, and I saw gentlemen, whilst Mr Rouse’s manner put me at my ease at once; there was none of the bullying, blustering style there used to be in Hostler, and I felt that I had made a good exchange as far as comfort was concerned, though I feared the manner of the cadets did not seem much like hard work.
After about ten minutes’ conversation on politics, the performances at the various theatres, and the last good thing inPunch, Mr Rouse looked at his watch and said, “Well, shall we commence work again?”
The three cadets took chairs beside the table, and commenced reading books. Mr Rouse gave me a slate and said, “I must find out to-day what you know, so that we may go on safe ground. How far have you gone in mathematics?”
“I have just commenced addition in algebra,” I replied.
“Very well, I will give you a couple of questions in rule-of-three, in decimals, in fractions, and in square and cube root, and be careful about your answers.”
I was soon busily employed at these questions, and found little difficulty in solving them, for they seemed particularly easy questions. After a time I told Mr Rouse I had finished, and at once gave him the answers of each. To my surprise I found not a single answer was correct. Something must be wrong I knew, but where it was I did not know. Mr Rouse smiled, and said, “Now, have a careful look at each question, and don’t be in too much of a hurry about them, for sometimes there are difficulties you may not see.”
I once more carefully examined the problems, and then found I had made a mistake at the very first, and had misread the questions in almost every case. I then reworked these, and eventually brought out the right answers.
By the time I had completed my work the hour had arrived for leaving off study.
“This evening,” said Mr Rouse, “you can work out these questions in this paper and have the answers ready by to-morrow morning.”
We all dined together that evening like gentlemen. The scramble and noise that used to prevail at Hostler’s prevented me from ever enjoying a meal there, so that it was a luxury to sit down to a quiet dinner and to listen to the anecdotes and conversation of Mr Rouse. At no time, either during study hours or at meals, was there anything of the schoolmaster about Mr Rouse; he acted the part of a companion to perfection, and I believe it was as much by his pleasant manner, giving confidence to his pupils, and inducing them to ask his help in every difficulty, as by his knowledge, that he gained the successes he had gained at examinations.
After dinner the three cadets went out. I found that my three companions were Addiscombe cadets, who were going into the Indian army, and who were working during the vacation to get either the Artillery or Engineers. They were so much older than I was, that they seemed like men to me, but they had none of the bullying manner about them that the elder boys had at Hostler’s.
When I found myself alone in the study, at Rouse’s, after dinner, I felt I could work and think; everything was so quiet that I was able to get on without interruption, and the time passed rapidly and pleasantly. Question after question I worked out, and by the manner in which the solutions seemed to agree with the questions, I believed I was nearly, if not quite, correct in my work. I continued thus occupied till about ten o’clock, when, having a room to myself, I went to bed, with no fear of being disturbed by a “cold pig,” or the miserable cry of “Quarter?” that used to awake me at Hostler’s.
Before going to sleep, however, I thought over the problems I had worked out, and fancied I had made a mistake in one, which I at once determined to re-examine, and soon found my second thoughts were correct, and that I had made an error.
This was the first time I had ever worked out a problem in my head, when in bed, and the room was dark, but after this I regularly used to think over the various things I had done during the day, and try to recall each portion, and endeavour to repeat to myself what I had done. By this means I soon acquired a habit of thought quite new to me; instead of what I learnt seeming to rest only on the surface of my mind, as it had at Hostler’s, it seemed to impress itself on the brain, and to leave a mark so distinctly as never to be forgotten. I soon realised the fact that I was passing through a phase of mental development, produced, as I believed, by the quiet, calm, and reasonable manner in which I was now treated.
Night after night I used to work out the questions given me, and in the morning handed the solutions to Mr Rouse. In the majority of cases I was correct, but if I were wrong Mr Rouse would go over the work with me, giving me hints as regards the way of arranging my figures or doing portions of the work. I often smiled to myself as I compared this system of teaching with the cramming practised by Hostler, and the reasonable manner in which Mr Rouse pointed out mistakes or want of care, with the three-cuts-on-the-hand system of Hostler. I found, after a week at Rouse’s, I had really learnt more than I should have done at Hostler’s in many months; and it was not only what I had learnt, but the additional power which seemed to have come to my mind, and the consequent ease with which I grappled with problems, that a month before, in the confusion at Hostler’s, would have been to me unintelligible.
I discovered, too, at this time, how problems that perhaps for half an hour would appear impossible of solution, if put by for a day and re-tried, would often be found practicable. This, to me, important discovery led me to never give up anything that at first I could not accomplish, but I waited day after day, till I usually found I grew up as it were, so as to surmount the difficulty.
Remembering what Mr Rouse had said relative to forming an opinion in a week, I was very anxious, as the week elapsed, to hear the result of his experience. He did not, however, mention a word to me, and I had not the courage to ask him whether he believed I had a chance of success. I worked steadily on, hoping to defer the evil day, when perhaps it would be pronounced that I had no chance.
It was after I had been a fortnight at Rouse’s that one morning, as I read out the answers to my night’s work, Mr Rouse said, “Number six question is one you must look at carefully, for when you are at the Academy you will have many such questions in your half-yearly examinations there.”
“Do you think I have a chance of passing, then?” I exclaimed.
“Certainly; every chance, if you continue going on as well as you have done.”
These words were long remembered; they gave me hope, and they excited my ambition. If I could only pass, what a blow it would be for Hostler! and what a surprise for many of the boys there, who had put me down as not only a dunce, but as too stupid to learn! I could not, however, believe there was more than a chance of success, though I had hopes now, especially when I found how easily I could solve many of the most difficult questions that Mr Rouse set me.
Week after week passed, and I was pushed on with a rapidity that surprised me. I passed through the earlier rules of algebra, came to simple equations, understood them; passed on to quadratics, and at length came to cubics. Mr Rouse’s method of teaching was perfect. To him there was no such thing as a difficulty; if he found that I was puzzled at anything, he at once came to the rescue, and asserted that “it was a very simple thing.” In a few words he would give an explanation which made the problem thoroughly clear, and often caused me to wonder how I could have been so stupid as not to see clearly before he explained the difficulty to me.
On several occasions Mr Rouse had willingly consented to my going to the theatre, his object seeming to be to give all the liberty he could, and to impress on his pupils the importance of self-dependence.
Three months after joining Mr Rouse I was working at subjects that only the first and most advanced class attempted at Hostler’s. I could scarcely believe that all this was real. It had been so impressed on me at Hostler’s that I was intensely stupid, and that even a clever boy could not reach the first class from where I had been in less than a year, that I began to fear I must be cramming and had not a thorough sound knowledge of the subjects I was supposed to have learnt.
One day I suggested this difficulty to Mr Rouse, telling him how slowly boys went on at Hostler’s, compared to the rate at which I had advanced.
Mr Rouse replied that, instead of cramming, he hoped I had thought carefully over and thoroughly understood what I had done, and he believed I was less crammed than Mr Hostler’s boys, whom he knew learnt most things by rote like parrots.
As regards their Euclid I knew this opinion was correct, for I understood now far more of geometry than I felt certain any of Hostler’s boys did. I could turn problems upside down, and prove principles as well as mere cases, this proficiency being due to the clear and quiet way in which Mr Rouse would explain the various propositions.
Nothing could be more satisfactory than my progress up to within a month of the examination. I felt considerable hope myself, although I could not get over the feeling that the head boys at Hostler’s must know much more than I knew. One morning, however, on waking, I had a very bad fit of coughing; during the day it became worse. I scarcely slept the following night, and on the next day I learnt that I had a bad attack of hooping-cough.
Mr Rouse looked very grave at the intelligence given him by the doctor, for he knew that I had to pass a medical as well as a mental examination, and that the doctor would not allow me to pass if I had the hooping-cough.
I had now to keep my bed, and was soon leached and blistered, but the cough clung to me most obstinately, and so shook me that I felt too ill to work. I was in this state to within a week of the examination, but I had made up my mind I would take my chance at Woolwich, and well or ill I would go up.
It has often since those days occurred to me that there is in the human mind and human will some power which, if exercised, has the effect of driving off or overcoming sickness; men, it is said, often sink and die from despondency, whilst others, by pure energy as it were, get well. To give in, as it were, to sickness often seems to increase the disease, whilst to fight against it staves it off.
Whether the will to get well was the cause or the effect of the improvement I cannot state, but I suddenly improved wonderfully, and three days before the examination I scarcely coughed at all, though I was weak and felt barely able to walk.
The evening before the examination I started with Mr Rouse for Woolwich, and we took up our quarters at the King’s Arms Hotel. There were several other candidates staying in the house, who, I understood, were going up for the examination on the morrow.
Previous to going to bed Mr Rouse sat chatting with me in our sitting-room, giving me hints about the examination. “You must remember,” he said, “that your success or failure does not depend on what you have done or what you have learnt either with me or at Hostler’s, but it depends solely on what you write on your paper to-morrow. I have known boys fail at examinations merely on account of carelessness at the examination. They knew a problem well, but they wrote so carelessly, and described so loosely, that the examiner concluded they knew nothing about the matter. After you have finished a paper, read over slowly and patiently what you have written, and you will almost always find you have made some absurdly simple mistake. I have known men go to an examination as it is said a Dutchman did at a ditch. He ran a mile to get up his speed, and was then so done that, instead of jumping over, he jumped into the ditch. Concentrate all your power on the work in hand; take the easiest questions first, and when you find a difficulty you can’t get over, go on to another question; then you will sometimes find, on going back, that you can at once get over what before defeated you. Above all things, keep quite calm and thoughtful, and do not lose your head or get into a funk.”
These and other similar precepts Mr Rouse gave me, as modern youths would style them, as “straight tips,” and I thought over them before I went to sleep, and impressed them on my memory.
I woke early on the following morning, and though I tried hard to avoid feeling anxious, yet I could not forget that the whole of my future career hinged on what I did on that and the following days of examination. If I failed, a slur would be on me for life, though perhaps undeserved. If I succeeded, I believed I should accomplish what many considered, if not impossible, at least improbable.
After an early breakfast I walked with Mr Rouse towards the Academy, where the examination was to be held, and on the common was joined by five of my old schoolfellows from Hostler’s.
“What, Shepard!” said one of them, “you don’t mean to say you are going to try the examination? Why, I heard you’d given it up!”
“Oh, I’m going to try, just for the fun of the thing,” I replied.
“If I’d been you I’d have cut the affair, for it’s far better to withdraw than to have the discredit of being spun.”
“How Hostler will laugh when he hears of your coming up!” said another of my old schoolfellows.
“Fraser!” shouted another boy to some one I saw about a hundred yards ahead, “come here! here’s your old antagonist, Shepard?”
Fraser waited for us to join him, and then said, “How are you, Shepard? You’re looking deuced seedy. What’s the matter, and what are you doing here?”
“I’ve had a bad cough,” I replied, “and am coming up just for the fun of the examination.”
“Why, you don’t expect you’ve a chance, do you?” he continued. “Hostler told us you had given it up as the wisest plan.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose I’ve any chance,” I said; “at least, not with you fellows, but I thought I would come up to see what the examination was like.”
“And have it always said of you that you’d been spun at Woolwich. I think you’re a muff for your pains.”
On entering the Academy grounds we were shown to one of the cadets’ rooms, where we had to pass a medical examination. The marks of leeches and blisters on my chest at once attracted the doctor’s attention, and he declined to pass me, and sent me at once before a Board.
To meet this Board I had to walk down to the hospital near the barracks, which I did with a sergeant of Artillery to show me the way; and I soon found myself being tapped on the chest and examined by the doctors as if I were a piece of goods they were about to buy. As good luck would have it I did not cough, or I might never have had a chance for my examination. But after a slight consultation I was passed, and was sent back to the Academy to commence my examination.
I was shown into a fair-sized room, where I found about forty boys at work. They had already an hour’s start of me, and a short, smart-looking officer, who gave me a printed paper of questions, advised me to lose no time, as I was already behindhand.
“Now for the actual trial,” I said to myself, as I looked over the paper, which contained twelve questions in arithmetic and the earlier part of algebra. A feeling of delight came over me as I read this paper, for out of the twelve questions there were eight almost exactly similar to questions I had worked out with Mr Rouse.
I commenced my work without delay, but deliberately and carefully. The answers came out without difficulty, and I was tolerably certain that every question but one I had done correctly. When the time was up I gave my paper to the officer, left the Academy, and met Mr Rouse on the common, to whom I related the style of questions, and described how I had treated them.
“You ought to have done well if you have been careful,” said Rouse, “and I am glad to find that I was correct in my surmise as to the style of questions you would have. The style varies from time to time, but there seems a kind of order in which they return, and on this I trained you. This afternoon you will very likely have a catch equation among the quadratics, such asx= 6. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied; “I can work that out in my head.”
“You must be careful about your Euclid, too,” he continued; “they lay great stress on that, and cramming won’t do for Euclid, because they give you a variation from the book, in order to test if you know principles.”
In the afternoon a second paper was given me; and there, sure enough, I found the identical equation that Mr Rouse had told me of. This I solved at once, and, looking carefully round, saw that several boys were in difficulties, and seemed to be unable to advance.
During the afternoon I felt certain I had done well, and now my only fear was for my Euclid, which would come off on the morrow.
That evening Mr Rouse said, “I believe you will have one of five problems I can name in the first, second, and third books of Euclid, so if you are not too tired we will just go over them to-night.”
An hour was devoted to the explanation of certain propositions, and I, as before, went to bed early, but was at least two hours before going to sleep, occupied in thinking over the various subjects we had worked at.
On reaching the Academy on the following morning I found all the candidates assembled in the room in which we had worked on the previous day. From this room the candidates were sent for one by one, in order to be examined in Euclid.
When it came to my turn I was shown into a small room, in which I found three officers and a civilian seated at a table, whilst opposite to them was a large black board.
“Mr Shepard,” said the civilian, “will you tell us what the 20th proposition of the first book of Euclid treats of?”
As this question was slowly and deliberately put I felt a strange feeling of nervousness come over me. It suddenly occurred to me, “Suppose I broke down here?” I knew if I did I should be spun to a certainty, and the idea for a moment quite unnerved me. There was a dead silence for about a minute, then, in half-broken sentences, I replied, “To prove two sides greater than the third.”
“Very well,” continued the same gentleman; “will you now draw a figure on that board, and prove the problem, and be kind enough not to prove the same two sides to be greater than the third side that are proved in Euclid?”
I took a piece of chalk, and, though my hand trembled, I drew the first line, and then thought which two sides I should prove to be those greater than the third. As I thought over this, my nervousness seemed to leave me, and I saw nothing but the board and the problem. It would have been no matter to me whether four people or four hundred had been present, for I forgot my audience. I experienced no difficulty in demonstrating the problem, thanks to Mr Rouse’s training; and having then demonstrated two other problems—one in the third, one in the second book—I was told that that would do.
“May I ask who taught you your Euclid?” inquired the examiner.
“Mr Rouse, sir.”
I could not distinctly hear what was said by the examiner to the officers, but the words “that accounts” and “utterly opposed to cramming” were audible.
A brief examination in drawing, in Latin, French, and German, and a paper in history and geography, completed the examination; and I returned with Mr Rouse to London, and on the following day started by coach for home.