Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.I Come out as a Runner.I may now devote a few lines to the description of the cadets of my own batch who joined with me, and with whom I was to compete during my career at the Academy.There were among the class some amusing characters, and others who had marked individualities. Boys (for we were boys at that time, being between fifteen and seventeen) have a singular peculiarity of being turned out in similar patterns—that is, two boys belonging to different families, who have never met and never been in similar conditions, yet very often have exactly similar peculiarities. There was Kirk, who never would rub up Indian ink or Prussian blue for himself, but would always take dips from the saucers of other cadets. Then Sykes usually began to work fearfully hard just when it was time to turn out; and Pagner, another cadet, prided himself on being above Swat, and never seemed to work at all—the fact being that he drove off all his half-year’s work till the last fortnight, and then tried to make up the leeway by cramming night and day. He, however, could not manage this, and, as the event proved, was spun at his probationary.One of my greatest friends was D’Arcy. He was next above me in the batch, and had been prepared for Woolwich by a private tutor. We found that we had in common a taste for natural history, and whenever we had a chance we used to go out in the Shooter’s Hill woods and look for the various grubs or insects that we were interested in. The way we used to race up the hill and back again revealed to me a fact about myself that I was before unacquainted with, viz, that I was a very fast runner for about one hundred and fifty yards.A boy who had been brought up as much alone as I had could not judge of himself by a fair comparison, and though at Hostler’s I was considered a good runner, running was not much practised or thought of there. D’Arcy, however, told me that he had been thought a very fast runner by a boy who was a crack runner at Eton, and he was surprised to find how easily I beat him.In those days, at the Academy, there were no annual athletic sports as there are now, for which the cadets regularly trained, and which made a pleasant break during the half-year; and the only use of being a good runner was in securing the first bat at cricket; for this was considered to be the prize of the cadet who first touched the lodge when the parade was broken off. This first bat I had frequently secured, and, though I had not put out all my speed, I found I could beat some of the cadets whose running I had heard spoken of as very good.The subject of running having been discussed one day at our squad at dinner, the head of the squad said he thought Horsford, a cadet in his third term, the fastest hundred-yards’ runner he had ever seen. Now, on two occasions that I had run for the first bat I had tried against Horsford, and on each occasion his position in the line had given him at least three yards’ start of me; still I had gained on him so that only a yard separated us at last. From these trials I believed I could beat Horsford, and, remembering the advice Howard had given me about being prepared for any contest, I determined to keep up my running, and so I generally ran one or two hundred yards at speed each day.No one besides D’Arcy had noticed that I was very fast in running, so I was what may be called “a dark horse,” and I had a certain amount of ambition in wishing to try my speed against Horsford.One evening, when Brag was in a good temper, I said, “Who do you think the fastest runner in the Academy?”“For a hundred and twenty yards Horsford is. He has won nearly every race he has run at that distance,” replied Brag.“I don’t think he could give me ten yards in one hundred and twenty,” I replied.Brag looked at me with curiosity when I said this, and asked if I could run well.I told him I believed I could, as I had tried several times, and generally secured first bat (which, however, I was never allowed to retain if an old cadet was near).“I can run fairly,” said Brag, “so I can soon find out what you can do. Come out and have a trial. It’s nearly dark, so we can keep the secret.”Brag and I went out on the parade and paced off a hundred and twenty yards, and laid down a white handkerchief to mark the distance. We started ourselves, and commenced our race. Before we had gone thirty yards I found I could go away from Brag very, easily. I kept beside him for about seventy yards and then shot away, and beat him by nearly ten yards.When we pulled up, Brag said, “By George, you can run! Let me get my wind, and then see if you can give me ten yards in one hundred and twenty.”After a few minutes, Brag announced himself ready, and, having measured ten good paces, we started at “One, two, three, and away!” and commenced our second trial. Not being able to see the handkerchiefs till near them, I did not know how to arrange my speed. I, however, caught and passed Brag, and won by about two yards.“I don’t think there is anything the matter with me,” said Brag, “and I believe I’ve run all right; and if so, you’ve a tremendous turn of speed. Now, you keep quiet about this, and I’ll have some fun.”We went again to our rooms, and Brag recommenced his work and said nothing to Snipson about our trial race.On the following morning we had examinations, and those who had finished their papers came out of academy. There was no drill, so the cadets were scattered about the parade kicking the football and trying to kick it against the face of the clock. I was looking on at this, and watching for a chance of a kick, when I heard one old cadet call out to another,—“There’s going to be a race soon?”“Is there?” replied the cadet spoken to. “Yes, Brag says he’s got a neux he will back for one hundred and twenty yards against Horsford, if he will give the neux five yards’ start.”“Who is the neux?” inquired the cadet. “I believe it’s Brag’s own neux—young Shepard.”“Oh, he’s too short to run! Horsford will lick his head off! Here comes Brag?”I now saw Brag and about twenty old cadets coming from the library, and my name was soon called. I went up to Brag, who said,—“Shepard, you’ve to run a race for me, and if you don’t win I’ll scrag you! It’s one hundred and twenty yards, and you get five yards’ start.”I asked leave to go to my room to get a pair of light shoes to run in, and, on coming out, found Horsford with flannel trousers on, and all ready for the race. By this time all the cadets had come out of academy, and as any excitement was welcome, they all assembled on parade and made two lines, between which we were to run. The distance was carefully measured off, and I was placed five yards in front of Horsford.“Now mind your laurels, Horsford!” said one of his backers; “don’t shave it too close!”“I can manage this lot, I think,” he replied.“Shepard, you’ll get a licking if you’re beaten!” said a cadet near.“Who is backing Shepard?” inquired some old cadets.“Only Brag,” was the reply. “He’s got an idea that Shepard can run, from some trial he had with him, but no one ever heard of Shepard as a runner. Brag has two or three pounds on the race, and I wouldn’t be Shepard for something, for Brag will vent his disappointment on him.”During this conversation, which I overheard, several cadets had cleared the course and made a line of handkerchiefs at the winning-post, whilst I toed a line five yards before Horsford. I kept taking long breaths so as to oxygenise my blood well, for I hoped to run the whole distance without taking breath. I felt great confidence in myself, because in the races for the bat I fancied I was more speedy than Horsford; for I did not imagine that he was concealing his speed for any purpose, so I saw no reason to doubt the result.Everything being ready, the word “Off!” was given, and away I went. I was very quick at starting, and got well on my legs at once. I could have run the whole distance at speed, but for the first sixty yards I did not do all I knew. I dared not look round, for I had read in sporting works that many races had been lost by doing so, so I could not tell whether Horsford was near me. At about thirty yards from home, however, I could feel that my opponent was close to me. There were shouts of “Go it, Horsford!” “Run, little ’un!”“Now for it, Horsford?” which showed me he was close to me; so, bracing myself up, as it were, I dashed on with all my speed and carried away the line of handkerchiefs on my chest.Brag rushed up to me, and patted me on the back and said,—“Bravo, youngster! you won cleverly.”As I walked back to the winning-post I was the centre of curiosity. All the old cadets were staring at me, and I could not help feeling a certain amount of pride in having won this race. I had been so bullied and snubbed as a last-joined neux that all the conceit was taken out of me, and I felt regularly cowed, so that a triumph like the present was quite refreshing to me. The remarks of the old cadets, too, were amusing; for it was the general opinion that I looked less like a runner than any boy they had ever seen, as I looked delicate and was short.That evening, in our room, Brag was very civil, and even Snipson seemed to think more of me than he did before. When Snipson left the room, which he did to go to the library, Brag asked me if I thought I had won my race easily.I replied that I had, and added, “You won’t think me conceited, I hope, if I say I am tolerably sure I can beat Horsford even.”“How can that be,” said Brag, “when you won by only a yard?”“Because I ran slowly the first part of the race, wanting to try my speed in the last part, and I am certain at about sixty-five yards Horsford was not a foot behind me.”“Ah! you can’t beat Horsford even,” replied Brag; “he’s got so much longer a stride than you.”“Well, I believe I can.”“Horsford says to-day he was out of form, or else he could have won, so perhaps you may have another turn with him. I’ll back you at five yards, but not at evens.”I met Horsford in the library next day, and he said,—“You were in great form yesterday, and I was out of sorts, but I didn’t know you were such a runner. We must have another spin after the examinations are over, and I’ll see if I can’t turn the tables on you.”I told Brag of this remark, and he replied that he would back me again, but recommended me not to eat too much pastry and “soft tack,” or I should get out of form.The examination now went on every day, and I felt I was not doing well. Any way, if I passed out of the junior class I should be satisfied. I found that those boys who had been long at preparatory schools had an advantage over me in knowing languages better than I did. French and German were the only two languages we then learnt at the Academy, and the curious system then was for the professors at the Academy to teach also at the Woolwich cram-schools. A boy who had, therefore, been for a couple of years at a Woolwich school, and in the first class, knew well and was known by the professors of French and German, whereas one who had been trained as I had did not derive the benefit of the former instruction of the professors. It was supposed in those days that if we did not know languages when we joined the Academy we did not pick them up there. This might be explained from the fact that so much individual and personal instruction is required in order to teach languages, and there was only one professor to about thirty-five cadets.Day after day the examination continued, and I worked on, and at length, all being finished, there were about five days during which the results of the examination were being made up, and we had nothing to do but drill. This gave us plenty of spare time, and we had games of football, and various matches at rackets and other games. Several cadets, however, who had lost their half-crowns in the race between Horsford and myself, were anxious to recover these, and there were many opinions about our relative merits in running. I heard from some of my own batch that it was the general opinion that if Horsford gave me three yards out of one hundred, it was a certainty for him.D’Arcy, however, had told the head of his room that he thought I could win at these odds, and I also told Brag I would go halves with him in anything he bet at those odds. A match of this kind caused much interest, and several cadets were interested in the proposed race. I heard that Horsford had been quietly training, in order to get himself into form, and that he had said it was a certainty, as he was seedy when he ran with me, and was called upon all of a sudden to run.Brag said he did not like the match much, but still, having won, he would give the losers a chance.It was decided that we should run on the centre parade in the afternoon, and the whole Academy turned out to witness the match. I had carefully practised of an evening, both starting and running, and I could feel I was going very well. As I ran, I found I could pick up my feet quickly, and could, as far as it was possible to judge, run better than I ever ran. It occurred to me that if I could beat Horsford at these odds I would run him even, and a feeling of ambition came over me that it would be something for a neux to be the best runner at the Academy.The afternoon at length came of the day on which the match was to come off, and all the cadets who could come out came on the centre parade. I had taken the precaution of putting on a pair of loose, plain trousers, and rather tight shoes that I fancied I could run in well. Just as we were assembling, the Captain of the Cadet Company entered the inclosure and inquired what all the assembly was about. He was informed it was for a race, so, being a great advocate for athletic competitions, he stopped to see the match.Horsford, I could see, was in earnest now, and had taken the same precautions that I had. He was dressed in complete running costume—a suit in which he had won several races at Rugby, from which school he had come to Woolwich.All the preliminaries having been arranged, we were placed at our respective scratches—I having three yards’ start.I had ascertained that there were five inches difference in our height—at that time Horsford being five feet six, and I only five feet one—but I believed I had as long a stride as he had, and was as quick on my legs.On the words, “Are you ready?” being asked, I got all my weight on my rear leg, and, bracing myself up, was prepared for “Off!”At the first trial we were off, and I ran as nearly as possible at full speed. I knew I could go a little, though not much, quicker than I was going, so I kept on till about twenty yards from goal. I then glanced round, and found Horsford quite two yards behind me, so I maintained the same pace, and came in a winner by about a yard and a half.The cadets who had lost on this race at once went to Brag and said, “Shepard is too good, you know. Horsford can’t give him these three yards’ start. Let them run a race even, and we’ll back Horsford at two to one.”Brag looked at me inquiringly, so I gave him a nod, and he at once said, “All right. I dare say I shall lose, and I only bet just to give you a chance.”The idea now came across me that if I won this race I should be the acknowledged best runner at the Academy for a short distance. There was something pleasing to me in this idea, for I then discovered that I had ambition—and what is a boy or a man without?The individual who cares not whether he win or lose in any competition is a poor creature. He who is not to a certain extent downcast by defeat, or elated by a success, is not a man who will ever rise to eminence, for he will never use the exertion necessary to obtain success. In almost every case victory is obtained only by thought and care, expended by those who possess some special gifts of nature; and, although there is no reason why we should be unduly elated by any success, still one’s self-love is gratified if we find we succeed above others.I was of course the hero of the day now that I had beaten Horsford, for I heard he had run races with several old cadets and had won all these, so I longed to try conclusions with him at evens. D’Arcy came to me and said, “If you run the whole distance at that speed, I know you’ll win, so go in at it in earnest.”This race was considered a hollow affair, as it was supposed that my opponent could not pull up a losing race, but could run well at evens. It was supposed that Brag bet on this just to give the losers back some of the shillings they had lost; it was not supposed I had a chance.We had two false starts, but at the third trial we got off together, and for about fifty yards we were shoulder to shoulder. Then Horsford got slightly ahead, not more than the breadth of his own body, but I gradually regained this, and at about ninety yards was even with him and passing him. As soon as I had passed him he seemed to shut up, for he dropped behind all of a sudden, and I ran in a winner by about one yard.Several cadets came up to me and said, “Bravo, youngster! you’ve run well; you must get me the racket-court when I want it;” whilst my own batch wanted to carry me round the parade. However, I went to my room and changed my clothes, and endeavoured not to show any sign of being gratified at my victory. It was, however, to myself as much a gratification as a surprise. Until I joined the Academy I had no idea I had the qualifications of a good runner; I had never competed with other boys, and had consequently no opportunity of discovering my powers; but suddenly to find that out of nearly one hundred and fifty cadets I was the fastest runner was a great surprise, and I began to ask myself whether I had any other powers of which I knew nothing, and which had never before been called upon.Both Brag and Snipson were now less disposed to bully me than they were before, and so buoyant is youth that all the hard knocks I had received on first joining were almost forgotten, and I began to look forward to the time when I should be an old cadet and have fags of my own.The result of the examinations was now out, and I found I had done very badly; from eleventh of the batch I had dropped to twenty-eighth, and the return was unsatisfactory in several things. I, however, just got into the third academy, though I was last but one, and I hoped that next term, when I should not be so much worried by fagging and bullying, I should be able to think more about my work, so I was not so much cast down as I otherwise should have been if I had not a reasonable excuse for having done badly.What was termed the “Public” in those days was very dissimilar to the “Duke’s” day at present. Formerly the “Public” was an examination, though it was a sort of sham affair. As, however, it was a great day, I will give a full description of the proceedings.The “Public” was the day on which the Master-General of the Ordnance, his staff, and all the principal heads of departments came to the Academy to see the cadets. The order of proceeding was as follows:—The cadets were drawn up on parade and received the Master-General with a salute. They were then put through certain manoeuvres by the senior cadets, and afterwards marched into the dining-hall.In the centre of the dining-hall a table was placed, large enough to enable the batch about to obtain their commissions to be seated at. Near this was a long table, at which the Master-General and officers were seated. An elevated platform, with stair-like seats, was erected at each end and side of the hall. On this the cadets were seated who were not yet qualified for commissions; a portion was also set aside for visitors belonging to the cadets.On all being assembled in the hall, the professors at the Academy, beginning with the head cadet of the batch, asked questions, which each cadet answered in turn. Sometimes these questions required demonstrations on the board, and the cadet used his chalk to draw figures and give demonstrations.After the professors had put questions, any of the officers present might do so, and there was often much amusement at the questions and answers—for very often the inquiries made had no reference whatever to any subject a cadet had learnt at the Academy.One story that used to be told about these questions was, that a cadet was once asked what was sometimes used to wash out the bore of a gun. The cadet did not know what to say, so another cadet beside him whispered, “Tan ash and water.”The cadet, standing up, got nervous when he did not know what to say, and only heard imperfectly what his prompter said.“Tan ash and water,” again whispered the cadet.“A ten-inch mortar!” blurted out the puzzled cadet.The batch who heard this answer were ready to burst out laughing, especially when the officer who had asked the question, and who was rather deaf, said, “Tan ash and water—very good!”An old officer, who was fond of a joke, was reported to have once asked the head cadet of the batch, “What would be the result, supposing an irresistible body came in contact with an immovable post on a plane?”The cadet answered that the body would come to rest.“No,” replied the officer; “you forget the body is irresistible, and therefore cannot come to rest.”“It would carry away the post,” said the cadet. “No,” again said the officer; “the post is immovable.”After a little hesitation the cadet said he didn’t know what would happen.“Quite right, sir,” said the officer, “neither do I, nor any one else, for the conditions are impossible. I only wanted you to say, ‘I don’t know.’ Some men would have attempted long explanations.”When the cadets had been publicly examined, the various prizes were given, and, after one or two speeches by the senior officers, the Academy broke up.I started for London that afternoon by coach, which was one of about forty four-horse coaches that used then to pass over Shooter’s Hill every dayen routefrom London to Dover, slept at a friend’s, and on the following day was carried by coach to the New Forest, and once more found myself in the quiet of home.The change that had taken place in me during my first half-year at the Academy was very great. Instead of being a raw country boy I was now a somewhat experienced young man. The knocking about I had received at the Academy had forced me to use my perceptive powers in every way to save myself from being thrashed for neglect; and I had thus cultivated my observational faculties, so that I noticed far more than probably I ever should had I remained at home.Now that I was at home I found I was somewhat of a hero. All the countrymen round—the foresters—who knew me as quite a little boy, now touched their hats to me, for they called me a “sodger-officer!” and had heard I had done something wonderfully clever at an examination. I also found that among our friends I took quite a different position to what I had done four months before. In reality, I learnt now the advantage of being a soldier, for I was looked on as one; and I felt the benefit of this when I heard young ladies tell their brothers what a pity it was they had not been drilled, and taught to stand up, and walk like Mr Shepard!I had been at home about a week when my father told me one morning that he had a letter from Howard, who would be in the neighbourhood shortly.“I will write and ask him to stay here a night or two. You would like to compare notes with him about the Academy, I dare say.”“Yes, that I should,” I replied, for I still looked, on Howard as a hero, and found my veneration for him by no means decreased when I remembered that he must have gone through all I had, and all I must go through before I obtained my commission; also that he was an old cadet when the present old cadets were only schoolboys. I wanted also to hear from Howard what used to go on when he was a cadet, and compare the bullying, fagging, etc, in his day with what I had myself experienced; for it was a doubtful point in my own mind whether or not I had been more bullied than other neuxes, and whether, if I had been, it was due to any peculiarity in myself, or was owing to the old cadets in my room being what was termed regular bullies.When I met Howard he expressed his surprise at my improved appearance. “You’ve grown and filled out,” he said, “and before long you’ll be a formidable antagonist with your fists. And how do you like the shop?” he inquired.I had a brief conversation with Howard then; but it was not till after dinner, when the ladies had left, and Howard, my father, and I were alone, that I became inquiring and confidential; and it was only then that my father became aware of the extent to which bullying was carried at the Academy thirty add years ago. His astonishment was great, for the tales I told were capped by Howard, and there was no margin left on which to place any doubts as regards the truth of our incidents.After I had described the angle of forty-five, and the running round the table whilst the old cadets flipped me, Howard said, “Yes, all that’s pretty bad, but were you ever kept up half the night looking out for squalls, or has that gone out of fashion?”“I’ve never heard of that. What is it?” I inquired.“To look out for squalls a cadet was divested of nearly all his clothes, and was made to climb up the iron bars of the window and there hold on. If he came down without orders he received a tremendous thrashing, and it was supposed to be a trial of a cadet’s obedience to orders. I remember, when I was a neux,” said Howard, “I was sent up once to the top of the window, and told to remain there till further orders. After some time I heard both the old cadets snoring, so I thought I might as well come down and go to bed. I had scarcely gone down many inches when one of the old cadets called out, ‘By George, sir, you shall have a thrashing for that! You thought I was asleep, eh? I just pretended to snore, to see if you could be trusted to obey orders. Why, you ought to remain there till you dropped rather than leave your post!’ I went up again, and remained for above an hour, when I was so cramped I could with difficulty move. Both cadets were snoring, but I suspected another trap, so hesitated about coming down. At length, however, I could hold on no longer, and fell heavily to the ground, from which I was picked up insensible. But I soon got all right, and wasn’t much hurt after all.”“But,” said my father, “these things are perfectly brutal. Don’t the authorities interfere?”“Yes,” replied Howard, “they would if what was done was brought before them in any way; but it rarely happens that they hear of these things.”“But don’t the boys—the fags—complain to the authorities about such ill-usage?”“If they did, the life they would lead would be unendurable. Every cadet, old and young, would cut them, and they would be bullied to such an extent that I don’t believe any boy would stay at the Academy. He would be considered a sneak; and if a cadet once gained such a name it would be all over with him.“A case once happened when I was a neux,” continued Howard, “where a cadet told his mother of some of the things he had to do as a neux. His mother foolishly wrote to the Captain of the Cadet Company about it, and said she hoped he would see her son was not put to perform menial offices. The captain of course had to treat the matter officially; there was an inquiry, and it resulted in the head of this cadet’s room being rusticated for a half-year. Well, the result was that the neux became a marked man; he was fagged, and thrashed, and sent to drill so often, that he could not stand it, and at last ran away from the Academy. It’s of no use for a cadet to attempt to go against the stream; he must grin and bear it.”“I should think it would entirely break a boy’s spirit,” said my father, “and ruin him for life.”“Not a bit of it,” replied Howard. “It is not that I advocate bullying; but I have never seen very much harm done by it. That it ought to be stopped I think there is no doubt, for I believe that of all the despotic tyrants in the world a boy is the greatest. To him there is a delight in tyrannising; and bully he will. Usually it is size and strength that makes the bully; and this is its worst form, and is known to exist everywhere. Now at the Academy it is not size or strength that gives the right to fag, but seniority only. The smallest old cadet may kick or fag a last-joined giant.”“It is a bad, brutal system, and ought to be put an end to,” said my father. “If I had known the extent to which this system was carried at Woolwich I never would have let Bob go there.”“I’m very glad you didn’t know then,” I replied, “for the worst is over now, and I’ve really only another half-year of it, and then I shall be tolerably free.”“What I believe ought to be done,” said Howard, “is to separate fagging from gratuitous bullying. Nothing is more offensive in society than an unlicked cub, and you find many of these in places where men don’t belong to either service, or have never been to public schools. I believe, from what I have read in Marryat’s novels, that in the navy there is far more bullying with the youngsters than there ever has been at Woolwich; and I fancy also at our principal public schools there is plenty of it. The generality of boys are not so sensitive as we older people are, and we give them credit for feeling much as we should; whereas I know now that I look back with rather a sense of satisfaction to the bullying I went through, and the manner in which I stood it. You see, Mr Shepard,” continued Howard, “we men in the army have to lead a roughish life of it; we don’t always live in drawing-rooms, or mix with ladies; so a soft, delicate, sensitive sort of fellow, who can’t stand a little bullying without crying out for help, is not the sort of man we want for an officer. Now I can see that Bob there is twice the man he was when I first knew him, and he is more fit to battle with the world, than he would have been, if he had merely stopped at home translating Herodotus and catching butterflies.“I’ll tell you another advantage there is in having fagging at Woolwich. When an officer gets his commission in either the Artillery or Engineers, his seniors never play tricks on him, or attempt skylarking—all that was done with when the officers were neuxes at the Academy. In the Line, how ever, unless an ensign joined from Sandhurst, and had passed through a phase of bullying, he was the victim of various practical jokes; and then there was no regular time at which these practical jokes ceased. Now it is not the right thing for a commissioned officer to be made the butt for the jokes of his seniors; still the ensigns are sometimes so raw, so self-sufficient, and require to be put in their proper places so much, that their seniors have no hesitation in bullying them for a time. It is far better, to my mind, that a cadet about fifteen should be subjected to a system of bullying—if you like to call it so—than that an ensign in her Majesty’s service should be. Fancy, too, what a set of fellows we might get in the service if they were not knocked into shape by their companions! Why, look at your neighbour’s son, Hynton, who may some day be a baronet! He’s nearly twenty, and is little better than a lout, because he has never been to school, but has always had a tutor at home. He is conceited, stupid, and thinks, because he is tall, stout, and strong, that he may do anything. He would have been made into a capital fellow by a little course of fagging when he was a youngster?”“Ah!” replied my father; “you are a thorough advocate for the system, I can see; but I am dead against it. I think it brutalises boys, and makes bullies of them in afterlife.”“I don’t think that,” replied Howard. “I believe men who are bullies will be so under any circumstances, and are not inclined to be so by being first fags and then having the power to fag. In my day, also, at the Academy downright bullying was discountenanced by all the old cadets, or at least nearly all of them, and any cadet known to be a regular bully was stopped from being allowed to fag.”“That’s not the case now,” I remarked. “A cadet may bully as much as he likes.” I thought of Snipson and Brag as I said this, and the amount of suffering I had gone through on first joining came fresh to my memory.“Then the Academy is degenerating,” said Howard; “and if what I may call wholesome fagging goes out, it will be because a bad style of men get to be old cadets, and carry things so far that the authorities will stop it altogether.”On the following morning I took a walk with Howard, and took the opportunity of telling him of my having been obliged to hang by my arms whilst I was pegged at by racket-balls; and I asked if any such thing was done in his day.“The fellow who did that must be a snob,” said Howard, “and deserves to be kicked by the old cadets! Unless you or the other neuxes had struck, or been cool in some way, that kind of thing ought not to have been done.”Four days Howard stayed with us, and I had learnt much from him during that time. He advised me to work hard all next half, particularly in academy, so as to pass my probationary well, and to make friends with D’Arcy, who, he said, was a very good fellow, and had a brother who was a cadet with him. He also gave me some useful hints about examinations, and recommended a system of artificial memory for remembering formulae and various dates. He also told me I should find the advantage all my life of becoming skilled as a boxer and single-stick player, and that one of the Academy sergeants was a first-rate instructor at both.“You’re not a fellow,” said Howard, “who would get into a row for the sake of showing off—a gentleman never does that sort of thing—so the knowledge of how to use your fists would not be likely to make you quarrelsome; but it is a pleasure to know that when you see some hulking lout who is a bully, and who is doing what he ought not to do, you can give him a thrashing if you like. I’ve always felt a sort of pleasure,” said Howard, “when walking through the streets of Paris, to think that I could thrash at least ninety-nine out of the hundred of the men one meets, for Frenchmen cannot use their fists. You should go in strong also for rackets and cricket; there is nothing more indicative of a muff than a fellow who is not good at some game or other. I remember hearing once of some general who said he would always select his staff from the men who were best across country, and you may depend on it that there’s great truth in the suggestion. I’ve generally found the best officers were men who were good at games. You can play chess well, I know, as your father told me you were within a pawn of him. So take my advice, and follow the maxim, that ‘what is worth doing at all is worth doing well!’”My time passed pleasantly enough during the vacation, for I fully appreciated the quiet of the forest and its splendid trees, after having been crowded by my fellows and surrounded by houses during the past year. I did not look forward with much pleasure to my return to the Academy. I knew that some second-half cadets were fagged as much as if they were last-joined, and it was quite possible that such might be my fate; the novelty, too, of being a cadet and wearing uniform was departing, and I looked more to realities than I had at first. The prospect of being turned out at six o’clock a.m. to go and brush clothes in another room was not pleasant, nor did I relish the idea of being once more placed on a table as the target for boots and brushes. In fact, I was getting older rapidly; and as I grew very fast and became much stronger, a rebellious feeling came over me that was not favourable to my future obedience as a neux.On comparing Brag and Snipson with Howard, or oven with several of the other old cadets I knew, I could not but feel that these two were very bad specimens of the cadet of that day. They were both bullies; they excelled in nothing, were low down in their class, and in spite of this were both very conceited. Their style of conversation, too, was inferior to what I had heard from other old cadets. Their ideas were cramped, and they seemed to take a mean or malicious view of everything, and to attribute to all other persons bad motives for what they did or said. I remarked, also, that neither Brag nor Snipson had a good word for any one. If any cadet’s name was mentioned, one or the other of these would commence with “Oh, yes! he’s all very well in his way, but then he’s not such a swell as he thinks himself, for I have good reason to believe that he,” etc, etc, etc; and here would follow some disparagement of the individual whose name was mentioned.Brag and Snipson somehow got on well together. They were unpopular at the Academy, and perhaps that gave them some sympathetic feeling for each other; but the principal reason, I believe, was that they used to flatter one another very much. Whatever Brag did, Snipson said was “deuced well done;” and when Snipson did anything, Brag declared it was very clever. There was no use in concealing the fact, between myself and the two old cadets in my room there was a very great antipathy, and I can use no milder term to indicate with truth my feelings towards them than to say I detested them both.To be at the mercy of a bully for whom you have a contempt, is a very trying position, and such had been my fate during the whole of the first term I was a cadet at Woolwich. As the time arrived for my return to Woolwich, I was anxious principally about the room in which I should live. It was quite a chance whether I had a nice or a disagreeable head of the room, but my comfort or misery for five months was dependent on the peculiar character of this cadet.

I may now devote a few lines to the description of the cadets of my own batch who joined with me, and with whom I was to compete during my career at the Academy.

There were among the class some amusing characters, and others who had marked individualities. Boys (for we were boys at that time, being between fifteen and seventeen) have a singular peculiarity of being turned out in similar patterns—that is, two boys belonging to different families, who have never met and never been in similar conditions, yet very often have exactly similar peculiarities. There was Kirk, who never would rub up Indian ink or Prussian blue for himself, but would always take dips from the saucers of other cadets. Then Sykes usually began to work fearfully hard just when it was time to turn out; and Pagner, another cadet, prided himself on being above Swat, and never seemed to work at all—the fact being that he drove off all his half-year’s work till the last fortnight, and then tried to make up the leeway by cramming night and day. He, however, could not manage this, and, as the event proved, was spun at his probationary.

One of my greatest friends was D’Arcy. He was next above me in the batch, and had been prepared for Woolwich by a private tutor. We found that we had in common a taste for natural history, and whenever we had a chance we used to go out in the Shooter’s Hill woods and look for the various grubs or insects that we were interested in. The way we used to race up the hill and back again revealed to me a fact about myself that I was before unacquainted with, viz, that I was a very fast runner for about one hundred and fifty yards.

A boy who had been brought up as much alone as I had could not judge of himself by a fair comparison, and though at Hostler’s I was considered a good runner, running was not much practised or thought of there. D’Arcy, however, told me that he had been thought a very fast runner by a boy who was a crack runner at Eton, and he was surprised to find how easily I beat him.

In those days, at the Academy, there were no annual athletic sports as there are now, for which the cadets regularly trained, and which made a pleasant break during the half-year; and the only use of being a good runner was in securing the first bat at cricket; for this was considered to be the prize of the cadet who first touched the lodge when the parade was broken off. This first bat I had frequently secured, and, though I had not put out all my speed, I found I could beat some of the cadets whose running I had heard spoken of as very good.

The subject of running having been discussed one day at our squad at dinner, the head of the squad said he thought Horsford, a cadet in his third term, the fastest hundred-yards’ runner he had ever seen. Now, on two occasions that I had run for the first bat I had tried against Horsford, and on each occasion his position in the line had given him at least three yards’ start of me; still I had gained on him so that only a yard separated us at last. From these trials I believed I could beat Horsford, and, remembering the advice Howard had given me about being prepared for any contest, I determined to keep up my running, and so I generally ran one or two hundred yards at speed each day.

No one besides D’Arcy had noticed that I was very fast in running, so I was what may be called “a dark horse,” and I had a certain amount of ambition in wishing to try my speed against Horsford.

One evening, when Brag was in a good temper, I said, “Who do you think the fastest runner in the Academy?”

“For a hundred and twenty yards Horsford is. He has won nearly every race he has run at that distance,” replied Brag.

“I don’t think he could give me ten yards in one hundred and twenty,” I replied.

Brag looked at me with curiosity when I said this, and asked if I could run well.

I told him I believed I could, as I had tried several times, and generally secured first bat (which, however, I was never allowed to retain if an old cadet was near).

“I can run fairly,” said Brag, “so I can soon find out what you can do. Come out and have a trial. It’s nearly dark, so we can keep the secret.”

Brag and I went out on the parade and paced off a hundred and twenty yards, and laid down a white handkerchief to mark the distance. We started ourselves, and commenced our race. Before we had gone thirty yards I found I could go away from Brag very, easily. I kept beside him for about seventy yards and then shot away, and beat him by nearly ten yards.

When we pulled up, Brag said, “By George, you can run! Let me get my wind, and then see if you can give me ten yards in one hundred and twenty.”

After a few minutes, Brag announced himself ready, and, having measured ten good paces, we started at “One, two, three, and away!” and commenced our second trial. Not being able to see the handkerchiefs till near them, I did not know how to arrange my speed. I, however, caught and passed Brag, and won by about two yards.

“I don’t think there is anything the matter with me,” said Brag, “and I believe I’ve run all right; and if so, you’ve a tremendous turn of speed. Now, you keep quiet about this, and I’ll have some fun.”

We went again to our rooms, and Brag recommenced his work and said nothing to Snipson about our trial race.

On the following morning we had examinations, and those who had finished their papers came out of academy. There was no drill, so the cadets were scattered about the parade kicking the football and trying to kick it against the face of the clock. I was looking on at this, and watching for a chance of a kick, when I heard one old cadet call out to another,—

“There’s going to be a race soon?”

“Is there?” replied the cadet spoken to. “Yes, Brag says he’s got a neux he will back for one hundred and twenty yards against Horsford, if he will give the neux five yards’ start.”

“Who is the neux?” inquired the cadet. “I believe it’s Brag’s own neux—young Shepard.”

“Oh, he’s too short to run! Horsford will lick his head off! Here comes Brag?”

I now saw Brag and about twenty old cadets coming from the library, and my name was soon called. I went up to Brag, who said,—

“Shepard, you’ve to run a race for me, and if you don’t win I’ll scrag you! It’s one hundred and twenty yards, and you get five yards’ start.”

I asked leave to go to my room to get a pair of light shoes to run in, and, on coming out, found Horsford with flannel trousers on, and all ready for the race. By this time all the cadets had come out of academy, and as any excitement was welcome, they all assembled on parade and made two lines, between which we were to run. The distance was carefully measured off, and I was placed five yards in front of Horsford.

“Now mind your laurels, Horsford!” said one of his backers; “don’t shave it too close!”

“I can manage this lot, I think,” he replied.

“Shepard, you’ll get a licking if you’re beaten!” said a cadet near.

“Who is backing Shepard?” inquired some old cadets.

“Only Brag,” was the reply. “He’s got an idea that Shepard can run, from some trial he had with him, but no one ever heard of Shepard as a runner. Brag has two or three pounds on the race, and I wouldn’t be Shepard for something, for Brag will vent his disappointment on him.”

During this conversation, which I overheard, several cadets had cleared the course and made a line of handkerchiefs at the winning-post, whilst I toed a line five yards before Horsford. I kept taking long breaths so as to oxygenise my blood well, for I hoped to run the whole distance without taking breath. I felt great confidence in myself, because in the races for the bat I fancied I was more speedy than Horsford; for I did not imagine that he was concealing his speed for any purpose, so I saw no reason to doubt the result.

Everything being ready, the word “Off!” was given, and away I went. I was very quick at starting, and got well on my legs at once. I could have run the whole distance at speed, but for the first sixty yards I did not do all I knew. I dared not look round, for I had read in sporting works that many races had been lost by doing so, so I could not tell whether Horsford was near me. At about thirty yards from home, however, I could feel that my opponent was close to me. There were shouts of “Go it, Horsford!” “Run, little ’un!”

“Now for it, Horsford?” which showed me he was close to me; so, bracing myself up, as it were, I dashed on with all my speed and carried away the line of handkerchiefs on my chest.

Brag rushed up to me, and patted me on the back and said,—

“Bravo, youngster! you won cleverly.”

As I walked back to the winning-post I was the centre of curiosity. All the old cadets were staring at me, and I could not help feeling a certain amount of pride in having won this race. I had been so bullied and snubbed as a last-joined neux that all the conceit was taken out of me, and I felt regularly cowed, so that a triumph like the present was quite refreshing to me. The remarks of the old cadets, too, were amusing; for it was the general opinion that I looked less like a runner than any boy they had ever seen, as I looked delicate and was short.

That evening, in our room, Brag was very civil, and even Snipson seemed to think more of me than he did before. When Snipson left the room, which he did to go to the library, Brag asked me if I thought I had won my race easily.

I replied that I had, and added, “You won’t think me conceited, I hope, if I say I am tolerably sure I can beat Horsford even.”

“How can that be,” said Brag, “when you won by only a yard?”

“Because I ran slowly the first part of the race, wanting to try my speed in the last part, and I am certain at about sixty-five yards Horsford was not a foot behind me.”

“Ah! you can’t beat Horsford even,” replied Brag; “he’s got so much longer a stride than you.”

“Well, I believe I can.”

“Horsford says to-day he was out of form, or else he could have won, so perhaps you may have another turn with him. I’ll back you at five yards, but not at evens.”

I met Horsford in the library next day, and he said,—

“You were in great form yesterday, and I was out of sorts, but I didn’t know you were such a runner. We must have another spin after the examinations are over, and I’ll see if I can’t turn the tables on you.”

I told Brag of this remark, and he replied that he would back me again, but recommended me not to eat too much pastry and “soft tack,” or I should get out of form.

The examination now went on every day, and I felt I was not doing well. Any way, if I passed out of the junior class I should be satisfied. I found that those boys who had been long at preparatory schools had an advantage over me in knowing languages better than I did. French and German were the only two languages we then learnt at the Academy, and the curious system then was for the professors at the Academy to teach also at the Woolwich cram-schools. A boy who had, therefore, been for a couple of years at a Woolwich school, and in the first class, knew well and was known by the professors of French and German, whereas one who had been trained as I had did not derive the benefit of the former instruction of the professors. It was supposed in those days that if we did not know languages when we joined the Academy we did not pick them up there. This might be explained from the fact that so much individual and personal instruction is required in order to teach languages, and there was only one professor to about thirty-five cadets.

Day after day the examination continued, and I worked on, and at length, all being finished, there were about five days during which the results of the examination were being made up, and we had nothing to do but drill. This gave us plenty of spare time, and we had games of football, and various matches at rackets and other games. Several cadets, however, who had lost their half-crowns in the race between Horsford and myself, were anxious to recover these, and there were many opinions about our relative merits in running. I heard from some of my own batch that it was the general opinion that if Horsford gave me three yards out of one hundred, it was a certainty for him.

D’Arcy, however, had told the head of his room that he thought I could win at these odds, and I also told Brag I would go halves with him in anything he bet at those odds. A match of this kind caused much interest, and several cadets were interested in the proposed race. I heard that Horsford had been quietly training, in order to get himself into form, and that he had said it was a certainty, as he was seedy when he ran with me, and was called upon all of a sudden to run.

Brag said he did not like the match much, but still, having won, he would give the losers a chance.

It was decided that we should run on the centre parade in the afternoon, and the whole Academy turned out to witness the match. I had carefully practised of an evening, both starting and running, and I could feel I was going very well. As I ran, I found I could pick up my feet quickly, and could, as far as it was possible to judge, run better than I ever ran. It occurred to me that if I could beat Horsford at these odds I would run him even, and a feeling of ambition came over me that it would be something for a neux to be the best runner at the Academy.

The afternoon at length came of the day on which the match was to come off, and all the cadets who could come out came on the centre parade. I had taken the precaution of putting on a pair of loose, plain trousers, and rather tight shoes that I fancied I could run in well. Just as we were assembling, the Captain of the Cadet Company entered the inclosure and inquired what all the assembly was about. He was informed it was for a race, so, being a great advocate for athletic competitions, he stopped to see the match.

Horsford, I could see, was in earnest now, and had taken the same precautions that I had. He was dressed in complete running costume—a suit in which he had won several races at Rugby, from which school he had come to Woolwich.

All the preliminaries having been arranged, we were placed at our respective scratches—I having three yards’ start.

I had ascertained that there were five inches difference in our height—at that time Horsford being five feet six, and I only five feet one—but I believed I had as long a stride as he had, and was as quick on my legs.

On the words, “Are you ready?” being asked, I got all my weight on my rear leg, and, bracing myself up, was prepared for “Off!”

At the first trial we were off, and I ran as nearly as possible at full speed. I knew I could go a little, though not much, quicker than I was going, so I kept on till about twenty yards from goal. I then glanced round, and found Horsford quite two yards behind me, so I maintained the same pace, and came in a winner by about a yard and a half.

The cadets who had lost on this race at once went to Brag and said, “Shepard is too good, you know. Horsford can’t give him these three yards’ start. Let them run a race even, and we’ll back Horsford at two to one.”

Brag looked at me inquiringly, so I gave him a nod, and he at once said, “All right. I dare say I shall lose, and I only bet just to give you a chance.”

The idea now came across me that if I won this race I should be the acknowledged best runner at the Academy for a short distance. There was something pleasing to me in this idea, for I then discovered that I had ambition—and what is a boy or a man without?

The individual who cares not whether he win or lose in any competition is a poor creature. He who is not to a certain extent downcast by defeat, or elated by a success, is not a man who will ever rise to eminence, for he will never use the exertion necessary to obtain success. In almost every case victory is obtained only by thought and care, expended by those who possess some special gifts of nature; and, although there is no reason why we should be unduly elated by any success, still one’s self-love is gratified if we find we succeed above others.

I was of course the hero of the day now that I had beaten Horsford, for I heard he had run races with several old cadets and had won all these, so I longed to try conclusions with him at evens. D’Arcy came to me and said, “If you run the whole distance at that speed, I know you’ll win, so go in at it in earnest.”

This race was considered a hollow affair, as it was supposed that my opponent could not pull up a losing race, but could run well at evens. It was supposed that Brag bet on this just to give the losers back some of the shillings they had lost; it was not supposed I had a chance.

We had two false starts, but at the third trial we got off together, and for about fifty yards we were shoulder to shoulder. Then Horsford got slightly ahead, not more than the breadth of his own body, but I gradually regained this, and at about ninety yards was even with him and passing him. As soon as I had passed him he seemed to shut up, for he dropped behind all of a sudden, and I ran in a winner by about one yard.

Several cadets came up to me and said, “Bravo, youngster! you’ve run well; you must get me the racket-court when I want it;” whilst my own batch wanted to carry me round the parade. However, I went to my room and changed my clothes, and endeavoured not to show any sign of being gratified at my victory. It was, however, to myself as much a gratification as a surprise. Until I joined the Academy I had no idea I had the qualifications of a good runner; I had never competed with other boys, and had consequently no opportunity of discovering my powers; but suddenly to find that out of nearly one hundred and fifty cadets I was the fastest runner was a great surprise, and I began to ask myself whether I had any other powers of which I knew nothing, and which had never before been called upon.

Both Brag and Snipson were now less disposed to bully me than they were before, and so buoyant is youth that all the hard knocks I had received on first joining were almost forgotten, and I began to look forward to the time when I should be an old cadet and have fags of my own.

The result of the examinations was now out, and I found I had done very badly; from eleventh of the batch I had dropped to twenty-eighth, and the return was unsatisfactory in several things. I, however, just got into the third academy, though I was last but one, and I hoped that next term, when I should not be so much worried by fagging and bullying, I should be able to think more about my work, so I was not so much cast down as I otherwise should have been if I had not a reasonable excuse for having done badly.

What was termed the “Public” in those days was very dissimilar to the “Duke’s” day at present. Formerly the “Public” was an examination, though it was a sort of sham affair. As, however, it was a great day, I will give a full description of the proceedings.

The “Public” was the day on which the Master-General of the Ordnance, his staff, and all the principal heads of departments came to the Academy to see the cadets. The order of proceeding was as follows:—

The cadets were drawn up on parade and received the Master-General with a salute. They were then put through certain manoeuvres by the senior cadets, and afterwards marched into the dining-hall.

In the centre of the dining-hall a table was placed, large enough to enable the batch about to obtain their commissions to be seated at. Near this was a long table, at which the Master-General and officers were seated. An elevated platform, with stair-like seats, was erected at each end and side of the hall. On this the cadets were seated who were not yet qualified for commissions; a portion was also set aside for visitors belonging to the cadets.

On all being assembled in the hall, the professors at the Academy, beginning with the head cadet of the batch, asked questions, which each cadet answered in turn. Sometimes these questions required demonstrations on the board, and the cadet used his chalk to draw figures and give demonstrations.

After the professors had put questions, any of the officers present might do so, and there was often much amusement at the questions and answers—for very often the inquiries made had no reference whatever to any subject a cadet had learnt at the Academy.

One story that used to be told about these questions was, that a cadet was once asked what was sometimes used to wash out the bore of a gun. The cadet did not know what to say, so another cadet beside him whispered, “Tan ash and water.”

The cadet, standing up, got nervous when he did not know what to say, and only heard imperfectly what his prompter said.

“Tan ash and water,” again whispered the cadet.

“A ten-inch mortar!” blurted out the puzzled cadet.

The batch who heard this answer were ready to burst out laughing, especially when the officer who had asked the question, and who was rather deaf, said, “Tan ash and water—very good!”

An old officer, who was fond of a joke, was reported to have once asked the head cadet of the batch, “What would be the result, supposing an irresistible body came in contact with an immovable post on a plane?”

The cadet answered that the body would come to rest.

“No,” replied the officer; “you forget the body is irresistible, and therefore cannot come to rest.”

“It would carry away the post,” said the cadet. “No,” again said the officer; “the post is immovable.”

After a little hesitation the cadet said he didn’t know what would happen.

“Quite right, sir,” said the officer, “neither do I, nor any one else, for the conditions are impossible. I only wanted you to say, ‘I don’t know.’ Some men would have attempted long explanations.”

When the cadets had been publicly examined, the various prizes were given, and, after one or two speeches by the senior officers, the Academy broke up.

I started for London that afternoon by coach, which was one of about forty four-horse coaches that used then to pass over Shooter’s Hill every dayen routefrom London to Dover, slept at a friend’s, and on the following day was carried by coach to the New Forest, and once more found myself in the quiet of home.

The change that had taken place in me during my first half-year at the Academy was very great. Instead of being a raw country boy I was now a somewhat experienced young man. The knocking about I had received at the Academy had forced me to use my perceptive powers in every way to save myself from being thrashed for neglect; and I had thus cultivated my observational faculties, so that I noticed far more than probably I ever should had I remained at home.

Now that I was at home I found I was somewhat of a hero. All the countrymen round—the foresters—who knew me as quite a little boy, now touched their hats to me, for they called me a “sodger-officer!” and had heard I had done something wonderfully clever at an examination. I also found that among our friends I took quite a different position to what I had done four months before. In reality, I learnt now the advantage of being a soldier, for I was looked on as one; and I felt the benefit of this when I heard young ladies tell their brothers what a pity it was they had not been drilled, and taught to stand up, and walk like Mr Shepard!

I had been at home about a week when my father told me one morning that he had a letter from Howard, who would be in the neighbourhood shortly.

“I will write and ask him to stay here a night or two. You would like to compare notes with him about the Academy, I dare say.”

“Yes, that I should,” I replied, for I still looked, on Howard as a hero, and found my veneration for him by no means decreased when I remembered that he must have gone through all I had, and all I must go through before I obtained my commission; also that he was an old cadet when the present old cadets were only schoolboys. I wanted also to hear from Howard what used to go on when he was a cadet, and compare the bullying, fagging, etc, in his day with what I had myself experienced; for it was a doubtful point in my own mind whether or not I had been more bullied than other neuxes, and whether, if I had been, it was due to any peculiarity in myself, or was owing to the old cadets in my room being what was termed regular bullies.

When I met Howard he expressed his surprise at my improved appearance. “You’ve grown and filled out,” he said, “and before long you’ll be a formidable antagonist with your fists. And how do you like the shop?” he inquired.

I had a brief conversation with Howard then; but it was not till after dinner, when the ladies had left, and Howard, my father, and I were alone, that I became inquiring and confidential; and it was only then that my father became aware of the extent to which bullying was carried at the Academy thirty add years ago. His astonishment was great, for the tales I told were capped by Howard, and there was no margin left on which to place any doubts as regards the truth of our incidents.

After I had described the angle of forty-five, and the running round the table whilst the old cadets flipped me, Howard said, “Yes, all that’s pretty bad, but were you ever kept up half the night looking out for squalls, or has that gone out of fashion?”

“I’ve never heard of that. What is it?” I inquired.

“To look out for squalls a cadet was divested of nearly all his clothes, and was made to climb up the iron bars of the window and there hold on. If he came down without orders he received a tremendous thrashing, and it was supposed to be a trial of a cadet’s obedience to orders. I remember, when I was a neux,” said Howard, “I was sent up once to the top of the window, and told to remain there till further orders. After some time I heard both the old cadets snoring, so I thought I might as well come down and go to bed. I had scarcely gone down many inches when one of the old cadets called out, ‘By George, sir, you shall have a thrashing for that! You thought I was asleep, eh? I just pretended to snore, to see if you could be trusted to obey orders. Why, you ought to remain there till you dropped rather than leave your post!’ I went up again, and remained for above an hour, when I was so cramped I could with difficulty move. Both cadets were snoring, but I suspected another trap, so hesitated about coming down. At length, however, I could hold on no longer, and fell heavily to the ground, from which I was picked up insensible. But I soon got all right, and wasn’t much hurt after all.”

“But,” said my father, “these things are perfectly brutal. Don’t the authorities interfere?”

“Yes,” replied Howard, “they would if what was done was brought before them in any way; but it rarely happens that they hear of these things.”

“But don’t the boys—the fags—complain to the authorities about such ill-usage?”

“If they did, the life they would lead would be unendurable. Every cadet, old and young, would cut them, and they would be bullied to such an extent that I don’t believe any boy would stay at the Academy. He would be considered a sneak; and if a cadet once gained such a name it would be all over with him.

“A case once happened when I was a neux,” continued Howard, “where a cadet told his mother of some of the things he had to do as a neux. His mother foolishly wrote to the Captain of the Cadet Company about it, and said she hoped he would see her son was not put to perform menial offices. The captain of course had to treat the matter officially; there was an inquiry, and it resulted in the head of this cadet’s room being rusticated for a half-year. Well, the result was that the neux became a marked man; he was fagged, and thrashed, and sent to drill so often, that he could not stand it, and at last ran away from the Academy. It’s of no use for a cadet to attempt to go against the stream; he must grin and bear it.”

“I should think it would entirely break a boy’s spirit,” said my father, “and ruin him for life.”

“Not a bit of it,” replied Howard. “It is not that I advocate bullying; but I have never seen very much harm done by it. That it ought to be stopped I think there is no doubt, for I believe that of all the despotic tyrants in the world a boy is the greatest. To him there is a delight in tyrannising; and bully he will. Usually it is size and strength that makes the bully; and this is its worst form, and is known to exist everywhere. Now at the Academy it is not size or strength that gives the right to fag, but seniority only. The smallest old cadet may kick or fag a last-joined giant.”

“It is a bad, brutal system, and ought to be put an end to,” said my father. “If I had known the extent to which this system was carried at Woolwich I never would have let Bob go there.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t know then,” I replied, “for the worst is over now, and I’ve really only another half-year of it, and then I shall be tolerably free.”

“What I believe ought to be done,” said Howard, “is to separate fagging from gratuitous bullying. Nothing is more offensive in society than an unlicked cub, and you find many of these in places where men don’t belong to either service, or have never been to public schools. I believe, from what I have read in Marryat’s novels, that in the navy there is far more bullying with the youngsters than there ever has been at Woolwich; and I fancy also at our principal public schools there is plenty of it. The generality of boys are not so sensitive as we older people are, and we give them credit for feeling much as we should; whereas I know now that I look back with rather a sense of satisfaction to the bullying I went through, and the manner in which I stood it. You see, Mr Shepard,” continued Howard, “we men in the army have to lead a roughish life of it; we don’t always live in drawing-rooms, or mix with ladies; so a soft, delicate, sensitive sort of fellow, who can’t stand a little bullying without crying out for help, is not the sort of man we want for an officer. Now I can see that Bob there is twice the man he was when I first knew him, and he is more fit to battle with the world, than he would have been, if he had merely stopped at home translating Herodotus and catching butterflies.

“I’ll tell you another advantage there is in having fagging at Woolwich. When an officer gets his commission in either the Artillery or Engineers, his seniors never play tricks on him, or attempt skylarking—all that was done with when the officers were neuxes at the Academy. In the Line, how ever, unless an ensign joined from Sandhurst, and had passed through a phase of bullying, he was the victim of various practical jokes; and then there was no regular time at which these practical jokes ceased. Now it is not the right thing for a commissioned officer to be made the butt for the jokes of his seniors; still the ensigns are sometimes so raw, so self-sufficient, and require to be put in their proper places so much, that their seniors have no hesitation in bullying them for a time. It is far better, to my mind, that a cadet about fifteen should be subjected to a system of bullying—if you like to call it so—than that an ensign in her Majesty’s service should be. Fancy, too, what a set of fellows we might get in the service if they were not knocked into shape by their companions! Why, look at your neighbour’s son, Hynton, who may some day be a baronet! He’s nearly twenty, and is little better than a lout, because he has never been to school, but has always had a tutor at home. He is conceited, stupid, and thinks, because he is tall, stout, and strong, that he may do anything. He would have been made into a capital fellow by a little course of fagging when he was a youngster?”

“Ah!” replied my father; “you are a thorough advocate for the system, I can see; but I am dead against it. I think it brutalises boys, and makes bullies of them in afterlife.”

“I don’t think that,” replied Howard. “I believe men who are bullies will be so under any circumstances, and are not inclined to be so by being first fags and then having the power to fag. In my day, also, at the Academy downright bullying was discountenanced by all the old cadets, or at least nearly all of them, and any cadet known to be a regular bully was stopped from being allowed to fag.”

“That’s not the case now,” I remarked. “A cadet may bully as much as he likes.” I thought of Snipson and Brag as I said this, and the amount of suffering I had gone through on first joining came fresh to my memory.

“Then the Academy is degenerating,” said Howard; “and if what I may call wholesome fagging goes out, it will be because a bad style of men get to be old cadets, and carry things so far that the authorities will stop it altogether.”

On the following morning I took a walk with Howard, and took the opportunity of telling him of my having been obliged to hang by my arms whilst I was pegged at by racket-balls; and I asked if any such thing was done in his day.

“The fellow who did that must be a snob,” said Howard, “and deserves to be kicked by the old cadets! Unless you or the other neuxes had struck, or been cool in some way, that kind of thing ought not to have been done.”

Four days Howard stayed with us, and I had learnt much from him during that time. He advised me to work hard all next half, particularly in academy, so as to pass my probationary well, and to make friends with D’Arcy, who, he said, was a very good fellow, and had a brother who was a cadet with him. He also gave me some useful hints about examinations, and recommended a system of artificial memory for remembering formulae and various dates. He also told me I should find the advantage all my life of becoming skilled as a boxer and single-stick player, and that one of the Academy sergeants was a first-rate instructor at both.

“You’re not a fellow,” said Howard, “who would get into a row for the sake of showing off—a gentleman never does that sort of thing—so the knowledge of how to use your fists would not be likely to make you quarrelsome; but it is a pleasure to know that when you see some hulking lout who is a bully, and who is doing what he ought not to do, you can give him a thrashing if you like. I’ve always felt a sort of pleasure,” said Howard, “when walking through the streets of Paris, to think that I could thrash at least ninety-nine out of the hundred of the men one meets, for Frenchmen cannot use their fists. You should go in strong also for rackets and cricket; there is nothing more indicative of a muff than a fellow who is not good at some game or other. I remember hearing once of some general who said he would always select his staff from the men who were best across country, and you may depend on it that there’s great truth in the suggestion. I’ve generally found the best officers were men who were good at games. You can play chess well, I know, as your father told me you were within a pawn of him. So take my advice, and follow the maxim, that ‘what is worth doing at all is worth doing well!’”

My time passed pleasantly enough during the vacation, for I fully appreciated the quiet of the forest and its splendid trees, after having been crowded by my fellows and surrounded by houses during the past year. I did not look forward with much pleasure to my return to the Academy. I knew that some second-half cadets were fagged as much as if they were last-joined, and it was quite possible that such might be my fate; the novelty, too, of being a cadet and wearing uniform was departing, and I looked more to realities than I had at first. The prospect of being turned out at six o’clock a.m. to go and brush clothes in another room was not pleasant, nor did I relish the idea of being once more placed on a table as the target for boots and brushes. In fact, I was getting older rapidly; and as I grew very fast and became much stronger, a rebellious feeling came over me that was not favourable to my future obedience as a neux.

On comparing Brag and Snipson with Howard, or oven with several of the other old cadets I knew, I could not but feel that these two were very bad specimens of the cadet of that day. They were both bullies; they excelled in nothing, were low down in their class, and in spite of this were both very conceited. Their style of conversation, too, was inferior to what I had heard from other old cadets. Their ideas were cramped, and they seemed to take a mean or malicious view of everything, and to attribute to all other persons bad motives for what they did or said. I remarked, also, that neither Brag nor Snipson had a good word for any one. If any cadet’s name was mentioned, one or the other of these would commence with “Oh, yes! he’s all very well in his way, but then he’s not such a swell as he thinks himself, for I have good reason to believe that he,” etc, etc, etc; and here would follow some disparagement of the individual whose name was mentioned.

Brag and Snipson somehow got on well together. They were unpopular at the Academy, and perhaps that gave them some sympathetic feeling for each other; but the principal reason, I believe, was that they used to flatter one another very much. Whatever Brag did, Snipson said was “deuced well done;” and when Snipson did anything, Brag declared it was very clever. There was no use in concealing the fact, between myself and the two old cadets in my room there was a very great antipathy, and I can use no milder term to indicate with truth my feelings towards them than to say I detested them both.

To be at the mercy of a bully for whom you have a contempt, is a very trying position, and such had been my fate during the whole of the first term I was a cadet at Woolwich. As the time arrived for my return to Woolwich, I was anxious principally about the room in which I should live. It was quite a chance whether I had a nice or a disagreeable head of the room, but my comfort or misery for five months was dependent on the peculiar character of this cadet.

Chapter Ten.A “Second-Half” Cadet at Woolwich.Having made the journey from Hampshire to Woolwich in one day, I reported myself at the Academy at about six in the evening, and then found that I was appointed to No. 16 room, the head of which was a cadet named Forester. On going to this room I found I was the first arrival, and I also ascertained that the second of my room was Fenton. I was the third, and there was a vacancy for the fourth, who most likely would be a last-joined, and consequently the regular fag of the room. About eight o’clock Forester came, and was very civil to me; asked me if I had been winning any more races during the vacation, and told me I must always secure a racket-court for him. The securing the racket-court was by some cadet, either on coming out from the hall or being broken off at parade, racing to the court and being first in. He could then, if he liked, resign his claim to any one else; so it was not unusual for a neux who could run well to be employed for this purpose.“You’ll find Fenton a very good fellow,” said Forester; “and I should think you are heartily glad to get out of Brag’s room.”“Brag and Snipson both used to bully me a great deal,” I said; “but I suppose it’s the usual thing.” I did not yet know Forester well enough to speak freely about the treatment I had received, so I was cautions in my remarks.About nine o’clock Fenton came in, and I at once took a fancy to him. He was short, stoutly built, and very dark. He and Forester were great friends, and were antagonists at rackets, and I also found they both played chess.During the first few days of my second half I was very comfortable. I had little to do for either Forester or Fenton. I brushed them, and they did the same to me; and I brought books, etc, from the library for Forester, but there was no bullying from either of them. In a week after my return a last-joined cadet was appointed to our room, and to him was allotted the work which had hitherto fallen to my share. The last-joined was called Hampden, and was a wild Irishman. He was soon called upon to sing his songs of a night, and make his odes to the moon, but I was never sent for now, as the heads of rooms and old cadets in my division were contented in fagging the last-joined. Hampden could neither sing nor make speeches, and his strong Irish accent was very amusing, so that he was well laughed at, and pelted with boots and brushes, when he failed to make any speeches. He was, however, very good-tempered, and the more he was chaffed the more he seemed pleased.It was about ten days after my return, that Snipson told me one day that he wanted to see me over at his room, which was in the “Towers.” On going there he informed me that he had now a single room, and therefore had not a fag, and as there was a last-joined in my room I couldn’t have much to do, so he should require me at his room every morning at seven to brush clothes, and look out for things he wanted.This order was a great annoyance to me; I had been so quiet and comfortable in my room that I fancied the worst part of the fagging was over; but now having to turn out and dress by seven, and go over to the “Towers” where Snipson ordered me about, was, as I termed it, “disgusting.” I told Forester of the order, and he said I had better go, for it was the custom for one or two cadets of the second term to be fagged at the “Towers,” where no last-joined were quartered.I soon found that Snipson seemed to dislike me as much as I did him; there was a natural antipathy between us, and we seemed to have nothing in common. He found fault with all I did, and complained that I mislaid everything and did not brush his clothes properly. I ground my teeth at his complaints and kicks, but I had to bear them nevertheless, for there was in those days the most rigid discipline used against a neux who “struck,” as it was termed, against an old cadet. I knew that of the two evils it was the lesser to bear the bullying of Snipson rather than to commit any act as bad for a cadet as mutiny for an officer or soldier. I found there were no other second-half cadets besides myself who were really fagged regularly, except where there was no fourth to a room, so I thought my case a hard one. However, there was no use in complaining, so I did my work and stood my bullying in as dogged a manner as possible.When the idea had first seized me of becoming a soldier, I had taken as my model-man Howard. I was won and almost enchanted by the knowledge and apparent power he possessed. He seemed above what may be termed the little trivialities of life, and to have a wide and general view of everything. To him there seemed to be given a capacity for looking at all subjects with the power of an impartial judge, and at the same time he exhibited an enthusiasm for the service which, though toned down by experience, was yet shown in various ways.When I had been some weeks in the room with Brag and Snipson, and had listened to their conversation, was conversant with their ideas and opinions, I could not but feel disappointed when I knew that two men with such mean sentiments, cramped ideas, and such disparaging views of others, should be so near to becoming officers in one or other of the scientific corps.One of the charms of Howard was the readiness with which he bestowed praise on anything or anybody that deserved it. The beauty of the New Forest, for example, was a subject on which he used to dilate. I was once with him on a lovely autumnal afternoon, when the sun was lighting up the richly-tinted foliage of the forest, amidst which the dark green of the fir-tree was seen; the distant water of the Solent glittering like silver beyond endless waves of forest glades; the far and cloudy-looking hills in the island marking the distance, and presenting a lovely variety of scenery rarely obtainable in England.Howard stopped and looked at the view, and, with a heartiness that showed how he appreciated it, exclaimed, “By Jove! that’s a lovely bit of scenery!”“But,” I said, “abroad you must have seen far more beautiful views than this?”“Of course I have; I’ve seen grand mountains rising twelve thousand feet direct from a plain, and I’ve seen tropical forests with their branches hung with wild vine, whilst gorgeous metallic-looking broad-leaved exotics were scattered about in profusion. But because I’ve seen that, it does not prevent this from being a perfect bit of English landscape.”I compared these remarks of Howard’s with those of a gentleman who came to see us some time after Howard had left, and who, on seeing the same view, exclaimed, “Oh, I dare say you think it very fine, but it’s nothing to what I have seen in other places.”I was young then, and did not know the world or the men comprising it; so, although an uncomfortable feeling came over when I heard this remark, I did not know how to account for the difference between the opinions expressed by Howard and by this visitor. Yet how often in the world do we meet with persons of both the types I have here referred to! We meet men with generous minds, ready to acknowledge merit and to admit its genuineness, who do not condemn that which is good merely because they have seen or heard that which they consider better. These men are usually those who have worked and won themselves, and who know that even mediocrity is not gained without great trouble. They are men whose praise or good opinion is worth having, for they judge of a matter on its merits, not by mere comparison.Others, again,condemneverything which is not what they consider equal to the very best they have seen or heard. With them it is not the merit of a subject which is examined or considered, but the comparison between that and some other. These men are usually ungenerous and conceited, without the slightest cause for being so. They are men who would make the unaspiring believe that to work for success was a mere waste of time—that even if success were gained it would not be worth having. Such men, and women too, are met everywhere; they are the cold sheets of society, who do harm to the weak and infirm of purpose, and in almost every case have no merit of their own, and not one single point of excellence in their nature.That which struck me most forcibly during my first half-year, and my acquaintance with Snipson and Brag, was this “nil admirari” style. Neither of them had a good word for anybody. The cadet who was head of his batch before I joined was once discussed by these two, and the following was the conversation:—“Some fellows say that London is so awfully clever,” said Snipson, “and got a higher decimal than any fellow has since, about four years ago. Now, I don’t think him a bit clever—in fact, I think him rather stupid, for he was a most awful ‘mug.’ I don’t suppose any fellow swatted harder than he did his last two terms in order to be head of the batch.”“Oh, any fellow who mugged as he did could be head of a batch!” replied Brag. “Besides, I don’t think passing examinations well is any great proof of being very clever. I dare say if I set to work I might pass well, but it’s not worth the trouble.”“Hopkins of that batch thinks a deal of himself too,” said Snipson, “because he’s third of the batch. Why, I remember the time when I could beat him at everything; but then I didn’t choose to slave away as he did. There’s Dawkins, too, who is fifth; he got to be that I believe merely by sponging; he was always sneaking about the octagon, pretending he was hard at work. I hate a fellow doing like that.”Young as I was, I could perceive that neither Brag nor Snipson would have made such remarks unless they had imagined themselves superior to all those whom they had mentioned; and the latent belief thus revealed is, we believe, one of the reasons why the slanderer or even scandal-monger of society is agreeable to some natures, and produces abhorrence in others. To the honest, straightforward, hard-working man, who judges of things by their merits, and who loves the truth and detests the sham, this system of disparaging is offensive and painful. To such a nature it is more pleasant to hear the excellence and the good qualities of people referred to than it is to hear only their defects, supposed or real, or their evil deeds, or those attributed to them, referred to.The thoroughly noble woman who is herself true, and who possesses the gift of charity, finds no pleasure in the society of a person whose conversation consists mainly in slandering her neighbours.The woman who is herself false, and who endeavours to pervert the truth, finds her vanity gratified when she can hear anything related which drags her neighbour’s name into the mud. As a corollary, therefore, it may be stated that, given the woman who paints her eyebrows, blackens her eyelids, powders and tints her face, and there you find to a certainty the character whose delight is intense when she can glean any intelligence about her dear friends of such a nature as to damage their characters, and to retail such intelligence with additions is to her a luxury.Having experienced four months of the society of Brag and Snipson, I could not avoid feeling that they were inferior men, who would never by fair means make a mark in the world, and who were not desirable either as friends or enemies.I had been but a very brief time in Forester’s room before I became deeply interested in him. He used to read a great deal, and had at that time the rare accomplishment of being able to talk about other matters beside “shop.” He was devoted to soldiering, and had studied carefully “Napier’s Peninsula” and other similar books, and used to talk of a night, when lights were out, with Fenton about various actions and their results.As I look back on those days, I can recall many of the remarks that Forester made, and have been struck with the value of these, and of their practical application even now. One, in particular, I remember was, “that all the extensive theory that we learnt at the Academy would probably never be of use to one in twenty of the cadets in afterlife, whilst we should know nothing about certain practical matters when we became officers, which every non-commissioned officer would be acquainted with.”“An officer’s head,” said Forester, “ought to be like a soldier’s knapsack—have a few useful things in it always handy and ready for use—just the things required for every day.”Once, after a long game of chess with Fenton, Forester remarked that people said chess and war were very much alike.“They would be,” he said, “more alike if, when playing chess, you were bound to move within one minute after your adversary, and also if you had a drum beating in your ears and a fellow shying racket-balls at you. I believe,” he said, “that the men who make the best leaders of troops are usually hard, strong men, without too much brains, whilst the great generals and planners of campaigns are quite different men. These should be careful thinkers, and men with great nervous power, and it is such men who are most upset by disturbing causes. I have often thought,” continued Forester, “that we ought to have a thinking general and a working one—the first to think out the moves, the other to execute them.”Before I had been long in this room, Forester expressed his opinion about keeping up lights. He said,—“I think taking away our lights at half-past nine, and leaving us to undress and go to bed in the dark, is absurd; but when I have said to the officer on duty that ‘I have no lights concealed, and no intention of procuring a light,’ I feel bound in honour to act up to what I say.”“But no one really looks upon the usual report about lights as given on honour,” said Fenton.“I’ve nothing to do with what other fellows think,” said Forester. “I only know what I state to an officer, and if I keep up lights after having stated I will not do so, I consider I have ‘smashed.’” (Note 1.)I here learnt for the first time the great effect produced on us by the society in which we mix, and the influence that such society has on our opinions. When Snipson wished to keep up lights, Brag did not object from a moral point of view, but because it was not safe. I also turned my attention to a plan of keeping a light burning without reflecting on its being dishonourable. Now, however, when Forester expressed his views about it, I felt I agreed with him, and was ashamed of having aided Snipson to commit an act which I now looked on as dishonourable.There were very curious ideas among the cadets in those days. One of these was, that it was rather a smart thing to get very nearly tipsy—that is to say, “screwed.” If a cadet could prove that he had arrived at this state through drinking champagne or “old port,” he thought himself a man of judgment and taste. This peculiar opinion was confined to only a few cadets, a sort of clique, and was much condemned by Forester.“There is no doubt,” said Forester, “that of all men in the world who should never be the worse for what they have drunk, a soldier is the one. He and a driver of an engine, if drunk, may cause the death of hundreds of men. Besides, a fellow who gets drunk I look on as a fool, for he must know so little about himself that he cannot tell how much of anything will make him tipsy. I don’t know a more disgusting sight than to see a man drunk and incapable, and why some fellows here think it fast I cannot imagine.”In our division was an old cadet named Marsden, who was always boasting of the wine he had drank when on leave, or when he had been home. It happened that Marsden’s father was an officer retired on full pay; but, like most officers, he was poor, and, though occasionally he asked cadets to dinner, he never produced any wines besides sherry, and, as cadets declared, his sparkling wine was gooseberry. Saumer in those days was unknown.More than once Marsden had returned from leave and made a great shouting in the division, asserting that “the Moët’s champagne was so strong.”Forester had more than once made remarks about this proceeding, and at length, with three or four other cadets who thought the same as he did, organised a plot against Marsden, which turned out a most amusing affair, but one somewhat unpleasant to Marsden.It wanted about half an hour to roll-call one Sunday evening, when Marsden came into the division shouting.“There’s Marsden again?” said Forester. “Now for a lesson for him!”Forester got up and went into the passage, where he was joined by three other cadets, who seemed to have turned out by signal.“What’s the matter, Marsden?” said Forester.“Beastly screwed on guv’nor’s champagne!” said Marsden as he leant against the wall.“It’s close on roll-call,” said Forester, “and the officer will see you!”“Blow officer!” muttered Marsden.“We mustn’t let him be discovered,” said Forester in a compassionate tone. “Let’s help him out of it.”At a signal, Forester and the other cadets seized Marsden, lifted him off his legs, and carried him to the back yard—he shouting and struggling in a half-drunken way. Suddenly, however, he seemed to foresee what was in store for him, for he called out in quite a sober tone, “I’m not drunk, Forester; I was only humbugging. I’m not drunk; I’m not!”Forester and his companions, whom I had followed, were silent, but very determined. They paid no attention to these shouts, but took off Marsden’s coattee, and reduced his dress to a pair of trousers and a shirt. Three cadets then held him, whilst Forester, seizing the handle of the pump, sent a powerful stream of water over Marsden’s head and down his back.“Nothing like a cold bath to set a fellow right when he’s screwed?” said Forester, as he worked vigorously at the pump-handle and deluged Marsden with a cold stream.“I’m not drunk?” shouted Marsden. “Let me go! I’m not drunk!”Not the slightest attention was paid to Marsden till he had been fully a minute under the pump, when he was released with the inquiry as to his feeling better and more sober.“I’m not drunk, you confounded donkeys!” shouted Marsden again, in a great rage.At this instant the officer on duty, having from his quarters heard the shouting, came through the division, and, seeing Marsden with his hair and clothes all wet, and hearing his shouts of “I’m not drunk?” at once said,—“Mr Marsden, you’re tipsy! You’ll be in arrest, sir, till further orders?”“I’m not drunk, sir?” said Marsden. “Go to your room, sir, in arrest!” said the officer, as he walked off from the division.When Forester came into his room he was in fits of laughter. “If that won’t cure Marsden of shamming I don’t know what will!” he said. “It serves him quite right for humbugging as he does?”On the following morning Marsden asked Forester to give evidence as to his not being drank the night before, “for,” said Marsden, “you know I wasn’t.”“What?” said Forester; “when you told me you were beastly screwed on guv’nor’s gooseberry—champagne, I mean? You don’t mean to say you told a lie? I was bound to believe you, and did what I thought was best for you to save you from being seen in the state you were by the officer?”“But I wasn’t screwed!” said Marsden.“Not when the officer came,” replied Forester; “that’s very likely. A powerful shower-bath is a wonderful soberer; and next time you come in screwed and shouting from the effects of champagne, you’ll find it just as good a cure! No, I can’t say you were not screwed; you looked like being so, and you said you were?”There was an audible titter on parade that day when the officer on duty read out, among other orders by the Captain of the Cadet Company, that Mr Marsden, having been under the influence of drink when returning from leave on Sunday evening, was to be in arrest for seven days!Forester’s cure was effective. Marsden was never the worse for his governor’s wine after that evening.Note 1. “Smashed,” in those days, was the familiar term for having broken one’s word of honour.

Having made the journey from Hampshire to Woolwich in one day, I reported myself at the Academy at about six in the evening, and then found that I was appointed to No. 16 room, the head of which was a cadet named Forester. On going to this room I found I was the first arrival, and I also ascertained that the second of my room was Fenton. I was the third, and there was a vacancy for the fourth, who most likely would be a last-joined, and consequently the regular fag of the room. About eight o’clock Forester came, and was very civil to me; asked me if I had been winning any more races during the vacation, and told me I must always secure a racket-court for him. The securing the racket-court was by some cadet, either on coming out from the hall or being broken off at parade, racing to the court and being first in. He could then, if he liked, resign his claim to any one else; so it was not unusual for a neux who could run well to be employed for this purpose.

“You’ll find Fenton a very good fellow,” said Forester; “and I should think you are heartily glad to get out of Brag’s room.”

“Brag and Snipson both used to bully me a great deal,” I said; “but I suppose it’s the usual thing.” I did not yet know Forester well enough to speak freely about the treatment I had received, so I was cautions in my remarks.

About nine o’clock Fenton came in, and I at once took a fancy to him. He was short, stoutly built, and very dark. He and Forester were great friends, and were antagonists at rackets, and I also found they both played chess.

During the first few days of my second half I was very comfortable. I had little to do for either Forester or Fenton. I brushed them, and they did the same to me; and I brought books, etc, from the library for Forester, but there was no bullying from either of them. In a week after my return a last-joined cadet was appointed to our room, and to him was allotted the work which had hitherto fallen to my share. The last-joined was called Hampden, and was a wild Irishman. He was soon called upon to sing his songs of a night, and make his odes to the moon, but I was never sent for now, as the heads of rooms and old cadets in my division were contented in fagging the last-joined. Hampden could neither sing nor make speeches, and his strong Irish accent was very amusing, so that he was well laughed at, and pelted with boots and brushes, when he failed to make any speeches. He was, however, very good-tempered, and the more he was chaffed the more he seemed pleased.

It was about ten days after my return, that Snipson told me one day that he wanted to see me over at his room, which was in the “Towers.” On going there he informed me that he had now a single room, and therefore had not a fag, and as there was a last-joined in my room I couldn’t have much to do, so he should require me at his room every morning at seven to brush clothes, and look out for things he wanted.

This order was a great annoyance to me; I had been so quiet and comfortable in my room that I fancied the worst part of the fagging was over; but now having to turn out and dress by seven, and go over to the “Towers” where Snipson ordered me about, was, as I termed it, “disgusting.” I told Forester of the order, and he said I had better go, for it was the custom for one or two cadets of the second term to be fagged at the “Towers,” where no last-joined were quartered.

I soon found that Snipson seemed to dislike me as much as I did him; there was a natural antipathy between us, and we seemed to have nothing in common. He found fault with all I did, and complained that I mislaid everything and did not brush his clothes properly. I ground my teeth at his complaints and kicks, but I had to bear them nevertheless, for there was in those days the most rigid discipline used against a neux who “struck,” as it was termed, against an old cadet. I knew that of the two evils it was the lesser to bear the bullying of Snipson rather than to commit any act as bad for a cadet as mutiny for an officer or soldier. I found there were no other second-half cadets besides myself who were really fagged regularly, except where there was no fourth to a room, so I thought my case a hard one. However, there was no use in complaining, so I did my work and stood my bullying in as dogged a manner as possible.

When the idea had first seized me of becoming a soldier, I had taken as my model-man Howard. I was won and almost enchanted by the knowledge and apparent power he possessed. He seemed above what may be termed the little trivialities of life, and to have a wide and general view of everything. To him there seemed to be given a capacity for looking at all subjects with the power of an impartial judge, and at the same time he exhibited an enthusiasm for the service which, though toned down by experience, was yet shown in various ways.

When I had been some weeks in the room with Brag and Snipson, and had listened to their conversation, was conversant with their ideas and opinions, I could not but feel disappointed when I knew that two men with such mean sentiments, cramped ideas, and such disparaging views of others, should be so near to becoming officers in one or other of the scientific corps.

One of the charms of Howard was the readiness with which he bestowed praise on anything or anybody that deserved it. The beauty of the New Forest, for example, was a subject on which he used to dilate. I was once with him on a lovely autumnal afternoon, when the sun was lighting up the richly-tinted foliage of the forest, amidst which the dark green of the fir-tree was seen; the distant water of the Solent glittering like silver beyond endless waves of forest glades; the far and cloudy-looking hills in the island marking the distance, and presenting a lovely variety of scenery rarely obtainable in England.

Howard stopped and looked at the view, and, with a heartiness that showed how he appreciated it, exclaimed, “By Jove! that’s a lovely bit of scenery!”

“But,” I said, “abroad you must have seen far more beautiful views than this?”

“Of course I have; I’ve seen grand mountains rising twelve thousand feet direct from a plain, and I’ve seen tropical forests with their branches hung with wild vine, whilst gorgeous metallic-looking broad-leaved exotics were scattered about in profusion. But because I’ve seen that, it does not prevent this from being a perfect bit of English landscape.”

I compared these remarks of Howard’s with those of a gentleman who came to see us some time after Howard had left, and who, on seeing the same view, exclaimed, “Oh, I dare say you think it very fine, but it’s nothing to what I have seen in other places.”

I was young then, and did not know the world or the men comprising it; so, although an uncomfortable feeling came over when I heard this remark, I did not know how to account for the difference between the opinions expressed by Howard and by this visitor. Yet how often in the world do we meet with persons of both the types I have here referred to! We meet men with generous minds, ready to acknowledge merit and to admit its genuineness, who do not condemn that which is good merely because they have seen or heard that which they consider better. These men are usually those who have worked and won themselves, and who know that even mediocrity is not gained without great trouble. They are men whose praise or good opinion is worth having, for they judge of a matter on its merits, not by mere comparison.

Others, again,condemneverything which is not what they consider equal to the very best they have seen or heard. With them it is not the merit of a subject which is examined or considered, but the comparison between that and some other. These men are usually ungenerous and conceited, without the slightest cause for being so. They are men who would make the unaspiring believe that to work for success was a mere waste of time—that even if success were gained it would not be worth having. Such men, and women too, are met everywhere; they are the cold sheets of society, who do harm to the weak and infirm of purpose, and in almost every case have no merit of their own, and not one single point of excellence in their nature.

That which struck me most forcibly during my first half-year, and my acquaintance with Snipson and Brag, was this “nil admirari” style. Neither of them had a good word for anybody. The cadet who was head of his batch before I joined was once discussed by these two, and the following was the conversation:—

“Some fellows say that London is so awfully clever,” said Snipson, “and got a higher decimal than any fellow has since, about four years ago. Now, I don’t think him a bit clever—in fact, I think him rather stupid, for he was a most awful ‘mug.’ I don’t suppose any fellow swatted harder than he did his last two terms in order to be head of the batch.”

“Oh, any fellow who mugged as he did could be head of a batch!” replied Brag. “Besides, I don’t think passing examinations well is any great proof of being very clever. I dare say if I set to work I might pass well, but it’s not worth the trouble.”

“Hopkins of that batch thinks a deal of himself too,” said Snipson, “because he’s third of the batch. Why, I remember the time when I could beat him at everything; but then I didn’t choose to slave away as he did. There’s Dawkins, too, who is fifth; he got to be that I believe merely by sponging; he was always sneaking about the octagon, pretending he was hard at work. I hate a fellow doing like that.”

Young as I was, I could perceive that neither Brag nor Snipson would have made such remarks unless they had imagined themselves superior to all those whom they had mentioned; and the latent belief thus revealed is, we believe, one of the reasons why the slanderer or even scandal-monger of society is agreeable to some natures, and produces abhorrence in others. To the honest, straightforward, hard-working man, who judges of things by their merits, and who loves the truth and detests the sham, this system of disparaging is offensive and painful. To such a nature it is more pleasant to hear the excellence and the good qualities of people referred to than it is to hear only their defects, supposed or real, or their evil deeds, or those attributed to them, referred to.

The thoroughly noble woman who is herself true, and who possesses the gift of charity, finds no pleasure in the society of a person whose conversation consists mainly in slandering her neighbours.

The woman who is herself false, and who endeavours to pervert the truth, finds her vanity gratified when she can hear anything related which drags her neighbour’s name into the mud. As a corollary, therefore, it may be stated that, given the woman who paints her eyebrows, blackens her eyelids, powders and tints her face, and there you find to a certainty the character whose delight is intense when she can glean any intelligence about her dear friends of such a nature as to damage their characters, and to retail such intelligence with additions is to her a luxury.

Having experienced four months of the society of Brag and Snipson, I could not avoid feeling that they were inferior men, who would never by fair means make a mark in the world, and who were not desirable either as friends or enemies.

I had been but a very brief time in Forester’s room before I became deeply interested in him. He used to read a great deal, and had at that time the rare accomplishment of being able to talk about other matters beside “shop.” He was devoted to soldiering, and had studied carefully “Napier’s Peninsula” and other similar books, and used to talk of a night, when lights were out, with Fenton about various actions and their results.

As I look back on those days, I can recall many of the remarks that Forester made, and have been struck with the value of these, and of their practical application even now. One, in particular, I remember was, “that all the extensive theory that we learnt at the Academy would probably never be of use to one in twenty of the cadets in afterlife, whilst we should know nothing about certain practical matters when we became officers, which every non-commissioned officer would be acquainted with.”

“An officer’s head,” said Forester, “ought to be like a soldier’s knapsack—have a few useful things in it always handy and ready for use—just the things required for every day.”

Once, after a long game of chess with Fenton, Forester remarked that people said chess and war were very much alike.

“They would be,” he said, “more alike if, when playing chess, you were bound to move within one minute after your adversary, and also if you had a drum beating in your ears and a fellow shying racket-balls at you. I believe,” he said, “that the men who make the best leaders of troops are usually hard, strong men, without too much brains, whilst the great generals and planners of campaigns are quite different men. These should be careful thinkers, and men with great nervous power, and it is such men who are most upset by disturbing causes. I have often thought,” continued Forester, “that we ought to have a thinking general and a working one—the first to think out the moves, the other to execute them.”

Before I had been long in this room, Forester expressed his opinion about keeping up lights. He said,—

“I think taking away our lights at half-past nine, and leaving us to undress and go to bed in the dark, is absurd; but when I have said to the officer on duty that ‘I have no lights concealed, and no intention of procuring a light,’ I feel bound in honour to act up to what I say.”

“But no one really looks upon the usual report about lights as given on honour,” said Fenton.

“I’ve nothing to do with what other fellows think,” said Forester. “I only know what I state to an officer, and if I keep up lights after having stated I will not do so, I consider I have ‘smashed.’” (Note 1.)

I here learnt for the first time the great effect produced on us by the society in which we mix, and the influence that such society has on our opinions. When Snipson wished to keep up lights, Brag did not object from a moral point of view, but because it was not safe. I also turned my attention to a plan of keeping a light burning without reflecting on its being dishonourable. Now, however, when Forester expressed his views about it, I felt I agreed with him, and was ashamed of having aided Snipson to commit an act which I now looked on as dishonourable.

There were very curious ideas among the cadets in those days. One of these was, that it was rather a smart thing to get very nearly tipsy—that is to say, “screwed.” If a cadet could prove that he had arrived at this state through drinking champagne or “old port,” he thought himself a man of judgment and taste. This peculiar opinion was confined to only a few cadets, a sort of clique, and was much condemned by Forester.

“There is no doubt,” said Forester, “that of all men in the world who should never be the worse for what they have drunk, a soldier is the one. He and a driver of an engine, if drunk, may cause the death of hundreds of men. Besides, a fellow who gets drunk I look on as a fool, for he must know so little about himself that he cannot tell how much of anything will make him tipsy. I don’t know a more disgusting sight than to see a man drunk and incapable, and why some fellows here think it fast I cannot imagine.”

In our division was an old cadet named Marsden, who was always boasting of the wine he had drank when on leave, or when he had been home. It happened that Marsden’s father was an officer retired on full pay; but, like most officers, he was poor, and, though occasionally he asked cadets to dinner, he never produced any wines besides sherry, and, as cadets declared, his sparkling wine was gooseberry. Saumer in those days was unknown.

More than once Marsden had returned from leave and made a great shouting in the division, asserting that “the Moët’s champagne was so strong.”

Forester had more than once made remarks about this proceeding, and at length, with three or four other cadets who thought the same as he did, organised a plot against Marsden, which turned out a most amusing affair, but one somewhat unpleasant to Marsden.

It wanted about half an hour to roll-call one Sunday evening, when Marsden came into the division shouting.

“There’s Marsden again?” said Forester. “Now for a lesson for him!”

Forester got up and went into the passage, where he was joined by three other cadets, who seemed to have turned out by signal.

“What’s the matter, Marsden?” said Forester.

“Beastly screwed on guv’nor’s champagne!” said Marsden as he leant against the wall.

“It’s close on roll-call,” said Forester, “and the officer will see you!”

“Blow officer!” muttered Marsden.

“We mustn’t let him be discovered,” said Forester in a compassionate tone. “Let’s help him out of it.”

At a signal, Forester and the other cadets seized Marsden, lifted him off his legs, and carried him to the back yard—he shouting and struggling in a half-drunken way. Suddenly, however, he seemed to foresee what was in store for him, for he called out in quite a sober tone, “I’m not drunk, Forester; I was only humbugging. I’m not drunk; I’m not!”

Forester and his companions, whom I had followed, were silent, but very determined. They paid no attention to these shouts, but took off Marsden’s coattee, and reduced his dress to a pair of trousers and a shirt. Three cadets then held him, whilst Forester, seizing the handle of the pump, sent a powerful stream of water over Marsden’s head and down his back.

“Nothing like a cold bath to set a fellow right when he’s screwed?” said Forester, as he worked vigorously at the pump-handle and deluged Marsden with a cold stream.

“I’m not drunk?” shouted Marsden. “Let me go! I’m not drunk!”

Not the slightest attention was paid to Marsden till he had been fully a minute under the pump, when he was released with the inquiry as to his feeling better and more sober.

“I’m not drunk, you confounded donkeys!” shouted Marsden again, in a great rage.

At this instant the officer on duty, having from his quarters heard the shouting, came through the division, and, seeing Marsden with his hair and clothes all wet, and hearing his shouts of “I’m not drunk?” at once said,—

“Mr Marsden, you’re tipsy! You’ll be in arrest, sir, till further orders?”

“I’m not drunk, sir?” said Marsden. “Go to your room, sir, in arrest!” said the officer, as he walked off from the division.

When Forester came into his room he was in fits of laughter. “If that won’t cure Marsden of shamming I don’t know what will!” he said. “It serves him quite right for humbugging as he does?”

On the following morning Marsden asked Forester to give evidence as to his not being drank the night before, “for,” said Marsden, “you know I wasn’t.”

“What?” said Forester; “when you told me you were beastly screwed on guv’nor’s gooseberry—champagne, I mean? You don’t mean to say you told a lie? I was bound to believe you, and did what I thought was best for you to save you from being seen in the state you were by the officer?”

“But I wasn’t screwed!” said Marsden.

“Not when the officer came,” replied Forester; “that’s very likely. A powerful shower-bath is a wonderful soberer; and next time you come in screwed and shouting from the effects of champagne, you’ll find it just as good a cure! No, I can’t say you were not screwed; you looked like being so, and you said you were?”

There was an audible titter on parade that day when the officer on duty read out, among other orders by the Captain of the Cadet Company, that Mr Marsden, having been under the influence of drink when returning from leave on Sunday evening, was to be in arrest for seven days!

Forester’s cure was effective. Marsden was never the worse for his governor’s wine after that evening.

Note 1. “Smashed,” in those days, was the familiar term for having broken one’s word of honour.

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