"They
are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three."
LOWELL, Stanzas on Freedom.
The lower-fourth
form, in which Tom found himself
at
the beginning of the next half-year,
was the largest form in the
lower school, and numbered
upwards of forty boys. Young
gentlemen of all ages from
nine to fifteen were to be
found there, who expended such
part of their energies as was
devoted to Latin and Greek
upon a book of Livy, the "Bucolics" of
Virgil, and the "Hecuba" of
Euripides, which were ground
out in small daily portions.
The driving of this unlucky
lower-fourth must have been
grievous work to the unfortunate
master, for it was the most
unhappily constituted of any
in the school. Here stuck the
great stupid boys, who, for
the life of them, could never
master the accidence - the
objects alternately of mirth
and terror to the youngsters,
who were daily taking them
up and laughing at them in
lesson, and getting kicked
by them for so doing in play-hours.
There were no less than three
unhappy fellows in tail coats,
with incipient down on their
chins, whom the Doctor and
the master of the form were
always endeavouring to hoist
into the upper school, but
whose parsing and construing
resisted the most well-meant
shoves. Then came the mass
of the form, boys of eleven
and twelve, the most mischievous
and reckless age of British
youth, of whom East and Tom
Brown were fair specimens.
As full of tricks as monkeys,
and of excuses as Irishwomen,
making fun of their master,
one another, and their lessons,
Argus himself would have been
puzzled to keep an eye on them;
and as for making them steady
or serious for half an hour
together, it was simply hopeless.
The remainder of the form consisted
of young prodigies of nine
and ten, who were going up
the school at the rate of a
form a half-year, all boys'
hands and wits being against
them in their progress. It
would have been one man's work
to see that the precocious
youngsters had fair play; and
as the master had a good deal
besides to do, they hadn't,
and were for ever being shoved
down three or four places,
their verses stolen, their
books inked, their jackets
whitened, and their lives otherwise
made a burden to them.
The lower-fourth, and all
the forms below it, were heard
in the great school, and were
not trusted to prepare their
lessons before coming in, but
were whipped into school three-quarters
of an hour before the lesson
began by their respective masters,
and there, scattered about
on the benches, with dictionary
and grammar, hammered out their
twenty lines of Virgil and
Euripides in the midst of babel.
The masters of the lower school
walked up and down the great
school together during this
three-quarters of an hour,
or sat in their desks reading
or looking over copies, and
keeping such order as was possible.
But the lower- fourth was just
now an overgrown form, too
large for any one man to attend
to properly, and consequently
the elysium or ideal form of
the young scapegraces who formed
the staple of it.
Tom, as has been said, had
come up from the third with
a good character, but the temptations
of the lower-fourth soon proved
too strong for him, and he
rapidly fell away, and became
as unmanageable as the rest.
For some weeks, indeed, he
succeeded in maintaining the
appearance of steadiness, and
was looked upon favourably
by his new master, whose eyes
were first opened by the following
little incident.
Besides the desk which the
master himself occupied, there
was another large unoccupied
desk in the corner of the great
school, which was untenanted.
To rush and seize upon this
desk, which was ascended by
three steps and held four boys,
was the great object of ambition
of the lower-fourthers; and
the contentions for the occupation
of it bred such disorder that
at last the master forbade
its use altogether. This, of
course, was a challenge to
the more adventurous spirits
to occupy it; and as it was
capacious enough for two boys
to lie hid there completely,
it was seldom that it remained
empty, notwithstanding the
veto. Small holes were cut
in the front, through which
the occupants watched the masters
as they walked up and down;
and as lesson time approached,
one boy at a time stole out
and down the steps, as the
masters' backs were turned,
and mingled with the general
crowd on the forms below. Tom
and East had successfully occupied
the desk some half-dozen times,
and were grown so reckless
that they were in the habit
of playing small games with
fives balls inside when the
masters were at the other end
of the big school. One day,
as ill-luck would have it,
the game became more exciting
than usual, and the ball slipped
through East's fingers, and
rolled slowly down the steps
and out into the middle of
the school, just as the masters
turned in their walk and faced
round upon the desk. The young
delinquents watched their master,
through the lookout holes,
march slowly down the school
straight upon their retreat,
while all the boys in the neighbourhood,
of course, stopped their work
to look on; and not only were
they ignominiously drawn out,
and caned over the hand then
and there, but their characters
for steadiness were gone from
that time. However, as they
only shared the fate of some
three-fourths of the rest of
the form, this did not weigh
heavily upon them.
In fact, the only occasions
on which they cared about the
matter were the monthly examinations,
when the Doctor came round
to examine their form, for
one long, awful hour, in the
work which they had done in
the preceding month. The second
monthly examination came round
soon after Tom's fall, and
it was with anything but lively
anticipations that he and the
other lower- fourth boys came
in to prayers on the morning
of the examination day.
Prayers and
calling-over seemed twice as
short as usual, and
before they could get construes
of a tithe of the hard passages
marked in the margin of their
books, they were all seated
round, and the Doctor was standing
in the middle, talking in whispers
to the master. Tom couldn't
hear a word which passed, and
never lifted his eyes from
his book; but he knew by a
sort of magnetic instinct that
the Doctor's under-lip was
coming out, and his eye beginning
to burn, and his gown getting
gathered up more and more tightly
in his left hand. The suspense
was agonizing, and Tom knew
that he was sure on such occasions
to make an example of the School-house
boys. "If he would only
begin," thought Tom, "I
shouldn't mind."
At last the whispering ceased,
and the name which was called
out was not Brown. He looked
up for a moment, but the Doctor's
face was too awful; Tom wouldn't
have met his eye for all he
was worth, and buried himself
in his book again.
The boy who was called up
first was a clever, merry School-house
boy, one of their set; he was
some connection of the Doctor's,
and a great favourite, and
ran in and out of his house
as he liked, and so was selected
for the first victim.
"Triste lupus stabulis," began
the luckless youngster, and
stammered through some eight
or ten lines.
"There, that will do," said
the Doctor; "now construe."
On common occasions the boy
could have construed the passage
well enough probably, but now
his head was gone.
"Triste lupus, the sorrowful
wolf," he began.
A shudder ran
through the whole form, and
the Doctor's
wrath fairly boiled over. He
made three steps up to the
construer, and gave him a good
box on the ear. The blow was
not a hard one, but the boy
was so taken by surprise that
he started back; the form caught
the back of his knees, and
over he went on to the floor
behind. There was a dead silence
over the whole school. Never
before and never again while
Tom was at school did the Doctor
strike a boy in lesson. The
provocation must have been
great. However, the victim
had saved his form for that
occasion, for the Doctor turned
to the top bench, and put on
the best boys for the rest
of the hour and though, at
the end of the lesson, he gave
them all such a rating as they
did not forget, this terrible
field-day passed over without
any severe visitations in the
shape of punishments or floggings.
Forty young scapegraces expressed
their thanks to the "sorrowful
wolf" in their different
ways before second lesson.
But a character for steadiness
once gone is not easily recovered,
as Tom found; and for years
afterwards he went up the school
without it, and the masters'
hands were against him, and
his against them. And he regarded
them, as a matter of course,
as his natural enemies.
Matters were not so comfortable,
either, in the house as they
had been; for old Brooke left
at Christmas, and one or two
others of the sixth-form boys
at the following Easter. Their
rule had been rough, but strong
and just in the main, and a
higher standard was beginning
to be set up; in fact, there
had been a short foretaste
of the good time which followed
some years later. Just now,
however, all threatened to
return into darkness and chaos
again. For the new prepostors
were either small young boys,
whose cleverness had carried
them up to the top of the school,
while in strength of body and
character they were not yet
fit for a share in the government;
or else big fellows of the
wrong sort - boys whose friendships
and tastes had a downward tendency,
who had not caught the meaning
of their position and work,
and felt none of its responsibilities.
So under this no-government
the School-house began to see
bad times. The big fifth-form
boys, who were a sporting and
drinking set, soon began to
usurp power, and to fag the
little boys as if they were
prepostors, and to bully and
oppress any who showed signs
of resistance. The bigger sort
of sixth-form boys just described
soon made common cause with
the fifth, while the smaller
sort, hampered by their colleagues'
desertion to the enemy, could
not make head against them.
So the fags were without their
lawful masters and protectors,
and ridden over rough-shod
by a set of boys whom they
were not bound to obey, and
whose only right over them
stood in their bodily powers;
and, as old Brooke had prophesied,
the house by degrees broke
up into small sets and parties,
and lost the strong feeling
of fellowship which he set
so much store by, and with
it much of the prowess in games
and the lead in all school
matters which he had done so
much to keep up.
In no place in the world has
individual character more weight
than at a public school. Remember
this, I beseech you, all you
boys who are getting into the
upper forms. Now is the time
in all your lives, probably,
when you may have more wide
influence for good or evil
on the society you live in
than you ever can have again.
Quit yourselves like men, then;
speak up, and strike out if
necessary, for whatsoever is
true, and manly, and lovely,
and of good report; never try
to be popular, but only to
do your duty and help others
to do theirs, and you may leave
the tone of feeling in the
school higher than you found
it, and so be doing good which
no living soul can measure
to generations of your countrymen
yet unborn. For boys follow
one another in herds like sheep,
for good or evil; they hate
thinking, and have rarely any
settled principles. Every school,
indeed, has its own traditionary
standard of right and wrong,
which cannot be transgressed
with impunity, marking certain
things as low and blackguard,
and certain others as lawful
and right. This standard is
ever varying, though it changes
only slowly and little by little;
and, subject only to such standard,
it is the leading boys for
the time being who give the
tone to all the rest, and make
the School either a noble institution
for the training of Christian
Englishmen, or a place where
a young boy will get more evil
than he would if he were turned
out to make his way in London
streets, or anything between
these two extremes.
The change for the worse in
the School-house, however,
didn't press very heavily on
our youngsters for some time.
They were in a good bedroom,
where slept the only prepostor
left who was able to keep thorough
order, and their study was
in his passage. So, though
they were fagged more or less,
and occasionally kicked or
cuffed by the bullies, they
were, on the whole, well off;
and the fresh, brave school-life,
so full of games, adventures,
and good-fellowship, so ready
at forgetting, so capacious
at enjoying, so bright at forecasting,
outweighed a thousand-fold
their troubles with the master
of their form, and the occasional
ill-usage of the big boys in
the house. It wasn't till some
year or so after the events
recorded above that the prepostor
of their room and passage left.
None of the other sixth-form
boys would move into their
passage, and, to the disgust
and indignation of Tom and
East, one morning after breakfast
they were seized upon by Flashman,
and made to carry down his
books and furniture into the
unoccupied study, which he
had taken. From this time they
began to feel the weight of
the tyranny of Flashman and
his friends, and, now that
trouble had come home to their
own doors, began to look out
for sympathizers and partners
amongst the rest of the fags;
and meetings of the oppressed
began to be held, and murmurs
to arise, and plots to be laid
as to how they should free
themselves and be avenged on
their enemies.
While matters were in this
state, East and Tom were one
evening sitting in their study.
They had done their work for
first lesson, and Tom was in
a brown study, brooding, like
a young William Tell, upon
the wrongs of fags in general,
and his own in particular.
"I say, Scud," said
he at last, rousing himself
to snuff the candle, "what
right have the fifth-form boys
to fag us as they do?"
"No more right than you
have to fag them," answered
East, without looking up from
an early number of "Pickwick," which
was just coming out, and which
he was luxuriously devouring,
stretched on his back on the
sofa.
Tom relapsed into his brown
study, and East went on reading
and chuckling. The contrast
of the boys' faces would have
given infinite amusement to
a looker-on - the one so solemn
and big with mighty purpose,
the other radiant and bubbling
over with fun.
"Do you know, old fellow,
I've been thinking it over
a good deal," began Tom
again.
"Oh yes,
I know - fagging you are thinking
of. Hang
it all! But listen here, Tom
-
here's fun. Mr. Winkle's
horse - "
"And I've made up my
mind," broke in Tom, "that
I won't fag except for the
sixth."
"Quite right too, my
boy," cried East, putting
his finger on the place and
looking up; "but a pretty
peck of troubles you'll get
into, if you're going to play
that game. However, I'm all
for a strike myself, if we
can get others to join. It's
getting too bad."
"Can't we get some sixth-form
fellow to take it up?" asked
Tom.
"Well, perhaps we might.
Morgan would interfere, I think.
Only," added East, after
a moment's pause, "you
see, we should have to tell
him about it, and that's against
School principles. Don't you
remember what old Brooke said
about learning to take our
own parts?"
"Ah, I
wish old Brooke were back again.
It was all
right in his time."
"Why, yes,
you see, then the strongest
and best fellows
were in the sixth, and the
fifth-form fellows were afraid
of them, and they kept good
order; but now our sixth-form
fellows are too small, and
the fifth don't care for
them, and do what they like in
the
house."
"And so we get a double
set of masters," cried
Tom indignantly - "the
lawful ones, who are responsible
to the Doctor at any rate,
and the unlawful, the tyrants,
who are responsible to nobody."
"Down with the tyrants!" cried
East; "I'm all for law
and order, and hurrah for a
revolution."
"I shouldn't mind if
it were only for young Brooke
now," said Tom; "he's
such a good-hearted, gentlemanly
fellow, and ought to be in
the sixth. I'd do anything
for him. But that blackguard
Flashman, who never speaks
to one without a kick or an
oath - "
"The cowardly brute," broke
in East - "how I hate
him! And he knows it too; he
knows that you and I think
him a coward. What a bore that
he's got a study in this passage!
Don't you hear them now at
supper in his den? Brandy-punch
going, I'll bet. I wish the
Doctor would come out and catch
him. We must change our study
as soon as we can."
"Change or no change,
I'll never fag for him again," said
Tom, thumping the table.
"Fa-a-a-ag!" sounded
along the passage from Flashman's
study. The two boys looked
at one another in silence.
It had struck nine, so the
regular night-fags had left
duty, and they were the nearest
to the supper-party. East sat
up, and began to look comical,
as he always did under difficulties.
"Fa-a-a-ag!" again.
No answer.
"Here, Brown! East! you
cursed young skulks," roared
out Flashman, coming to his
open door; "I know you're
in; no shirking."
Tom stole to their door, and
drew the bolts as noiselessly
as he could; East blew out
the candle.
"Barricade the first," whispered
he. "Now, Tom, mind, no
surrender."
"Trust me for that," said
Tom between his teeth.
In another minute
they heard the supper-party
turn out and
come down the passage to their
door. They held their breaths,
and heard whispering, of which
they only made out Flashman's
words, "I know the young
brutes are in."
Then came summonses
to open, which being unanswered,
the
assault commenced. Luckily
the door was a good strong
oak one, and resisted the united
weight of Flashman's party.
A pause followed, and they
heard a besieger remark, "They're
in safe enough. Don't you see
how the door holds at top and
bottom? So the bolts must be
drawn. We should have forced
the lock long ago." East
gave Tom a nudge, to call attention
to this scientific remark.
Then came attacks on particular
panels, one of which at last
gave way to the repeated kicks;
but it broke inwards, and the
broken pieces got jammed across
(the door being lined with
green baize), and couldn't
easily be removed from outside:
and the besieged, scorning
further concealment, strengthened
their defences by pressing
the end of their sofa against
the door. So, after one or
two more ineffectual efforts,
Flashman and Company retired,
vowing vengeance in no mild
terms.
The first danger
over, it only remained for
the besieged
to effect a safe retreat, as
it was now near bed-time. They
listened intently, and heard
the supper-party resettle themselves,
and then gently drew back first
one bolt and then the other.
Presently the convivial noises
began again steadily. "Now
then, stand by for a run," said
East, throwing the door wide
open and rushing into the passage,
closely followed by Tom. They
were too quick to be caught;
but Flashman was on the lookout,
and sent an empty pickle-jar
whizzing after them, which
narrowly missed Tom's head,
and broke into twenty pieces
at the end of the passage. "He
wouldn't mind killing one,
if he wasn't caught," said
East, as they turned the corner.
There was no
pursuit, so the two turned
into the hall, where
they found a knot of small
boys round the fire. Their
story was told. The war of
independence had broken out.
Who would join the revolutionary
forces? Several others present
bound themselves not to fag
for the fifth form at once.
One or two only edged off,
and left the rebels. What else
could they do? "I've a
good mind to go to the Doctor
straight," said Tom.
"That'll never do. Don't
you remember the levy of the
school last half?" put
in another.
In fact, the solemn assembly,
a levy of the School, had been
held, at which the captain
of the School had got up, and
after premising that several
instances had occurred of matters
having been reported to the
masters; that this was against
public morality and School
tradition; that a levy of the
sixth had been held on the
subject, and they had resolved
that the practice must be stopped
at once; and given out that
any boy, in whatever form,
who should thenceforth appeal
to a master, without having
first gone to some prepostor
and laid the case before him,
should be thrashed publicly,
and sent to Coventry.
"Well, then, let's try
the sixth. Try Morgan," suggested
another. "No use" - "Blabbing
won't do," was the general
feeling.
"I'll give you fellows
a piece of advice," said
a voice from the end of the
hall. They all turned round
with a start, and the speaker
got up from a bench on which
he had been lying unobserved,
and gave himself a shake. He
was a big, loose-made fellow,
with huge limbs which had grown
too far through his jacket
and trousers. "Don't you
go to anybody at all - you
just stand out; say you won't
fag. They'll soon get tired
of licking you. I've tried
it on years ago with their
forerunners."
"No! Did you? Tell us
how it was?" cried a chorus
of voices, as they clustered
round him.
"Well,
just as it is with you. The
fifth form
would fag us, and I and some
more
struck, and we beat 'em.
The good fellows left off directly,
and the bullies who kept
on
soon got afraid."
"Was Flashman
here then?"
"Yes; and
a dirty, little, snivelling,
sneaking fellow
he was too. He never dared
join us, and used to toady
the bullies by offering to
fag for them, and peaching
against the rest of us."
"Why wasn't he cut, then?" said
East.
"Oh, toadies
never get cut; they're too
useful.
Besides, he has no end of great
hampers
from home, with wine and
game in them; so he toadied and
fed himself into favour."
The quarter-to-ten
bell now rang, and the small
boys went
off upstairs, still consulting
together, and praising their
new counsellor, who stretched
himself out on the bench before
the hall fire again. There
he lay, a very queer specimen
of boyhood, by name Diggs,
and familiarly called "the
Mucker." He was young
for his size, and a very clever
fellow, nearly at the top of
the fifth. His friends at home,
having regard, I suppose, to
his age, and not to his size
and place in the school, hadn't
put him into tails; and even
his jackets were always too
small; and he had a talent
for destroying clothes and
making himself look shabby.
He wasn't on terms with Flashman's
set, who sneered at his dress
and ways behind his back; which
he knew, and revenged himself
by asking Flashman the most
disagreeable questions, and
treating him familiarly whenever
a crowd of boys were round
him. Neither was he intimate
with any of the other bigger
boys, who were warned off by
his oddnesses, for he was a
very queer fellow; besides,
amongst other failings, he
had that of impecuniosity in
a remarkable degree. He brought
as much money as other boys
to school, but got rid of it
in no time, no one knew how;
and then, being also reckless,
borrowed from any one; and
when his debts accumulated
and creditors pressed, would
have an auction in the hall
of everything he possessed
in the world, selling even
his school-books, candlestick,
and study table. For weeks
after one of these auctions,
having rendered his study uninhabitable,
he would live about in the
fifth-form room and hall, doing
his verses on old letter-backs
and odd scraps of paper, and
learning his lessons no one
knew how. He never meddled
with any little boy, and was
popular with them, though they
all looked on him with a sort
of compassion, and called him "Poor
Diggs," not being able
to resist appearances, or to
disregard wholly even the sneers
of their enemy Flashman. However,
he seemed equally indifferent
to the sneers of big boys and
the pity of small ones, and
lived his own queer life with
much apparent enjoyment to
himself. It is necessary to
introduce Diggs thus particularly,
as he not only did Tom and
East good service in their
present warfare, as is about
to be told, but soon afterwards,
when he got into the sixth,
chose them for his fags, and
excused them from study- fagging,
thereby earning unto himself
eternal gratitude from them
and all who are interested
in their history.
And seldom had
small boys more need of a friend,
for
the morning after the siege
the storm burst upon the rebels
in all its violence. Flashman
laid wait, and caught Tom before
second lesson, and receiving
a point-blank "No" when
told to fetch his hat, seized
him and twisted his arm, and
went through the other methods
of torture in use. "He
couldn't make me cry, though," as
Tom said triumphantly to the
rest of the rebels; "and
I kicked his shins well, I
know." And soon it crept
out that a lot of the fags
were in league, and Flashman
excited his associates to join
him in bringing the young vagabonds
to their senses; and the house
was filled with constant chasings,
and sieges, and lickings of
all sorts; and in return, the
bullies' beds were pulled to
pieces and drenched with water,
and their names written up
on the walls with every insulting
epithet which the fag invention
could furnish. The war, in
short, raged fiercely; but
soon, as Diggs had told them,
all the better fellows in the
fifth gave up trying to fag
them, and public feeling began
to set against Flashman and
his two or three intimates,
and they were obliged to keep
their doings more secret, but
being thorough bad fellows,
missed no opportunity of torturing
in private. Flashman was an
adept in all ways, but above
all in the power of saying
cutting and cruel things, and
could often bring tears to
the eyes of boys in this way,
which all the thrashings in
the world wouldn't have wrung
from them.
And as his operations were
being cut short in other directions,
he now devoted himself chiefly
to Tom and East, who lived
at his own door, and would
force himself into their study
whenever he found a chance,
and sit there, sometimes alone,
and sometimes with a companion,
interrupting all their work,
and exulting in the evident
pain which every now and then
he could see he was inflicting
on one or the other.
The storm had cleared the
air for the rest of the house,
and a better state of things
now began than there had been
since old Brooke had left;
but an angry, dark spot of
thunder-cloud still hung over
the end of the passage where
Flashman's study and that of
East and Tom lay.
He felt that they had been
the first rebels, and that
the rebellion had been to a
great extent successful; but
what above all stirred the
hatred and bitterness of his
heart against them was that
in the frequent collisions
which there had been of late
they had openly called him
coward and sneak. The taunts
were too true to be forgiven.
While he was in the act of
thrashing them, they would
roar out instances of his funking
at football, or shirking some
encounter with a lout of half
his own size. These things
were all well enough known
in the house, but to have his
own disgrace shouted out by
small boys, to feel that they
despised him, to be unable
to silence them by any amount
of torture, and to see the
open laugh and sneer of his
own associates (who were looking
on, and took no trouble to
hide their scorn from him,
though they neither interfered
with his bullying nor lived
a bit the less intimately with
him), made him beside himself.
Come what might, he would make
those boys' lives miserable.
So the strife settled down
into a personal affair between
Flashman and our youngsters
- a war to the knife, to be
fought out in the little cockpit
at the end of the bottom passage.
Flashman, be it said, was
about seventeen years old,
and big and strong of his age.
He played well at all games
where pluck wasn't much wanted,
and managed generally to keep
up appearances where it was;
and having a bluff, off-hand
manner, which passed for heartiness,
and considerable powers of
being pleasant when he liked,
went down with the school in
general for a good fellow enough.
Even in the School-house, by
dint of his command of money,
the constant supply of good
things which he kept up, and
his adroit toadyism, he had
managed to make himself not
only tolerated, but rather
popular amongst his own contemporaries;
although young Brooke scarcely
spoke to him, and one or two
others of the right sort showed
their opinions of him whenever
a chance offered. But the wrong
sort happened to be in the
ascendant just now, and so
Flashman was a formidable enemy
for small boys. This soon became
plain enough. Flashman left
no slander unspoken, and no
deed undone, which could in
any way hurt his victims, or
isolate them from the rest
of the house. One by one most
of the other rebels fell away
from them, while Flashman's
cause prospered, and several
other fifth-form boys began
to look black at them and ill-treat
them as they passed about the
house. By keeping out of bounds,
or at all events out of the
house and quadrangle, all day,
and carefully barring themselves
in at night, East and Tom managed
to hold on without feeling
very miserable; but it was
as much as they could do. Greatly
were they drawn then towards
old Diggs, who, in an uncouth
way, began to take a good deal
of notice of them, and once
or twice came to their study
when Flashman was there, who
immediately decamped in consequence.
The boys thought that Diggs
must have been watching.
When therefore,
about this time, an auction
was one night
announced to take place in
the hall, at which, amongst
the superfluities of other
boys, all Diggs's penates for
the time being were going to
the hammer, East and Tom laid
their heads together, and resolved
to devote their ready cash
(some four shillings sterling)
to redeem such articles as
that sum would cover. Accordingly,
they duly attended to bid,
and Tom became the owner of
two lots of Diggs's things:
- Lot 1, price one-and- threepence,
consisting (as the auctioneer
remarked) of a "valuable
assortment of old metals," in
the shape of a mouse- trap,
a cheese-toaster without a
handle, and a saucepan: Lot
2, of a villainous dirty table-cloth
and green-baize curtain; while
East, for one-and-sixpence,
purchased a leather paper-case,
with a lock but no key, once
handsome, but now much the
worse for wear. But they had
still the point to settle of
how to get Diggs to take the
things without hurting his
feelings. This they solved
by leaving them in his study,
which was never locked when
he was out. Diggs, who had
attended the auction, remembered
who had bought the lots, and
came to their study soon after,
and sat silent for some time,
cracking his great red finger-joints.
Then he laid hold of their
verses, and began looking over
and altering them, and at last
got up, and turning his back
to them, said, "You're
uncommon good-hearted little
beggars, you two. I value that
paper-case; my sister gave
it to me last holidays. I won't
forget." And so he tumbled
out into the passage, leaving
them somewhat embarrassed,
but not sorry that he knew
what they had done.
The next morning
was Saturday, the day on which
the allowances
of one shilling a week were
paid - an important event to
spendthrift youngsters; and
great was the disgust amongst
the small fry to hear that
all the allowances had been
impounded for the Derby lottery.
That great event in the English
year, the Derby, was celebrated
at Rugby in those days by many
lotteries. It was not an improving
custom, I own, gentle reader,
and led to making books, and
betting, and other objectionable
results; but when our great
Houses of Palaver think it
right to stop the nation's
business on that day and many
of the members bet heavily
themselves, can you blame us
boys for following the example
of our betters? At any rate
we did follow it. First there
was the great school lottery,
where the first prize was six
or seven pounds; then each
house had one or more separate
lotteries. These were all nominally
voluntary, no boy being compelled
to put in his shilling who
didn't choose to do so. But
besides Flashman, there were
three or four other fast, sporting
young gentlemen in the Schoolhouse,
who considered subscription
a matter of duty and necessity;
and so, to make their duty
come easy to the small boys,
quietly secured the allowances
in a lump when given out for
distribution, and kept them.
It was no use grumbling - so
many fewer tartlets and apples
were eaten and fives balls
bought on that Saturday; and
after locking-up, when the
money would otherwise have
been spent, consolation was
carried to many a small boy
by the sound of the night-fags
shouting along the passages, "Gentlemen
sportsmen of the School-house;
the lottery's going to be drawn
in the hall." It was pleasant
to be called a gentleman sportsman,
also to have a chance of drawing
a favourite horse.
The hall was full of boys,
and at the head of one of the
long tables stood the sporting
interest, with a hat before
them, in which were the tickets
folded up. One of them then
began calling out the list
of the house. Each boy as his
name was called drew a ticket
from the hat, and opened it;
and most of the bigger boys,
after drawing, left the hall
directly to go back to their
studies or the fifth-form room.
The sporting interest had all
drawn blanks, and they were
sulky accordingly; neither
of the favourites had yet been
drawn, and it had come down
to the upper-fourth. So now,
as each small boy came up and
drew his ticket, it was seized
and opened by Flashman, or
some other of the standers-by.
But no great favourite is drawn
until it comes to the Tadpole's
turn, and he shuffles up and
draws, and tries to make off,
but is caught, and his ticket
is opened like the rest.
"Here you are! Wanderer
- the third favourite!" shouts
the opener.
"I say, just give me
my ticket, please," remonstrates
Tadpole.
"Hullo! don't be in a
hurry," breaks in Flashman; "what'll
you sell Wanderer for now?"
"I don't want to sell," rejoins
Tadpole.
"Oh, don't you! Now listen,
you young fool: you don't know
anything about it; the horse
is no use to you. He won't
win, but I want him as a hedge.
Now, I'll give you half a crown
for him." Tadpole holds
out, but between threats and
cajoleries at length sells
half for one shilling and sixpence
- about a fifth of its fair
market value; however, he is
glad to realize anything, and,
as he wisely remarks, "Wanderer
mayn't win, and the tizzy is
safe anyhow."
East presently
comes up and draws a blank.
Soon after comes
Tom's turn. His ticket, like
the others, is seized and opened. "Here
you are then," shouts
the opener, holding it up - "Harkaway!
- By Jove, Flashey, your young
friend's in luck."
"Give me the ticket," says
Flashman, with an oath, leaning
across the table with open
hand and his face black with
rage.
"Wouldn't you like it?" replies
the opener, not a bad fellow
at the bottom, and no admirer
of Flashman. "Here, Brown,
catch hold." And he hands
the ticket to Tom, who pockets
it. Whereupon Flashman makes
for the door at once, that
Tom and the ticket may not
escape, and there keeps watch
until the drawing is over and
all the boys are gone, except
the sporting set of five or
six, who stay to compare books,
make bets, and so on; Tom,
who doesn't choose to move
while Flashman is at the door;
and East, who stays by his
friend, anticipating trouble.
The sporting set now gathered
round Tom. Public opinion wouldn't
allow them actually to rob
him of his ticket, but any
humbug or intimidation by which
he could be driven to sell
the whole or part at an undervalue
was lawful.
"Now, young Brown, come,
what'll you sell me Harkaway
for? I hear he isn't going
to start. I'll give you five
shillings for him," begins
the boy who had opened the
ticket. Tom, remembering his
good deed, and moreover in
his forlorn state wishing to
make a friend, is about to
accept the offer, when another
cries out, "I'll give
you seven shillings." Tom
hesitated and looked from one
to the other.
"No, no!" said Flashman,
pushing in, "leave me
to deal with him; we'll draw
lots for it afterwards. Now
sir, you know me: you'll sell
Harkaway to us for five shillings,
or you'll repent it."
"I won't sell a bit of
him," answered Tom shortly.
"You hear that now!" said
Flashman, turning to the others. "He's
the coxiest young blackguard
in the house. I always told
you so. We're to have all the
trouble and risk of getting
up the lotteries for the benefit
of such fellows as he."
Flashman forgets to explain
what risk they ran, but he
speaks to willing ears. Gambling
makes boys selfish and cruel
as well as men.
"That's true. We always
draw blanks," cried one.
- "Now, sir, you shall
sell half, at any rate."
"I won't," said
Tom, flushing up to his hair,
and lumping them all in his
mind with his sworn enemy.
"Very well then; let's
roast him," cried Flashman,
and catches hold of Tom by
the collar. One or two boys
hesitate, but the rest join
in. East seizes Tom's arm,
and tries to pull him away,
but is knocked back by one
of the boys, and Tom is dragged
along struggling. His shoulders
are pushed against the mantelpiece,
and he is held by main force
before the fire, Flashman drawing
his trousers tight by way of
extra torture. Poor East, in
more pain even than Tom, suddenly
thinks of Diggs, and darts
off to find him. "Will
you sell now for ten shillings?" says
one boy who is relenting.
Tom only answers by groans
and struggles.
"I say, Flashey, he has
had enough," says the
same boy, dropping the arm
he holds.
"No, no; another turn'll
do it," answers Flashman.
But poor Tom is done already,
turns deadly pale, and his
head falls forward on his breast,
just as Diggs, in frantic excitement,
rushes into the hall with East
at his heels.
"You cowardly brutes!" is
all he can say, as he catches
Tom from them and supports
him to the hall table. "Good
God! he's dying. Here, get
some cold water - run for the
housekeeper."
Flashman and
one or two others slink away;
the rest, ashamed
and sorry, bend over Tom or
run for water, while East darts
off for the housekeeper. Water
comes, and they throw it on
his hands and face, and he
begins to come to. "Mother!" -
the words came feebly and slowly
- "it's very cold to-night." Poor
old Diggs is blubbering like
a child. "Where am I?" goes
on Tom, opening his eyes, "Ah!
I remember now." And he
shut his eyes again and groaned.
"I say," is whispered, "we
can't do any good, and the
housekeeper will be here in
a minute." And all but
one steal away. He stays with
Diggs, silent and sorrowful,
and fans Tom's face.
The housekeeper comes in with
strong salts, and Tom soon
recovers enough to sit up.
There is a smell of burning.
She examines his clothes, and
looks up inquiringly. The boys
are silent.
"How did he come so?" No
answer. "There's been
some bad work here," she
adds, looking very serious, "and
I shall speak to the Doctor
about it." Still no answer.
"Hadn't we better carry
him to the sick-room?" suggests
Diggs.
"Oh, I can walk now," says
Tom; and, supported by East
and the housekeeper, goes to
the sick-room. The boy who
held his ground is soon amongst
the rest, who are all in fear
of their lives. "Did he
peach?" "Does she
know about it?"
"Not a word; he's a stanch
little fellow." And pausing
a moment, he adds, "I'm
sick of this work; what brutes
we've been!"
Meantime Tom is stretched
on the sofa in the housekeeper's
room, with East by his side,
while she gets wine and water
and other restoratives.
"Are you much hurt, dear
old boy?" whispers East.
"Only the
back of my legs," answers
Tom. They are indeed badly
scorched,
and part of his trousers burnt
through. But soon he is in
bed with cold bandages. At
first he feels broken, and
thinks of writing home and
getting taken away; and the
verse of a hymn he had learned
years ago sings through his
head, and he goes to sleep,
murmuring,
"Where
the wicked cease from troubling,
And
the weary are at rest."
But after a sound night's
rest, the old boy-spirit comes
back again. East comes in,
reporting that the whole house
is with him; and he forgets
everything, except their old
resolve never to be beaten
by that bully Flashman.
Not a word could the housekeeper
extract from either of them,
and though the Doctor knew
all that she knew that morning,
he never knew any more.
I trust and believe that such
scenes are not possible now
at school, and that lotteries
and betting-books have gone
out; but I am writing of schools
as they were in our time, and
must give the evil with the
good.
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