TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS
SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES.
SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES.
old Benjy! The "rheumatiz"
has much to answer for all through English country-sides, but it never played a
scurvier trick than in laying thee by the heels, when thou wast yet in a green
old age. The enemy, which had long
been carrying on a sort of border warfare, and trying his strength against
Benjy's on the battlefield of his hands and legs, now, mustering all his forces,
began laying siege to the citadel, and overrunning the whole country.
Benjy was seized in the back and loins; and though he made strong and
brave fight, it was soon clear enough that all which could be beaten of poor old
Benjy would have to give in before long.
It was as much as he could do now, with the help
of his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the canal with Master
Tom, and bait his hook for him, and sit and watch his angling, telling him
quaint old country stories; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a rat some
hundred yards or so off along the bank, would rush off with Toby the turnspit
terrier, his other faithful companion, in bootless pursuit, he might have
tumbled in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjy could have got near
Cheery and unmindful of himself, as Benjy was,
this loss of locomotive power bothered him greatly.
He had got a new object in his old age, and was just beginning to think
himself useful again in the world. He
feared much, too, lest Master Tom should fall back again into the hands of
Charity and the women. So he tried
everything he could think of to get set up.
He even went an expedition to the dwelling of one of those queer mortals,
who - say what we will, and reason how we will--do cure simple people of
diseases of one kind or another without the aid of physic, and so get to
themselves the reputation of using charms, and inspire for themselves and their
dwellings great respect, not to say fear, amongst a simple folk such as the
dwellers in the Vale of White Horse. Where
this power, or whatever else it may be, descends upon the shoulders of a man
whose ways are not straight, he becomes a nuisance to the neighbourhood--a
receiver of stolen goods, giver of love-potions, and deceiver of silly
women--the avowed enemy of law and order, of justices of the peace,
head-boroughs, and gamekeepers,--such a man, in fact, as was recently caught
tripping, and deservedly dealt with by the Leeds justices, for seducing a girl
who had come to him to get back a faithless lover, and has been convicted of
bigamy since then. Sometimes,
however, they are of quite a different stamp--men who pretend to nothing, and
are with difficulty persuaded to exercise their occult arts in the simplest
Of this latter sort was old Farmer Ives, as he was
called, the "wise man" to whom Benjy resorted (taking Tom with him as
usual), in the early spring of the year next after the feast described in the
last chapter. Why he was called
"farmer" I cannot say, unless it be that he was the owner of a cow, a
pig or two, and some poultry, which he maintained on about an acre of land
inclosed from the middle of a wild common, on which probably his father had
squatted before lords of manors looked as keenly after their rights as they do
now. Here he had lived no one knew
how long, a solitary man. It was
often rumoured that he was to be turned out and his cottage pulled down, but
somehow it never came to pass; and his pigs and cow went grazing on the common,
and his geese hissed at the passing children and at the heels of the horse of my
lord's steward, who often rode by with a covetous eye on the inclosure still
unmolested. His dwelling was some
miles from our village; so Benjy, who was half ashamed of his errand, and wholly
unable to walk there, had to exercise much ingenuity to get the means of
transporting himself and Tom thither without exciting suspicion.
However, one fine May morning he managed to borrow the old blind pony of
our friend the publican, and Tom persuaded Madam Brown to give him a holiday to
spend with old Benjy, and to lend them the Squire's light cart, stored with
bread and cold meat and a bottle of ale. And so the two in high glee started
behind old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy roads, which had not
been mended after their winter's wear, towards the dwelling of the wizard.
About noon they passed the gate which opened on to the large common, and
old Dobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while Benjy pointed out a little deep
dingle on the left, out of which welled a tiny stream.
As they crept up the hill the tops of a few birch-trees came in sight,
and blue smoke curling up through their delicate light boughs; and then the
little white thatched home and inclosed ground of Farmer Ives, lying cradled in
the dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on both sides; while in
front, after traversing a gentle slope, the eye might travel for miles and miles
over the rich vale. They now left
the main road and struck into a green track over the common marked lightly with
wheel and horse-shoe, which led down into the dingle and stopped at the rough
gate of Farmer Ives. Here they
found the farmer, an iron-gray old man, with a bushy eyebrow and strong aquiline
nose, busied in one of his vocations. He
was a horse and cow doctor, and was tending a sick beast which had been sent up
to be cured. Benjy hailed him as an
old friend, and he returned the greeting cordially enough, looking however hard
for a moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether there was more in their visit
than appeared at first sight. It
was a work of some difficulty and danger for Benjy to reach the ground, which,
however, he managed to do without mishap; and then he devoted himself to
unharnessing Dobbin and turning him out for a graze ("a run" one could
not say of that virtuous steed) on the common.
This done, he extricated the cold provisions from the cart, and they
entered the farmer's wicket; and he, shutting up the knife with which he was
taking maggots out of the cow's back and sides, accompanied them towards the
cottage. A big old lurcher got up
slowly from the door-stone, stretching first one hind leg and then the other,
and taking Tom's caresses and the presence of Toby, who kept, however, at a
respectful distance, with equal indifference.
"Us be cum to pay 'ee a visit.
I've a been long minded to do't for old sake's sake, only I vinds I
dwon't get about now as I'd used to't. I
be so plaguy bad wi' th' rheumatiz in my back." Benjy paused, in hopes of
drawing the farmer at once on the subject of his ailments without further direct
"Ah, I see as you bean't quite so lissom as
you was," replied the farmer, with a grim smile, as he lifted the latch of
his door; "we bean't so young as we was, nother on us, wuss luck."
The farmer's cottage was very like those of the
better class of peasantry in general. A
snug chimney corner with two seats, and a small carpet on the hearth, an old
flint gun and a pair of spurs over the fireplace, a dresser with shelves on
which some bright pewter plates and crockeryware were arranged, an old walnut
table, a few chairs and settles, some framed samplers, and an old print or two,
and a bookcase with some dozen volumes on the walls, a rack with flitches of
bacon, and other stores fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part of
the furniture. No sign of occult
art is to be seen, unless the bundles of dried herbs hanging to the rack and in
the ingle and the row of labelled phials on one of the shelves betoken it.
Tom played about with some kittens who occupied
the hearth, and with a goat who walked demurely in at the open door--while their
host and Benjy spread the table for dinner--and was soon engaged in conflict
with the cold meat, to which he did much honour. The two old men's talk was of old comrades and their deeds,
mute inglorious Miltons of the Vale, and of the doings thirty years back, which
didn't interest him much, except when they spoke of the making of the canal; and
then indeed he began to listen with all his ears, and learned, to his no small
wonder, that his dear and wonderful canal had not been there always--was not, in
fact, so old as Benjy or Farmer Ives, which caused a strange commotion in his
After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart
which Tom had on the knuckles of his hand, and which the family doctor had been
trying his skill on without success, and begged the farmer to charm it away.
Farmer Ives looked at it, muttered something or another over it, and cut
some notches in a short stick, which he handed to Benjy, giving him instructions
for cutting it down on certain days, and cautioning Tom not to meddle with the
wart for a fortnight. And then they
strolled out and sat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, and the pigs came
up and grunted sociably and let Tom scratch them; and the farmer, seeing how he
liked animals, stood up and held his arms in the air, and gave a call, which
brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and dashing through the birch-trees.
They settled down in clusters on the farmer's arms and shoulders, making
love to him and scrambling over one another's backs to get to his face; and then
he threw them all off, and they fluttered about close by, and lighted on him
again and again when he held up his arms. All
the creatures about the place were clean and fearless, quite unlike their
relations elsewhere; and Tom begged to be taught how to make all the pigs and
cows and poultry in our village tame, at which the farmer only gave one of his
It wasn't till they were just ready to go, and old
Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject of his rheumatism again,
detailing his symptoms one by one. Poor
old boy! He hoped the farmer could
charm it away as easily as he could Tom's wart, and was ready with equal faith
to put another notched stick into his other pocket, for the cure of his own
ailments. The physician shook his head, but nevertheless produced a bottle, and
handed it to Benjy, with instructions for use.
"Not as 't'll do 'ee much good--leastways I be afeard not,"
shading his eyes with his hand, and looking up at them in the cart.
"There's only one thing as I knows on as'll cure old folks like you and I
o' th' rheumatiz."
"Wot be that then, farmer?" inquired
"Churchyard mould," said the old
iron-gray man, with another chuckle. And
so they said their good-byes and went their ways home.
Tom's wart was gone in a fortnight, but not so Benjy's rheumatism, which
laid him by the heels more and more. And
though Tom still spent many an hour with him, as he sat on a bench in the
sunshine, or by the chimney corner when it was cold, he soon had to seek
elsewhere for his regular companions.
Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his
mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby made acquaintance with
many of the village boys of his own age. There
was Job Rudkin, son of widow Rudkin, the most bustling woman in the parish.
How she could ever have had such a stolid boy as Job for a child must
always remain a mystery. The first
time Tom went to their cottage with his mother, Job was not indoors; but he
entered soon after, and stood with both hands in his pockets, staring at Tom.
Widow Rudkin, who would have had to cross madam to get at young
Hopeful--a breach of good manners of which she was wholly incapable--began a
series of pantomime signs, which only puzzled him; and at last, unable to
contain herself longer, burst out with, "Job! Job! where's thy cap?"
"What! bean't 'ee on ma head, mother?"
replied Job, slowly extricating one hand from a pocket, and feeling for the
article in question; which he found on his head sure enough, and left there, to
his mother's horror and Tom's great delight.
Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted
boy, who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking messages and little helpful odds
and ends for every one, which, however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to
imbrangle. Everything came to
pieces in his hands, and nothing would stop in his head. They nicknamed him
But above all there was Harry Winburn, the
quickest and best boy in the parish. He
might be a year older than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the
Crichton of our village boys. He
could wrestle and climb and run better than all the rest, and learned all that
the schoolmaster could teach him faster than that worthy at all liked. He was a boy to be proud of, with his curly brown hair, keen
gray eye, straight active figure, and little ears and hands and feet, "as
fine as a lord's," as Charity remarked to Tom one day, talking, as usual,
great nonsense. Lords' hands and
ears and feet are just as ugly as other folk's when they are children, as any
one may convince himself if he likes to look.
Tight boots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, I allow make a
difference by the time they are twenty.
Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his
young brothers were still under petticoat government, Tom, in search of
companions, began to cultivate the village boys generally more and more.
Squire Brown, be it said, was a true-blue Tory to the backbone, and
believed honestly that the powers which be were ordained of God, and that
loyalty and steadfast obedience were men's first duties.
Whether it were in consequence or in spite of his political creed, I do
not mean to give an opinion, though I have one; but certain it is that he held
therewith divers social principles not generally supposed to be true blue in
colour. Foremost of these, and the
one which the Squire loved to propound above all others, was the belief that a
man is to be valued wholly and solely for that which he is in himself, for that
which stands up in the four fleshly walls of him, apart from clothes, rank,
fortune, and all externals whatsoever. Which belief I take to be a wholesome
corrective of all political opinions, and, if held sincerely, to make all
opinions equally harmless, whether they be blue, red, or green.
As a necessary corollary to this belief, Squire Brown held further that
it didn't matter a straw whether his son associated with lords' sons or
ploughmen's sons, provided they were brave and honest.
He himself had played football and gone bird-nesting with the farmers
whom he met at vestry and the labourers who tilled their fields, and so had his
father and grandfather, with their progenitors.
So he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the boys of the village, and
forwarded it by all means in his power, and gave them the run of a close for a
playground, and provided bats and balls and a football for their sports.
Our village was blessed amongst other things with
a well-endowed school. The building
stood by itself, apart from the master's house, on an angle of ground where
three roads met--an old gray stone building with a steep roof and mullioned
windows. On one of the opposite
angles stood Squire Brown's stables and kennel, with their backs to the road,
over which towered a great elm- tree; on the third stood the village carpenter
and wheelwright's large open shop, and his house and the schoolmaster's, with
long low eaves, under which the swallows built by scores.
The moment Tom's lessons were over, he would now
get him down to this corner by the stables, and watch till the boys came out of
school. He prevailed on the groom
to cut notches for him in the bark of the elm so that he could climb into the
lower branches; and there he would sit watching the school door, and speculating
on the possibility of turning the elm into a dwelling-place for himself and
friends, after the manner of the Swiss Family Robinson.
But the school hours were long and Tom's patience short, so that he soon
began to descend into the street, and go and peep in at the school door and the
wheelwright's shop, and look out for something to while away the time.
Now the wheelwright was a choleric man, and one fine afternoon, returning
from a short absence, found Tom occupied with one of his pet adzes, the edge of
which was fast vanishing under our hero's care.
A speedy flight saved Tom from all but one sound cuff on the ears; but he
resented this unjustifiable interruption of his first essays at carpentering,
and still more the further proceedings of the wheelwright, who cut a switch, and
hung it over the door of his workshop, threatening to use it upon Tom if he came
within twenty yards of his gate. So
Tom, to retaliate, commenced a war upon the swallows who dwelt under the
wheelwright's eaves, whom he harassed with sticks and stones; and being fleeter
of foot than his enemy, escaped all punishment, and kept him in perpetual anger.
Moreover, his presence about the school door began to incense the master,
as the boys in that neighbourhood neglected their lessons in consequence; and
more than once he issued into the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom beat a hasty
retreat. And he and the
wheelwright, laying their heads together, resolved to acquaint the Squire with
Tom's afternoon occupations; but in order to do it with effect, determined to
take him captive and lead him away to judgment fresh from his evil doings.
This they would have found some difficulty in doing, had Tom continued
the war single-handed, or rather single-footed, for he would have taken to the
deepest part of Pebbly Brook to escape them; but, like other active powers, he
was ruined by his alliances. Poor
Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to the school with the other boys, and one fine
afternoon, about three o'clock (the school broke up at four), Tom found him
ambling about the street, and pressed him into a visit to the school-porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he was asked, consented, and
the two stole down to the school together.
Tom first reconnoitred the wheelwright's shop; and seeing no signs of
activity, thought all safe in that quarter, and ordered at once an advance of
all his troops upon the schoolporch. The
door of the school was ajar, and the boys seated on the nearest bench at once
recognized and opened a correspondence with the invaders.
Tom, waxing bold, kept putting his head into the school and making faces
at the master when his back was turned. Poor
Jacob, not in the least comprehending the situation, and in high glee at finding
himself so near the school, which he had never been allowed to enter, suddenly,
in a fit of enthusiasm, pushed by Tom, and ambling three steps into the school,
stood there, looking round him and nodding with a self-approving smile.
The master, who was stooping over a boy's slate, with his back to the
door, became aware of something unusual, and turned quickly round.
Tom rushed at Jacob, and began dragging him back by his smock-frock, and
the master made at them, scattering forms and boys in his career.
Even now they might have escaped, but that in the porch, barring retreat,
appeared the crafty wheelwright, who had been watching all their proceedings.
So they were seized, the school dismissed, and Tom and Jacob led away to
Squire Brown as lawful prize, the boys following to the gate in groups, and
speculating on the result.
The Squire was very angry at first, but the
interview, by Tom's pleading, ended in a compromise. Tom was not to go near the school till three o'clock, and
only then if he had done his own lessons well, in which case he was to be the
bearer of a note to the master from Squire Brown; and the master agreed in such
case to release ten or twelve of the best boys an hour before the time of
breaking up, to go off and play in the close.
The wheelwright's adzes and swallows were to be for ever respected; and
that hero and the master withdrew to the servants' hall to drink the Squire's
health, well satisfied with their day's work.
The second act of Tom's life may now be said to
have begun. The war of independence
had been over for some time: none
of the women now--not even his mother's maid--dared offer to help him in
dressing or washing. Between
ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy in an unfinished state of
toilet. Charity and the rest of
them seemed to take a delight in putting impossible buttons and ties in the
middle of his back; but he would have gone without nether integuments
altogether, sooner than have had recourse to female valeting.
He had a room to himself, and his father gave him sixpence a week
pocket-money. All this he had achieved by Benjy's advice and assistance.
But now he had conquered another step in life--the step which all real
boys so long to make: he had got
amongst his equals in age and strength, and could measure himself with other
boys; he lived with those whose pursuits and wishes and ways were the same in
kind as his own.
The little governess who had lately been installed
in the house found her work grow wondrously easy, for Tom slaved at his lessons,
in order to make sure of his note to the schoolmaster. So there were very few
days in the week in which Tom and the village boys were not playing in their
close by three o'clock. Prisoner's base, rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket,
football - he was soon initiated into the delights of them all; and though most
of the boys were older than himself, he managed to hold his own very well.
He was naturally active and strong, and quick of eye and hand, and had
the advantage of light shoes and well-fitting dress, so that in a short time he
could run and jump and climb with any of them.
They generally finished their regular games half
an hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials of skill and strength in
many ways. Some of them would catch
the Shetland pony who was turned out in the field, and get two or three together
on his back, and the little rogue, enjoying the fun, would gallop off for fifty
yards, and then turn round, or stop short and shoot them on to the turf, and
then graze quietly on till he felt another load; others played at peg-top or
marbles, while a few of the bigger ones stood up for a bout at wrestling.
Tom at first only looked on at this pastime, but it had peculiar
attractions for him, and he could not long keep out of it. Elbow and collar
wrestling, as practised in the western counties, was, next to back-swording, the
way to fame for the youth of the Vale; and all the boys knew the rules of it,
and were more or less expert. But
Job Rudkin and Harry Winburn were the stars--the former stiff and sturdy, with
legs like small towers; the latter pliant as indiarubber and quick as lightning.
Day after day they stood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and then the
other, and grappled and closed, and swayed and strained, till a well-aimed crook
of the heel or thrust of the loin took effect, and a fair back-fall ended the
matter. And Tom watched with all
his eyes, and first challenged one of the less scientific, and threw him; and so
one by one wrestled his way up to the leaders.
Then indeed for months he had a poor time of it;
it was not long indeed before he could manage to keep his legs against Job, for
that hero was slow of offence, and gained his victories chiefly by allowing
others to throw themselves against his immovable legs and loins.
But Harry Winburn was undeniably his master; from the first clutch of
hands when they stood up, down to the last trip which sent him on to his back on
the turf, he felt that Harry knew more and could do more than he.
Luckily Harry's bright unconsciousness and Tom's natural good temper kept
them from quarrelling; and so Tom worked on and on, and trod more and more
nearly on Harry's heels, and at last mastered all the dodges and falls except
one. This one was Harry's own particular invention and pet; he
scarcely ever used it except when hard pressed, but then out it came, and as
sure as it did, over went poor Tom. He
thought about that fall at his meals, in his walks, when he lay awake in bed, in
his dreams, but all to no purpose, until Harry one day in his open way suggested
to him how he thought it should be met; and in a week from that time the boys
were equal, save only the slight difference of strength in Harry's favour, which
some extra ten months of age gave. Tom had often afterwards reason to be thankful for that early
drilling, and above all, for having mastered Harry Winburn's fall.
Besides their home games, on Saturdays the boys
would wander all over the neighbourhood; sometimes to the downs, or up to the
camp, where they cut their initials out in the springy turf, and watched the
hawks soaring, and the "peert" bird, as Harry Winburn called the gray
plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers; and so home, racing down the Manger
with many a roll among the thistles, or through Uffington Wood to watch the fox
cubs playing in the green rides; sometimes to Rosy Brook, to cut long whispering
reeds which grew there, to make pan-pipes of; sometimes to Moor Mills, where was
a piece of old forest land, with short browsed turf and tufted brambly thickets
stretching under the oaks, amongst which rumour declared that a raven, last of
his race, still lingered; or to the sand-hills, in vain quest of rabbits; and
bird-nesting in the season, anywhere and everywhere.
The few neighbours of the Squire's own rank every
now and then would shrug their shoulders as they drove or rode by a party of
boys with Tom in the middle, carrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or
great bundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings or magpies, or
other spoil of wood, brook, or meadow; and Lawyer Red-tape might mutter to
Squire Straight-back at the Board that no good would come of the young Browns,
if they were let run wild with all the dirty village boys, whom the best
farmers' sons even would not play with. And
the squire might reply with a shake of his head that his sons only mixed with
their equals, and never went into the village without the governess or a
footman. But, luckily, Squire Brown
was full as stiffbacked as his neighbours, and so went on his own way; and Tom
and his younger brothers, as they grew up, went on playing with the village
boys, without the idea of equality or inequality (except in wrestling, running,
and climbing) ever entering their heads; as it doesn't till it's put there by
Jack Nastys or fine ladies' maids.
I don't mean to say it would be the case in all
villages, but it certainly was so in this one:
the village boys were full as manly and honest, and certainly purer, than
those in a higher rank; and Tam got more harm from his equals in his first
fortnight at a private school, where he went when he was nine years old, than he
had from his village friends from the day he left Charity's apron-strings.
Great was the grief amongst the village
school-boys when Tom drove off with the Squire, one August morning, to meet the
coach on his way to school. Each of
them had given him some little present of the best that he had, and his small
private box was full of peg-taps, white marbles (called "alley-taws"
in the Vale), screws, birds' eggs, whip-cord, jews-harps, and other
miscellaneous boys' wealth. Poor
Jacob Doodle-calf, in floods of tears, had pressed upon him with spluttering
earnestness his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor broken-down beast or
bird by him); but this Tom had been obliged to refuse, by the Squire's order.
He had given them all a great tea under the big elm in their playground,
for which Madam Brown had supplied the biggest cake ever seen in our village;
and Tom was really as sorry to leave them as they to lose him, but his sorrow
was not unmixed with the pride and excitement of making a new step in life.
And this feeling carried him through his first
parting with his mother better than could have been expected.
Their love was as fair and whole as human love can be--perfect
self-sacrifice on the one side meeting a young and true heart on the other.
It is not within the scope of my book, however, to speak of family
relations, or I should have much to say on the subject of English mothers--ay,
and of English fathers, and sisters, and brothers too.
Neither have I room to speak of our private schools.
What I have to say is about public schools--those much-abused and much-belauded
institutions peculiar to England. So we must hurry through Master Tom's year at
a private school as fast as we can.
It was a fair average specimen, kept by a
gentleman, with another gentleman as second master; but it was little enough of
the real work they did--merely coming into school when lessons were prepared and
all ready to be heard. The whole
discipline of the school out of lesson hours was in the hands of the two ushers,
one of whom was always with the boys in their playground, in the school, at
meals--in fact, at all times and every where, till they were fairly in bed at
Now the theory of private schools is (or was)
constant supervision out of school--therein differing fundamentally from that of
It may be right or wrong; but if right, this
supervision surely ought to be the especial work of the head-master, the
responsible person. The object of
all schools is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make them good
English boys, good future citizens; and by far the most important part of that
work must be done, or not done, out of school hours. To leave it, therefore, in the hands of inferior men, is just
giving up the highest and hardest part of the work of education.
Were I a private school-master, I should say, Let who will hear the boys
their lessons, but let me live with them when they are at play and rest.
The two ushers at Tom's first school were not
gentlemen, and very poorly educated, and were only driving their poor trade of
usher to get such living as they could out of it. They were not bad men, but had little heart for their work,
and of course were bent on making it as easy as possible. One of the methods by which they endeavoured to accomplish
this was by encouraging tale-bearing, which had become a frightfully common vice
in the school in consequence, and had sapped all the foundations of school
morality. Another was, by favouring
grossly the biggest boys, who alone could have given them much trouble; whereby
those young gentlemen became most abominable tyrants, oppressing the little boys
in all the small mean ways which prevail in private schools.
Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his
first week by a catastrophe which happened to his first letter home.
With huge labour he had, on the very evening of his arrival, managed to
fill two sides of a sheet of letter-paper with assurances of his love for dear
mamma, his happiness at school, and his resolves to do all she would wish.
This missive, with the help of the boy who sat at the desk next him, also
a new arrival, he managed to fold successfully; but this done, they were sadly
put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes
were then unknown; they had no wax, and dared not disturb the stillness of the
evening school-room by getting up and going to ask the usher for some. At length
Tom's friend, being of an ingenious turn of mind, suggested sealing with ink;
and the letter was accordingly stuck down with a blob of ink, and duly handed by
Tom, on his way to bed, to the housekeeper to be posted. It was not till four days afterwards that the good dame sent
for him, and produced the precious letter and some wax, saying, "O Master
Brown, I forgot to tell you before, but your letter isn't sealed."
Poor Tom took the wax in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge lump
rising in his throat during the process, and then ran away to a quiet corner of
the playground, and burst into an agony of tears.
The idea of his mother waiting day after day for the letter he had
promised her at once, and perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when he had
done all in his power to make good his promise, was as bitter a grief as any
which he had to undergo for many a long year.
His wrath, then, was proportionately violent when he was aware of two
boys, who stopped close by him, and one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed
at him and called him "Young mammy-sick!"
Whereupon Tom arose, and giving vent thus to his grief and shame and
rage, smote his derider on the nose; and made it bleed; which sent that young
worthy howling to the usher, who reported Tom for violent and unprovoked assault
and battery. Hitting in the face
was a felony punishable with flogging, other hitting only a misdemeanour--a
distinction not altogether clear in principle. Tom, however, escaped the penalty
by pleading primum tempus; and having written a second letter to his mother,
inclosing some forget-me-nots, which he picked on their first half-holiday walk,
felt quite happy again, and began to enjoy vastly a good deal of his new life.
These half-holiday walks were the great events of
the week. The whole fifty boys
started after dinner with one of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant
some mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measured some three miles round, and
in the neighbourhood were several woods full of all manner of birds and
butterflies. The usher walked
slowly round the down with such boys as liked to accompany him; the rest
scattered in all directions, being only bound to appear again when the usher had
completed his round, and accompany him home.
They were forbidden, however, to go anywhere except on the down and into
the woods; the village had been especially prohibited, where huge bull's-eyes
and unctuous toffy might be procured in exchange for coin of the realm.
Various were the amusements to which the boys then
betook themselves. At the entrance
of the down there was a steep hillock, like the barrows of Tom's own downs.
This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at a game called by
the queer name of "mud-patties."
The boys who played divided into sides under different leaders, and one
side occupied the mound. Then, all parties having provided themselves with many
sods of turf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side which remained at
the bottom proceeded to assault the mound, advancing up on all sides under cover
of a heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for victory with the occupants,
which was theirs as soon as they could, even for a moment, clear the summit,
when they in turn became the besieged. It
was a good, rough, dirty game, and of great use in counteracting the sneaking
tendencies of the school. Then
others of the boys spread over the downs, looking for the holes of humble-bees
and mice, which they dug up without mercy, often (I regret to say) killing and
skinning the unlucky mice, and (I do not regret to say) getting well stung by
the bumble-bees. Others went after
butterflies and birds' eggs in their seasons; and Tom found on Hazeldown, for
the first time, the beautiful little blue butterfly with golden spots on his
wings, which he had never seen on his own downs, and dug out his first
sand-martin's nest. This latter
achievement resulted in a flogging, for the sand-martins built in a high bank
close to the village, consequently out of bounds; but one of the bolder spirits
of the school, who never could be happy unless he was doing something to which
risk was attached, easily persuaded Tom to break bounds and visit the martins'
bank. From whence it being only a
step to the toffy shop, what could be more simple than to go on there and fill
their pockets; or what more certain than that on their return, a distribution of
treasure having been made, the usher should shortly detect the forbidden smell
of bull's-eyes, and, a search ensuing, discover the state of the
breeches-pockets of Tom and his ally?
This ally of Tom's was indeed a desperate hero in
the sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in magic, or something
approaching thereto. Which
reputation came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at eight, and, of
course, consequently lay awake in the dark for an hour or two, telling
ghost-stories by turns. One night
when it came to his turn, and he had dried up their souls by his story, he
suddenly declared that he would make a fiery hand appear on the door; and to the
astonishment and terror of the boys in his room, a hand, or something like it,
in pale light, did then and there appear. The
fame of this exploit having spread to the other rooms, and being discredited
there, the young necromancer declared that the same wonder would appear in all
the rooms in turn, which it accordingly did; and the whole circumstances having
been privately reported to one of the ushers as usual, that functionary, after
listening about at the doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent caught the
performer in his night-shirt, with a box of phosphorus in his guilty hand.
Lucifer-matches and all the present facilities for getting acquainted with fire
were then unknown--the very name of phosphorus had something diabolic in it to
the boy-mind; so Tom's ally, at the cost of a sound flogging, earned what many
older folk covet much--the very decided fear of most of his companions
He was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad
one. Tom stuck to him till he left,
and got into many scrapes by so doing. But
he was the great opponent of the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the open
enemy of the ushers; and so worthy of all support.
Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at
the school, but somehow, on the whole, it didn't suit him, or he it, and in the
holidays he was constantly working the Squire to send him at once to a public
school. Great was his joy then,
when in the middle of his third half-year, in October 183-, a fever broke out in
the village, and the master having himself slightly sickened of it, the whole of
the boys were sent off at a day's notice to their respective homes.
The Squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom
to see that young gentleman's brown, merry face appear at home, some two months
before the proper time, for the Christmas holidays; and so, after putting on his
thinking cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters, the result of
which was that, one morning at the breakfast-table, about a fortnight after
Tom's return, he addressed his wife with--"My dear, I have arranged that
Tom shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks of this half-year, instead
of wasting them in riding and loitering about home.
It is very kind of the doctor to allow it.
Will you see that his things are all ready by Friday, when I shall take
him up to town, and send him down the next day by himself."
Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and
merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old enough to travel by himself.
However, finding both father and son against her on this point, she gave
in, like a wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom's kit for his launch into a