Under Instruction

Should this history happen to fall into the hands of any of my friends when my head will have been laid low, and should they go to the trouble of reading it, I know they will wonder why I have lingered so long over matters that are trivial and unimportant. Here have I devoted seven chapters to the brief period composed between my birth and the day I first went to school. Had I sent this to one of the periodicals the editor would, doubtless, have long since lost patience and would have urged me to move a little faster, or else to knock the history on the head. It is here the advantage comes of writing for one’s own diversion, and not for that of the public. The man who goes en errand walks straight ahead, along the nearest road, at the rate, say, of four miles an hour by his watch. But he who takes to strolling about the old country of his birth is blind to milestones; he climbs over hedges, wanders about the bushes, goes bird-nesting, gathers nuts and blackberries, sits upon the moss-banks, or lolls by the riverside, all oblivious of the fact that he has such a thing as a watch in his pocket. Give me the latter. What a liberty is mine! I have no one to call me to account jor writing a preface to every chapter, if I choose; there is no necessity for re-casting sentences which may happen to read a little stiff and rugged, nor for asking myself what will the reader say of this thing or of that.

I was thinking, only to-night, of all nights in the year, of David Davis, our elder here. A God-fearing man, and an oddity, one of the faithful of the old school who would not deviate from the rules of the fathers to the extent even of brushing his hair back from his forehead. I have a great respect for his sense and for his prejudices. I know David Davis has a high opinion of me, and it may be that is the reason I think so highly of him. Indeed, when I come to consider it, I find that this is the rule by which I take my measure of the brethren generally. If I get to know that such and such an one happens to think highly of me, I somehow, despite myself, come to the conclusion that there must be something in that man. And so the contrary. I remember the time when I thought rather highly of the brother who keeps the Post Office; but when I came to understand that he was not of the same mind with regard to myself. he at once fell in my estimation, and ever since I can only think of him as one with a serious failing, although I cannot lay my finger upon that failing. What if David Davis knew me to-night to be doing anything so childish as writing the history of the day I first went to school! I fear me I should go down in his eyes. Luckily he knows nothing about it. I often find myself doing some things and refraining from doing others, all for the sake of David Davis. In conversation with him, I have frequently been tempted to indulge in a joke, but out of respect for the old Man I have refrained. A while ago I had a great longing to let the hair grow upon my upper lip; but I instantly remembered David Davis—the thing would be impossible without giving him offence, and I have regularly shaved as a consequence. It is because David Davis knows not what I do that, for my own diversion, I wish to give a detailed account, concealing nothing, of the day I first went to school.

It was a Monday and winter. Will Bryan called for me betimes, and was particularly enjoined by my mother to take care of me. Will hinted on the way that it was not at all unlikely I should have to fight one or two of my school fellows. It was not a pleasant thing to do, he knew, but such was the custom always with a new scholar. He, however, would take care to be at my back to see I got fairplay. The hint was anything but a consoling one, chiefly because I was conscious that my talents did not lie in that direction, and also because I perceived the possibility of the occurrence, did it take place, coming to my mother’s ears at home. and to those of Abel Hughes at the Children’s Society. I was ashamed to admit as much to Will Bryan, and so I told him I should act according to his instructions; indeed I would not for anything have crossed him, he stood so high in my estimation,

The “Office” in which the old soldier kept school was a long, narrow structure, round which ran a rough and crooked bench connected with a desk which leaned against the wall. I noticed, among one of the first things, that of this desk there was hardly a square inch on which the knife had not carved some kind of pictorial design, figure, or name. At the other end, close to the fire, stood the master’s desk, through the base of which there was a good sized hole, made (I afterwards found), for the convenience of the master’s wooden leg, which he thrust through whenever he sat down. Upon my entrance, I saw what to me was a new and wondrous sight. Some of the boys were mounted on the desk, some on other boys’ backs, “playing horses,” and galloping about the room, while others were heaped on the floor, wriggling about like eels in the mud. One lad who was lame, and carried a crutch, was mimicking the master, at whose desk he sat with the crutch thrust through the hole in imitation of the wooden leg, and yelling, all to no purpose, for silence. The scene changed every minute; everybody shouted at the top of his voice with the exception of one boy, who standing on the desk near the window, divided his attention between the play and the direction from which they expected the appearance of the master. A curious feeling came over me. I thought I had come amongst a lot of very wicked children, and if mother had known the sort of beings they were, I should never be sent there again. On the other hand, I fancied this was the best place for fun I had ever seen. The dominant feeling, however, was one of strangeness and a painful shyness, now that Will had left me to myself and eagerly joined in the play. While thus affected, I saw the lad who was on the look-out place two fingers to his mouth, and give a clearly sounded whistle. In a twinkling every boy, panting and blowing, was in his proper place. I knew very well I must be looking foolish enough, standing like a statue all alone near the door when the Soldier came in. He passed me by without taking upon him that he had seen me. He seemed agitated, and looked fiercely about him. I understood directly that the sentinel had not been quick enough in giving the signal, and that the master had heard the deafening disturbance. He walked up to his desk, and drew forth a long stout cane. Each lad shrugged a preparatory shoulder while the old Soldier went the round of the school, caning all, cruelly and indiscriminately. I was the only one who escaped even a taste, and I was the only one who burst out crying, the chastisement having terrified me. The other boys appeared too well-used to the proceeding to mind it. The last of them having received his allowance, the master returned to his desk, put up his hands and said, “Let us pray,” after which he slowly repeated his Paternoster, the boys following. I subsequently learned that some of the wicked ones, in the midst of the general clatter, had uttered words very different from any to be found in the Prayer, thereby eliciting the low laughter of those who were within hearing.

Prayer ended, the old Soldier in a voice of command, cried, “Rivets, my boys,” a synonym used every Monday morning for “Pass up with your pence.” The lad who had come away without the customary copper had to hold out his hand and receive thereon the tingling imprint of the cane, which sent him dancing back to his seat, squeezing his fingers between his knees, or under his armpit, or shoving them into his mouth, or shaking them as if he had but just drawn them out of the fire. This was the general result which a slap with the cane produced, but more especially if there had been no opportunity for spitting upon the palm, and placing two hairs crosswise thereon. In passing, I may mention that the boys had an unswerving belief in the spittle and crossed hairs as a charm against the smart. My own opinion, after many trials, is that there is not much good in the practice. It was not often a lad cried after one slap on the hand; but if he got two slaps or three he was entitled, by common consent, to set up a howl without danger of being considered a coward. I invariably cried after one slap. I was a noted crier, and could not help it.

But to return; after Will Bryan had taken me to the master, and the latter had entered my name in the book, and received my penny—which I remember well to have been quite hot from the tight clutch I had kept, lest I should lose it—I was requested to go to my seat, where I should be told directly what my task would be. I had the privilege of sitting between Will Bryan and a boy named Jack Beck.

The latter, without any beating about the bush, asked me had I a ha’penny.

I replied I hadn’t.

Could I tell when I should get one? He knew a shop where there were heaps of things to be had for a ha’penny. He knew the shopwife, and I would get almost as much again for my money if he were with me.

Will Bryan told him to shut up, or he would repent it, adding a broad hint that if he didn’t I would be sure to give him a thrashing. Little did I think at the time that Will was such a cunning young rascal.

Beck observed that to thrash him was something more than I could do.

Will asked me if I was afraid of Beck?

Although feeling quite otherwise, I replied boldly that I was not.

“Very well,” rejoined Will, and before five minutes were over, the news had been whispered into every ear in the school that a fight was to come off between Rhys Lewis and John Beck.

My conscience, a tender one, grew troubled at the mere thought of such an occurrence, but it would never have done to tell that to Will, who kept pouring into my ear a number of directions proper to be observed by way of preparation for so important an occasion. I had been taught by my mother at home, and by Abel Hughes at the Children’s Society, that fighting was a great sin; and my conscience was afire at the notion of doing battle with a boy who had never said a scurvy word to me, and towards whom I had no sort of enmity. I tried to comfort myself with the reflection that if the affair came to mother’s ears, she might look upon it a little more leniently from the fact that my opponent was a Churchman, for I knew she entertained no very high opinion of Church people. I trusted, therefore, she would consider the thing as a sort of accidental collision between Church and Chapel.

For about an hour it did not appear to me that there was any work going on in the school. The old Soldier, during the greater part of the time, had his head down, occupied either in reading or in writing, while the boys, although their books were open before them, kept up an incessant murmur. I knew perfectly well it was I and John Beck who were the subjects of conversation. Did the talk become a little loud, the master, at the top of his voice, would about “Silence!” and for a few minutes silence would ensue. At a quarter to eleven o’clock, the word was given us to go to play, whereupon all jumped to their feet and rushed out like a drove of sheep through a gap. My heart beat fast at the thought of what was about to take place. I hardly knew where I was before I found myself in the yard standing up to John Beck. I did my best under the circumstances, although I did not know how I got on, my eyes being most of the time closed, not from my antagonist’s blows, but from fear. For all that the combat did not last long, and I rejoiced greatly when I found that everything was over and that I was the victor. I believe to this day that I was helped by Will Bryan. I don’t know whether I felt the prouder that the fight was over, or that I had come out a conqueror and whole-skinned, when the authoritative voice of the Soldier, calling us into school, struck terror to my heart. It was clear that he had seen the whole transaction. I heard several of the boys muttering in concert that it was the son of the woman who cleaned the Church, nicknamed the “Skulk,” who had carried the news to master, and the threats were legion that were launched at his head. On the return to school Rhys Lewis and John Beck were called up to the desk to give an account of their stewardship. It was a fearful moment, but Will Bryan rose equal to the occasion. He came up to the desk, unasked, to give testimony, and declared unflinchingly that it was Beck who had challenged me and struck me first. This was emphatically denied by Beck. Another witness was called who, happening to be an enemy of Beck’s, confirmed Will’s evidence, whereupon the old Soldier, saying that inasmuch as this was the first day I had been at school, he would let me off unpunished, but as for Beck, he should receive three strokes with the cane, one for fighting without reasonable cause, one for taking a beating from his opponent, and one for denying the accusation which had been brought against him.

I sympathised sincerely with Beck. He was hoisted, poor chap, on the back of the stoutest lad in school, denuded of his clothing at a particular part of the body which I did not then care to see and do not now care to name, and had inflicted upon him the punishment prescribed.

The old Soldier prefaced each stroke as follows:—“This is for fighting without a reasonable cause” (whack!) “This is for coming vanquished out of the fight” (whack!) ‘And this is for denying the truth of the accusation brought against him” (whack!)

In subsequent days I heard the same formula repeatedly gone through, which is why I remember it so well. It was a sermon of exceptionally direct applicability and influence, this one of the old Soldier’s, which was doubtless why he delivered it so often. In his turn I saw every boy but one of the whole school dancing and shouting from its effects, although not for joy. That boy was Will Bryan. Be the old Soldier’s humour what it might, he could never get a cry out of Will, who thus became a hero in our eyes, and the very embodiment of bravery. It seemed to me that the lads, as a whole, enjoyed immensely the flogging of poor Beck, which I considered very cruel of them, seeing none knew but that he himself might be the next to come in for similar treatment.

A heavy load of guilt was laid upon my conscience on account of Beck’s punishment, and I was in great haste to go to bed, so that, as I had been brought up to do, I might ask forgiveness for the day’s transgression. Fortunately the affair never came to mother’s ears, and for all I know Abel Hughes never heard of it. either. Nothing particular happened that afternoon. I am positive I got no more than one lesson—and that was one in spelling—the day I first went to school; and I don’t much fancy the other boys got anymore. Speaking generally, I can certify they all got more canings than lessons. One thing happened that day which eased my conscience very considerably, and which is a source of great comfort to me, even at this moment. When I went home to dinner a relative of mine gave me a halfpenny for my pluck in going to school. I lost no time in informing Jack Beck of the happy occurrence, and in making a covenant of peace with him. He, on his part, accompanied me to the shop where the prodigious ha’porth was to be had, and got the greater share of the purchase, so that the sun did not go down upon our wrath. In my innocence I fancied that things having ended so happily, there was no necessity for me to pray for forgiveness before retiring to rest. And I did not. As far as I can remember them, the occurrences of my first day in the school of Soldier Robin were such as they are here narrated.