that, when Mr Monk looked round, the only thing he saw was my Euclid flying across the table at the boy’s head.
“Hullo!” exclaimed Mr Monk, “you’re a nice young fellow; what are you at?”
“He kicked me on the shins,” I exclaimed.
“Didn’t do anything of the kind,” said the boy, whose name was Fraser.
“Didn’t you kick Shepard?”
“No; I stooped under the table to pick up my handkerchief, and he then shied his book at me,” said Fraser, with a bare-faced effrontery that startled me.
“You come out here, Shepard,” said Monk, who seemed not to have got over my remark about the line; “we’ll soon stop your larks.”
I got up from my seat, feeling that I had been most unjustly treated, and that a lie had been told against me; but, not knowing how I could get myself righted, I was puzzling my brain how I should make Mr Monk know what had really occurred, when I received a couple of blows from him on the head that almost stunned me.
“That’s what you want,” said Monk, “to set you to rights! Now go and stand on that stool till you’ve learnt your Euclid, and if you fail you’ll get three cuts as sure as your name’s Shepard. We don’t stand any tricks here, you see; you’ve to learn what discipline is.”
I find it difficult to make the reader fully comprehend my feelings at that time. Up to the age of ten years Aunt Emma had been very free in boxing my ears, and keeping me in what she called “order,” but during the past five years I had been treated more like a young man than as a boy. The companionship with my father had given me an old feeling, and I thought more as a man thinks than as a boy does. With such ideas as to my age, it was a great blow to my pride to find myself treated like a child, to be kicked by a boy smaller than myself, and then to have my ears boxed because I retaliated. I tried hard to command myself, but after a brief struggle I fairly cried like a child.
I was now the object of attention to every boy in the school. Each boy took his quiet look and grin at me whenever he could take his eyes from his Euclid without being seen by Mr Monk, and this continued till the clock struck the hour, when Mr Monk shouted, “Close books! Come up, Jones and Hunt!”
Two boys left their seats and went to the master, who took their books from them and inquired, “What proposition?”
“Eighth of the second,” said Jones.
“Go on, then,” said the master; and away went Jones, repeating like a parrot a number of lines about A to B, etc. I listened to this because it was not only all new to me, but because I fancied that very shortly I should follow probably the course of this boy. Jones went on without a stop till he had finished his proposition, when, with a look of delight, he left the room. The boy called Hunt now commenced his proposition, but before he had gone over a dozen lines he began to hesitate, then to stop altogether, and finally burst out crying. My first idea was that his heart was very much in his work, and that his pride was hurt at having failed in his lesson; but I was soon to be undeceived in this respect. Hunt was sent into a corner of the room, where he sat looking the picture of misery, and another boy was called upon by the master to say his Euclid. About fifteen boys were allotted to Mr Monk, and out of these three remained in school, having “failed,” as it was termed. As the last boy was sent into the corner Mr Hostler came into the room, looking particularly smiling and active. He carried in his hand a short black stick, which I afterwards learned was whalebone. Seeing me standing on a stool he said, “Hullo! in trouble already? Ah! I thought you were not as quiet as you looked. What’s he been doing, Mr Monk?”
I listened with astonishment at the statement of my offences. First I had tried to show off before the boys by trying to chaff the master by saying if he looked with a microscope at a line it would show Euclid was wrong; then I suddenly took a dislike to a boy and threw a book at his head.
Mr Hostler listened to this account very quietly, and then turning to me said, “Now look here; I’ve done a great favour to your friends by letting you come here. There’s lots would have given a fifty-pound note to get their sons into my establishment. Now, I’m a good mind to pack you off to-day, but I’ll give you another trial, so you just look out.”
I was trying to say something in my defence, but the words hung fire and would not come out, and it was, perhaps, as well I did not say anything, for it would not have been attended to, as Mr Hostler was now inquiring about the boys who had failed.
“So you have failed again, Hunt,” said Mr Hostler. “Here, you come up, then, and take your three.”
Hunt left his seat and commenced crying, whilst he blew on and then rubbed his hand in what appeared to me a most singular manner. The reason for this latter proceeding I was soon to learn, for as he came near Mr Hostler he held out his hand as though to show he had nothing in it – the fingers quite straight and the palm horizontal. Mr Hostler took his whalebone stick in his right hand, made one or two feints, and then delivered a smart blow on the boy’s hand. The sound of this blow indicated its severity, but the contortions of the boy also showed that there was no mistake as to the punishment intended.
“Out with it again?” said Mr Hostler, who now seemed in his element, and who jumped about and flourished his whalebone as if he were riding a race. “Two more. Ah! no shirking. There, that doesn’t count.” These remarks were uttered as he made an up-cut on the knuckles of the boy, who dropped his hand to avoid the full force of the expected blow.
“There, you got that!” exclaimed Hostler, as he delivered a smart cut full on the fingers of Hunt’s hands, and elicited a cry of pain as the boy trembled with nervousness and agony.
“Now for the last!” said Hostler. “Quick about it! There you are! Now don’t you fail again!”
Hunt passed me on his way out of the room, and I saw on his hand two blue-looking streaks, that were swollen as though a hot iron had been passed over them. He was crying, but seemed to think less of his pain than I fancied he would. The other boys that had failed were had up by Hostler in the same manner, and each treated to three cuts on the hand with the whalebone.
“Now, Shepard,” said Hostler, “let’s hear you your definitions. Come along sharp, sir; don’t lounge like that?” Hostler here caught me by the shoulder, and shouting “Come up – hi! hi!” shook me almost out of my clothes.
“I’ll wake you up, I will. You’ve been asleep all your life,” he continued. “Now then, go on: – A point – ”
“A point,” I said, “is – a point is part of magnitude.”
“I’ll parts of magnitude you!” said Hostler. “You’ve been an hour doing nothing. You ought to have three cuts, but I’ll let you off as it’s the first time; but you stop in till you know this.”
I now found myself the only boy in the school, where all was as quiet as before it had been noisy. I sat for some minutes as though in a dream. Was all this real? I asked myself, and had I to go through such scenes for a year before I became an engineer officer, or even a cadet? The feeling of loneliness was mixed with utter surprise and astonishment that there should be such a place as this school in England, and that the course here adopted should be found necessary, in order that boys should become learned enough for officers.
My thoughts wandered from the schoolroom. I was in the shady paths of the grand old forest, where I had passed my early life, and I compared my present condition with that which it would have been had I remained at home. I thought of Howard, and wondered whether he as a boy had passed through such an ordeal as this school offered;
