Tom Brown at Rugby Part 18

[6] #Louts#: here, town men or boys, "outsiders."

Their princ.i.p.al employment in the study was to clear out East's table, removing the drawers and ornaments and table-cloth; for he lived in the bottom pa.s.sage, and his table was in requisition for the singing.

SUPPER.

Supper came in due course at seven o'clock, consisting of bread and cheese and beer, which was all saved for the singing; and directly afterward the f.a.gs went to work to prepare the hall. The School-house hall, as has been said, is a great long high room, with two large fires on one side, and two large iron-bound tables, one running down the middle, and the other along the wall opposite the fire-places.

Around the upper fire the f.a.gs placed the tables in the form of a horse-shoe, and upon them the jugs[7] with the Sat.u.r.day night's allowance of beer. Then the big boys used to drop in and take their seats, bringing their song-books with them; for although they all knew the songs by heart, it was the thing to have an old ma.n.u.script book descended from some departed hero, in which they were all carefully written out.

[7] #Jugs#: pitchers.

The sixth-form boys had not yet appeared; so to fill up the gap, an interesting and time-honored ceremony was gone through. Each new boy was placed on the table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under the penalty of drinking a large mug of salt and water, if he resisted or broke down. However, the new boys all sing like nightingales to-night, and the salt water is not in requisition; Tom, as his part, performing the old west-country song of "The Leather Bottel," with considerable applause. And at the half-hour down come the sixth and fifth-form boys, and take their places at the tables, which are filled up by the next biggest boys; the rest, for whom there is no room at the table, standing round outside.

BROOKE'S HONORS.

The gla.s.ses and mugs are filled, and then the fugle-man[8] strikes up the old sea song:--

"A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And a wind that follows fast," etc.,

which is the invariable first song in the School-house, and all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of harmony, but bent on noise, which they attain decidedly, but the general effect isn't bad. And then follow the "British Grenadiers," "Billie Taylor," "The Siege of Seringapatam," "Three Jolly Post-boys," and other vociferous songs in rapid succession, including the "Chesapeake and Shannon,"[9] a song lately introduced in honor of old Brooke; and when they come to the words:--

"Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now, my lads, aboard, And we'll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy, oh,"

you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth know that "brave Broke" of the Shannon was no sort of relation to our old Brooke. The fourth form are uncertain in their belief, but for the most part hold that old Brooke _was_ a mids.h.i.+pman then on board his uncle's s.h.i.+p. And the lower-school never doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke who led the boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw.

[8] #Fugle-man#: leader.

[9] #Chesapeake and Shannon#: a song on the famous naval duel off Boston Harbor, in 1813, between the American frigate Chesapeake, and the British s.h.i.+p Shannon. The English gained the victory; but later, the Americans effectually beat them.

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and wants to speak, but he can't, for every boy knows what's coming; and the big boys who sit at the tables pound them and cheer; and the small boys who stand behind pound one another and cheer, and rush about the hall cheering. Then silence being made, Warner reminds them of the old School-house custom of drinking the healths, on the first night of singing, of those who are going to leave at the end of the half. He sees that they know what he is going to say already--(loud cheers)--and so won't keep them, but only ask them to treat the toast as it deserves.

"It is the head of the eleven, the head of big-side foot-ball, their leader on this glorious day--Pater[10] Brooke!"

[10] #Pater Brooke#: Father Brooke, because he was now an "old boy" about to graduate.

BROOKE DISCOURSETH ON UNION.

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, becoming deafening when old Brooke gets on his legs; till, a table having broken down, and all throats getting dry, silence ensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bending a little forward. No action, no tricks of oratory; plain, strong, and straight, like his play.

"Gentlemen of the School-house! I am very proud of the way in which you have received my name, and I wish I could say all I should like in return. But I know I sha'n't. However, I'll do the best I can to say what seems to me ought to be said by a fellow who's just going to leave, and who has spent a good slice of his life here. Eight years, it is, and eight such years as I can never hope to have again. So now I hope you'll all listen to me--(loud cheers of "that we will")--for I am going to talk seriously. You're bound to listen to me, for what's the use of calling me 'pater,' and all that, if you don't mind what I say? And I am going to talk seriously, because I feel so. It's a jolly time, too, getting to the end of the half, and a goal kicked by us first day--(tremendous applause)--after one of the hardest and fiercest day's play I can remember in eight years--(frantic shoutings). The School played splendidly, too, I will say, and kept it up to the last. That last charge of theirs would have carried away a house. I never thought to see anything again of old Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw him tumbled over by it--(laughter and shouting, and great slapping on the back of Jones by the boys nearest him). Well, but we beat 'em--(cheers). Ay, but why did we beat 'em?

answer me that--(shouts of "your play"). Nonsense! 'Twasn't the wind and kick-off either--that wouldn't do it. 'Twasn't because we've half a dozen of the best players in the School, as we have. I wouldn't change Warner, and Hedge, and Crab, and the young un, for any six on their side--(violent cheers). But half a dozen fellows can't keep it up for two hours against two hundred. Why is it, then? I'll tell you what I think. Its because we've more reliance on one another, more of a house feeling, more fellows.h.i.+p than the School can have. Each of us knows and can depend on his next-hand man better--that's why we beat 'em to-day. We've union, they've division--there's the secret--(cheers). But how's this to be kept up? How's it to be improved? That's the question. For I take it, we're all in earnest about beating the School, whatever else we care about. I know I'd sooner win two School-house matches running than get the Balliol scholars.h.i.+p[11] any day--(frantic cheers).

[11] #Balliol scholars.h.i.+p#: a scholars.h.i.+p in Balliol College, one of the leading colleges of Oxford. Such scholars.h.i.+ps are frequently worth from $800 to $1000 a year.

"Now, I'm as proud of the house as any one. I believe it's the best house in the School, out-and-out--(cheers). But it's a long way from what I want to see it. First, there's a deal of bullying going on. I know it well. I don't pry about and interfere; that only makes it more underhand, and encourages the small boys to come to us with their fingers in their eyes telling tales, and so we should be worse off than ever. It's very little kindness for the sixth to meddle generally--you youngsters, mind that. You'll be all the better foot-ball players for learning to stand it, and to take your own parts, and fight it through. But depend on it, there's nothing breaks up a house like bullying. Bullies are cowards, and one coward makes many; so good-by to the School-house match if bullying gets ahead here. (Loud applause from the small boys, who look meaningly at Flashman and other boys at the tables.) Then there's fuddling about in the public-houses, and drinking bad spirits, and punch, and such wretched stuff. That won't make good drop-kicks or chargers of you, take my word for it; and drinking isn't fine or manly, whatever some of you may think of it.

"One other thing I must have a word about. A lot of you think and say, for I've heard you, 'there's this new Doctor[12] hasn't been here so long as some of us, and he's changing all the old customs. Rugby, and the School-house especially, are going to the dogs. Stand up for the good old ways, and down with the Doctor!' Now, I'm as fond of old Rugby customs and ways as any of you, and I've been here longer than any of you, and I'll give you a word of advice in time, for I shouldn't like to see any of you getting sacked. 'Down with the Doctor,' is easier said than done. You'll find him pretty tight on his perch, I take it, and an awkwardish customer to handle in that line.

Besides, now, what customs has he put down? There was the good old custom of taking the linch-pins out of the farmers' and bagmen's gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly blackguard custom it was. We all know what came of it, and no wonder the Doctor objected to it. But, come now, any of you, name a custom that he has put down."

[12] #Doctor#: Doctor Arnold. He became head-master of Rugby in 1828. He was a power for good in every direction. He reconstructed the school system, and put the boys on their honor, never in any way questioning their word, so that it came to be a saying in the school, "that it was a shame to tell Arnold a lie; he always believes one." Perhaps no teacher in England was so beloved or had such influence.

"The hounds," calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a green cutaway with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and cord trousers, the leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a great rider and a keen hand generally.

"Well, we had six or seven mangy harriers and beagles[13] belonging to the house, I'll allow, and had had them for years, and the Doctor put them down. But what good ever came of them? Only rows with all the keepers[14] for ten miles round; and big-side Hare and Hounds[15] is better fun ten times over. What else?"

[13] #Harriers and beagles#: dogs used for hunting hares.

[14] #Keepers#: game-keepers.

[15] #Hare and Hounds#: next to foot-ball, this is the great sport at Rugby. Several boys representing the hares, start to run a certain course, and are shortly after followed by the whole school as hounds. In some cases thirteen miles have been run in less than an hour and a half.

No answer.

STANDETH UP FOR "THE DOCTOR."

"Well, I won't go on. Think it over for yourselves; you'll find, I believe, that he doesn't meddle with any one that's worth keeping. And mind now, I say again, look out for squalls, if you will go your own way, and that way isn't the Doctor's, for it'll lead to grief. You all know that I am not the fellow to back a master through thick and thin.

If I saw him stopping foot-ball, or cricket, or bathing, or sparring,[16] I'd be as ready as any fellow to stand up about it. But he doesn't--he encourages them. Didn't you see him put to-day for half an hour watching us?--(loud cheers for the Doctor)--and he's a strong true man, and a wise one too, and a public-school man too. (Cheers.) And so let's stick to him, and talk no more stuff, and drink his health as the head of the house. (Loud cheers.) And now I have done blowing up, and very glad I am to have done. But it's a solemn thing to be thinking of leaving a place which one has lived in and loved for eight years; and if one can say a word for the good of the old house at such a time, why, it should be said, whether bitter or sweet. If I hadn't been proud of the house and you--ay, no one knows how proud--I shouldn't be blowing you up. And now let's get to singing. But before I sit down I must give you a toast, to be drunk with three-times-three and all the honors. It's a toast which I hope every one of us, wherever he may go hereafter, will never fail to drink when he thinks of the brave bright days of his boyhood. It's a toast which should bind us all together, and to those who've gone before, and who'll come after us here. It is the dear old School-house--the best house of the best School in England!"

[16] #Sparring#: boxing.

SCHOOL IDOLATRIES.

My dear boys, old and young, you who have belonged, or do belong, to other schools and other houses, don't begin throwing my poor little book about the room, and abusing me and it, and vowing you'll read no more when you get to this point. I allow you've provocation for it.

But, come now--would you, any of you, give a fig for a fellow who didn't believe in, and stand up for, his own house and his own school?

You know you wouldn't. Then don't object to my cracking up the old School-house, Rugby. Haven't I a right to do it, when I'm taking all the trouble of writing this true history for all of your benefits? If you aren't satisfied, go and write the history of your own houses in your own times, and say all you know for your own schools and houses, provided it's true, and I'll read it without abusing you.

The last few words. .h.i.t the audience in their weakest place; they had been not altogether enthusiastic at several parts of old Brooke's speech; but "the best house of the best School of England," was too much for them all, and carried even the sporting and drinking interests off their legs into rapturous applause, and (it is to be hoped) resolutions to lead a new life and remember old Brooke's words; which, however, they didn't altogether do, as will appear hereafter.

But it required all old Brooke's popularity to carry down parts of his speech: especially that relating to the Doctor. For there are no such bigoted holders by established forms and customs, be they never so foolish or meaningless, as English schoolboys, at least the schoolboys of our generation. We magnified into heroes every boy who had left, and looked upon him with awe and reverence, when he revisited the place a year or so afterwards, on his way to or from Oxford or Cambridge; and happy was the boy who remembered him, and sure of an audience as he expounded what he used to do and say, though it were sad enough stuff to make angels, not to say head-masters, weep.

"THE DOCTOR" AND HIS WORKS.

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and habit which had obtained in the School as though it had been a law of the Medes and Persians,[17] and regarded the infringement or variation of it a sort of sacrilege. And the Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger liking for old school customs, which were good and sensible, had, as has already been hinted, come into most decided collision with several which were neither the one nor the other. And as old Brooke had said, when he came into collision with boys or customs, there was nothing for them but to give in or take themselves off; because what he said had to be done, and no mistake about it. And this was beginning to be pretty clearly understood; the boys felt that there was a strong man over them, who would have things his own way; and hadn't yet learned that he was a wise and loving man also. His personal character and influence had not had time to make itself felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys with whom he came more directly in contact; and he was looked upon with great fear and dislike by the great majority even of his own house. For he had found School and School-house in a state of monstrous license and misrule, and was still employed in the necessary but unpopular work of setting up order with a strong hand.

[17] #Medes and Persians#: ancient nations of the east; noted for their adherence to the laws of their forefathers.

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, and the boys cheered him, and then the Doctor. And then more songs came, and the healths of the other boys about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery, another maudlin,[18] a third prosy, and so on, which are not necessary to be here recorded.

[18] #Maudlin#: silly.

Half-past nine struck in the middle of the performance of "Auld Lang Syne," a most obstreperous proceeding; during which there was an immense amount of standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs together and shaking hands, without which accompaniments it seems impossible for the youth of Britain to take part in that famous old song. The under-porter of the School-house entered during the performance, bearing five or six long wooden candlesticks, with lighted dips[19] in them, which he proceeded to stick into their holes in such part of the great tables as he could get at; and then stood outside the ring till the end of the song, when he was hailed with shouts.

[19] #Dips#: cheap tallow candles.