Digby Heathcote Part 30

Spiller, meantime, also, was playing with a ball, while he reflected how he might most easily obtain the object of his wishes, and get hold of the eatables he doubted not the new boy had brought. Still, as he felt sure that Newland must have warned Digby against him, he knew that he must exert the utmost circ.u.mspection and caution. Once more he glided up to Digby, and sat down near him, taking out his knife, and shaping a piece of soft pine into a boat.

"You are not fond of this sort of thing?--it is too sedentary for you, I have no doubt," he observed. "It suits me, as I am not fond of games.

I shall be glad to make you a little vessel some day. Perhaps you have got some tools, now, in your box. I could do it much better with them than with a knife."

Digby very nearly laughed in Spiller's face. As to tools, he had never even possessed a hammer; and besides, his eyes having been opened to his companion's character, the object of his remarks were perfectly evident, and he had resolved not to be humbugged by him. However, he said, "Thank you;" for Digby never forgot to be polite even when he lost his temper, which was not often. "But, to tell you the truth, I do not care much about models and little things. I like sailing in a real vessel, or pulling in a real boat, or swimming, or riding; and, therefore, any such thing would be thrown away on me. Still, if you do anything for me when I ask you, I shall be very glad to repay you with a piece of cake, or some jam, or anything I may have which suits your fancy."

This was plain speaking; but Spiller was in no way offended. His wages had been settled, and now he had to consider how he might most conveniently win them. Still his mouth watered for the sweet things; and he wished that he could get paid beforehand.

Digby felt inclined to go to his box, to cut a piece of cake, and to throw it to him, as people sometimes do a penny to an importunate beggar, whom, in their hearts, they believe to be an impostor; but he restrained himself.

Just then, Paul Newland, Farnham, and three or four more boys, of whom, though they were younger than himself, Spiller had an especial dread, made their appearance at the door of the play-room. He knew that his chance of getting anything just then out of Digby was gone, so he sneaked away to a distance, where he sat down to watch their proceedings.

"I have arranged everything," said Newland. "I first gave your message to Bouverie. He is much obliged, but cannot join our party. Then I got Farnham and the other fellows to keep guard while you open your box: and Bouverie told me that if anybody interferes with you, one of us is to run and let him know, and that he will come to your a.s.sistance."

"He is a right capital fellow, then," exclaimed Digby. "It is all the better that there should be a few bullies and blackguards, that the good qualities of others may be the better discovered."

Paul answered that he thought Digby's philosophy was very good in theory; but that practically, he would rather dispense both with bullies and blackguards, as he was constantly a sufferer from them.

At length, all arrangements being made, Digby's box of treasures was opened, and found to contain even more good things than even he or any of his friends had antic.i.p.ated. Everybody at Bloxholme who could think of what boys liked best, had made some suggestion which had been adopted, and the wonder was, that so much had been stowed away in so small a s.p.a.ce. Every crevice had been filled with little and big pots of jam, and marmalade, and honey, a tongue, a Dutch cheese, chocolate-paste, anchovies, a pie without gravy, and a fine plum-cake were only some of the eatables,--then there was a hammer and nails, and gimlets, and screws, and a hasp-knife, and a writing-case, and a number of other useful things; enough, as Paul declared, to enable him to set up house by himself, if he wished.

They had only time to put back about two-thirds of the things, which were all they could get into the box, the rest having to be distributed between Newland's and Farnham's boxes, before the bell rang for tea.

One of the party, William Ranger, Digby heard him called, was easily persuaded to stay away from tea, to watch that no burglary was attempted during their absence.

Tea was quickly over; the bottles were filled, and the bread-and-b.u.t.ter stowed away in their pockets, and then, more hungry than ever, they hurried back to the play-room.

Ranger told them that he had placed himself on a bench, pretending to be fast asleep, and that scarcely had they gone, than Spiller glided into the room, and went up to the well-filled box. He had begun to work away at the lock, when up he had jumped and sung out--

"You had better not."

Without making any answer to this, Spiller had sneaked away again. In another minute, who should come in but the bully Scarborough, with a hammer in his hand. He walked straight up to the box, and finding that it was locked, was about to strike it with all his might, when Ranger, though trembling for the consequences to his bones, again cried--

"You had better not."

The words acted like magic, even on the notorious bully, and he betook himself out of the room as fast as he could, having also, probably, lost his share of the provisions in the tea-room.

The supper-party were now able to a.s.semble in peace and tolerable quiet; and a very merry party they were. The supper service was not exactly uniform, for each person had brought his own plate; some were of wood, and others of earthenware, or iron, or tin, while cups differed as much as did knives, and forks, and spoons. The pie, and the tongue, and the cheese, and the cake, and the jams, were all p.r.o.nounced excellent, and though all the party eat as much as they wanted, helped out with their own bread-and-b.u.t.ter, it was agreed that there was enough for two or three more feasts, helped out a little, perhaps, with some of the contents of the cake-man's basket. The beverages were, however, of a nature almost too simple for dishes so highly flavoured; the strongest was ginger-beer, the others were lemonade, cold tea, milk-and-water, and water alone. It were well if none of them had ever indulged in anything stronger.

It would be absurd to say that the way in which Digby dispersed the eatables in his box did not contribute to make him popular; at the same time, they would not have done so unless his own personal qualities had been calculated to win the regard of his schoolfellows. Ever cheerful, honest and upright, and bold and fearless, he quickly gained the kindly feeling of all the better boys in the school. With the others, he almost instinctively avoided a.s.sociating. One of his greatest annoyances was Tommy Bray, who seemed never to lose an opportunity of trying to put him out of temper.

Digby, as he had promised, wrote very frequently to Kate. He had not altogether a satisfactory account to give of the school; still, he was happy--very jolly, he described himself--and there were plenty of fellows he liked, more or less, and he was learning a number of new games, and he was getting on very fairly with his lessons. Kate wrote even oftener to him, and told him all she was doing. Among other things, she said that she was learning French, and it would be so nice to be able to talk with him, and that she had persuaded papa to let him learn if he wished it, and so that he must, and she had enclosed the necessary written permission.

Digby had seldom differed with Kate in any of her propositions, so, in a fatal moment for his peace, he took up the order, and was at once placed in Monsieur Guillaume's junior cla.s.s.

The French master was highly pleased, and complimented him much on the wisdom of his resolution. All went very well at first; he managed to get through the rudiments about as well as the ordinary run of boys, but his advance after this was very slow, as Newland used to tell him, it was all goose-step with him. Somehow or other he could not manage to twist his thoroughly English mouth, so as properly to p.r.o.nounce the French words. In vain the master made him repeat them over and over again. He knew the meaning of a good number of phrases and words, but when he came to express himself, Monsieur Guillaume vowed that he could not understand a word he said.

"That is because he speaks in one way, and I speak in another, I suppose," observed Digby. "But I don't see why my way is not the best; it is the English way, and I should be ashamed of myself if I did not consider everything English better than anything French."

There was a twinkle in Digby's eyes as he said this which showed that he was not altogether very serious.

"You remind me, Heathcote, of a story my father tells," observed Newland. "An old shipmate of his, a Master in the Navy, was taken prisoner by the French early in the war, and had to remain at Verdun for several years. At last he was liberated, and was very soon again afloat. It was necessary, on the occasion of some expedition being dispatched, to send an officer who could speak French. The Captain knowing that the worthy Master had been many years in France, sent for him to take the command of it, explaining the reason why he had done so.

"'I speak French, do you say, sir?' he exclaimed. 'No, sir; I am thankful to say that I never learned a word more of their lingo than I could possibly help. I, a true-born, patriotic Englishman! I should have felt that I was disgracing myself if I had.'"

"I am not so bad as that," said Digby. "I should like to learn if I could; but I have no apt.i.tude for languages, I suppose."

Monsieur Guillaume had, however, resolved that his boys should not only learn, but speak French; and all his pupils were ordered to speak French at certain hours, either in the playground or anywhere else, except when they were up saying their lessons. To compel the boys to talk, several marks were distributed to those who spoke best; and they were to give them to whatever boys they found speaking English. Those who had them at the end of the day had a task of several lines of French poetry to learn by heart, an occupation Digby especially hated. Still the decree had gone forth, and Digby was continually having an odious piece of wood, with "French Mark" burnt on it, slipped quietly into his hands.

Nine times out of ten, Tommy Bray was the person to give it him. How Tommy so often became possessed of it seemed a mystery, for he spoke French with more ease than most of the rest, and was not likely to have been caught, thoughtlessly, talking English.

Paul at length found that he would go up to a fellow he knew had got the mark, and address him in English, when, of course, it was given to him.

He would then not try to pa.s.s it till the evening, when he would continually hover about Digby till he found him tripping. At last Digby, in desperation, would get hold of one of the marks early in the day, and keeping it in his pocket, give, as he said, free play to his native tongue. Of course, the system did not increase his affection for French, or for Monsieur Guillaume, or Tommy Bray, in particular; yet, after all, it was a less annoyance than many to which he and some of the best boys were subjected by the masters.

Mr Sanford's illness increased, till he was unable to appear at all in the schoolroom; and yet, as he still retained his post as head-master, points were supposed to be referred to him which never were so referred; and various grievances which sprung up remained, day after day, unredressed.

Mr Yates became more pompous and dictatorial than ever, and not only took to caning, but a.s.sumed the power of flogging, which even Mr Sanford had long disused.

Mr Tugman, too, bullied more than ever; he pulled and boxed the boys'

ears, and hit them over the shoulders and knuckles with a cane, which he always kept by his side.

Monsieur Guillaume imitated his example; and Mr Moore, the second master, was the only one who continued to treat the boys in the quiet, gentlemanly way he had always done.

One of the punishments Mr Yates had invented was to lock up a culprit in a dark room for several hours together, without food. This was especially hated; and some of the boys declared that they would sooner leave than submit to it. As it proved, it was calculated to produce very bad effects in the school. These punishments, and the unusual harshness of the masters, instead of introducing more order and regularity into the school, had a very different effect, and never had it been so disorganised and in so unsatisfactory a condition.

This state of things had begun to grow up before Digby's arrival. He, of course, did not, at first, discover it, and was not of a disposition to trouble himself much about the politics either of the school or of the nation at large. In a few months he found himself holding not only a good position in the school, but looked upon as a leader in many games, and in all expeditions and amus.e.m.e.nts.

Spring was advancing, and, as the days were long, the boys were allowed, according to an established custom, to go out after dinner, on half-holidays, and to make excursions to a distance. They were obliged, however, to say where they were going, and to report themselves on their return, when they were expected to give an account of their proceedings.

In the summer, when cricket had come in, the privilege was seldom taken advantage of, as most of the boys spent their time in the cricket-field.

Several, however, even then, who did not care about cricket, would get away from it; some to fish, others, who had a fancy for the study of natural history, to collect insects and other creatures; and some, unhappily, and the number was increasing, to a.s.semble in spots where they were not likely to be observed; then they brought from the nearest public-house pipes, and tobacco, and beer, and often spirits, and they would spend the whole afternoon smoking, and drinking, and talking, as they called it, like men. Often, miserable, ignorant fools, they talked on subjects which no gentleman, no Christian man, worthy of the name, would even touch on.

Digby knew of these a.s.semblings, and of the orgies which took place at them, but had resisted all the invitations he received to join them. Of course, he scarcely saw the evil in its true light, likely to result from them; health injured; habits of intemperance gained; the mind contaminated and debased with vicious ideas; and time, which ought to be spent either in health and strength-gaining exercise, or in study and preparation for the real business of life, squandered.

Bouverie, whose good opinion Digby had gained, spoke to him on the subject.

"I tall you this, Heathcote," he said, "when I was a little chap, I knew of a good number of big fellows who carried on much as these are doing.

They thought themselves very fine fellows, and so did I. Had I not had a friend, who warned me to keep free from them, I might have done the same. There were about a dozen of them; the youngest was only two or three years older than I was. They all grew up; some went into the navy, others the army, and others abroad, in different capacities. Out of the whole number, four only are now alive; and of those four, one was dismissed from the navy, and another from the army, for drunkenness, and conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman; a third is a confirmed invalid, with a broken const.i.tution; and one only, whom I meet occasionally, has given up his bad practices; and he never fails to say, that he hopes I do not imitate the bad example he set me, as I may be sure that the momentary satisfaction, I may fancy I should obtain, would make but a poor amends for all the suffering and wretchedness of mind and body I should be sure to reap in the end, and which he had gone through. It never occurred to me that a little smoking and drinking, and merely loose conversation, could do a fellow much harm. One might, I thought, easily give up the first, and, of course, with grave people and with ladies, one wouldn't talk loosely. But from what my friend told me, and from what I found out myself, I now know the consequences are sure to be bad. With regard to drinking, I tell you how it is.

Beer, spirits, and wine are stimulants, and excite the lining of the stomach into which they are poured. Nothing so quickly acquires a bad habit as the stomach, because it has not got reason to guide it, and is, besides, full of sensitive organs. When once it is stimulated--that is, excited--it wants to be excited again; and so one says, I must give it a little more drink. If it has been excited by brandy, or rum, or gin, it generally longs for the same thing. It acts on the mind, remember, much more powerfully than the mind acts on it. If it gave pain at once, people would not drink; but it excites in a pleasant way, and the excitement goes on increasing till the brain is confused, and a person does not know what he is about. When the excitement goes off, while the nerves are returning to nearly their former state, then comes the pain.

These nerves, understand, run all the way from the coats of the stomach up into the brain. They do not return quite to their former state, at all events, for a long time, and so have a longing for more excitement; and thus if a person can get spirits, or wine, or beer, he pours some down his throat to gratify them. The more these sensitive nerves are excited, the more stimulating liquid they desire; and thus, acting through the brain, the more they make their owner wish for. So he goes on increasing the frequency of the times in which he gratifies them, and the quant.i.ty of liquor he pours down, because that which at first gratified them will do so no longer. This goes on till a man becomes what is called a confirmed drunkard. The younger a person is, the more sensitive are all his organs, and therefore the more likely he is to establish an irritable state of stomach, if he stimulates it in any way.

Now, these fellows don't actually get drunk, but their stomachs will not long be content with the quant.i.ty of liquor they pour into them; and so they will go on increasing till they not only get drunk, but become miserable drunkards, on whom no one will depend, and who will very soon sink into early graves, loathed and despised by those who once cared most for them. There, Heathcote, I have told you something I know about the subject, not in a very learned way, but it is the truth. I might tell you a great deal more. Smoking, I own, is not nearly so bad; but common tobacco irritates the lining or coats of the stomach, and makes it wish for drink; and so I object to it. And I'll tell you what, also, bad conversation, such as those fellows indulge in, irritates and excites the mind, and so acting on the body, excites all the lower and grosser pa.s.sions, and keeps out pure and enn.o.bling thoughts. You must understand, Digby, that the mind cannot stand still. I am afraid that it has a tendency to becoming debased; and it requires all a person's resolution, energy, ay, and prayers too, my boy, to soar upwards to the condition it is capable of enjoying. The only safe course is to keep out all bad thoughts, or even light thoughts, and to resist every bad propensity from the very first, and to keep away from all temptations, from all examples, from everything, indeed, which may encourage them. I can tell you that so pernicious, so terrible are the results of the habits in which those fellows indulge, that I would far rather see my younger brother in his grave than know that he had become their companion, and was running the risk of being contaminated by them.

There, Heathcote, I will not talk any more about the matter now.

Perhaps I have said even more now than you can understand. Trust me, however, that it is the advice I would give my youngest brother, or any boy in whom I might feel a deep interest."

These remarks, whether entirely understood or not at the time, did make a deep impression on Digby's mind; and he thanked Bouverie for speaking so unreservedly to him. "But how did the other fellows, of whom you were speaking, die?" asked Digby. "Perhaps they had reformed, or would have reformed, had they lived."

"What they might have done no mortal can venture to say," answered Bouverie, gravely. "They had not reformed, but, on the contrary, had become worse and worse, and one and all of them died miserably. The deaths of some were laid to the climates to which they went; but had their const.i.tutions not been completely weakened, they might easily have withstood the attacks of the climate. Two died from excessive drinking, another was killed in a drunken brawl, and a fourth broke his neck when unconscious of what he was about, while two more died miserably, horribly. I need not tell you now; but they had their own vicious propensities alone to blame."

"I believe all you have told me, and how I wish that you would speak to others in the way you have done to me," exclaimed Digby. "What shall we do when you go, Bouverie?" As he spoke, the tears came into his eyes.

"Remember what I have said to you; and let the right-thinking boys keep as much as possible to themselves," answered Bouverie (he was going at the end of the half). "I will let you know where I am, and you must write to me and let me know how things go on, and I will write to you, and give you my advice. I shall depend a good deal upon you, remember.

Already many fellows look to you as a leader; you must do your best to keep that position, not only by your daring and activity, but by your moral conduct, by your steadiness and general good behaviour. As a proof of it, Farnham and others have been arranging a game of 'Follow-my-leader' for to-morrow, across the country somewhere; and, after discussing a number of fellows to act as leader, some much older than you are, they unanimously fixed on you."