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Chapter Twelve
Digby’s Trials and Triumph – The Bully and the Sponge – A Dinner at Grangewood – Digby’s Fight with Bully Scarborough – A Friend in Need
Digby had gained a great triumph – more important, probably, than he was aware of. That first night of his arrival at Grangewood had been the turning-point of his school life. Had he yielded in the first instance, been terrified by threats, lost his temper, shown the white feather in any way, he would, insensibly, have become like one of the rest – leavened with their leaven, addicted to their bad habits, a thoughtless, idle little tyrant; too likely, on entering the world, to become a useless profligate. As it was, in consequence of his conduct, he had inspired some of his new companions with admiration, and others with respect; while even those of baser nature felt that he was likely to prove a person with whom it would be disagreeable and inconvenient to contend; and so it became impressed on their minds, that it would be better to let him alone. Of course, these feelings were only shared among the boys of his room. He had still to make his way in the school. Like a knight-errant of old, there were many giants for him to overcome; many castles, surrounded by enchantments, to enter, before he could hope to establish himself on a proper footing in the school. Of course he did not think all this; he only felt that he had altogether acted in a perfectly satisfactory way, and was contented, and pretty happy. He slept soundly, but was the first to awake in the room. He jumped up, put on some of his clothes, said his prayers, and then went to the wash-hand basin, and began sousing his face away in the cold water, as was his custom.
Slowly the cold, grey light of a February morning drew on. A bell now sounded loudly through the house, to rouse the inmates from their slumbers. The other boys awoke, and lifted up their heads to see how the new boy looked by daylight. They saw him standing in his trousers and shirt, with his sleeves tucked up, his face glowing with the cold water, his hair brushed back, and scrubbing away at his hands in a basin full of lather, with an energy which showed that cold water had no terrors for him. His well-knit frame, broad chest, and muscular little arms, appeared to considerable advantage. Some of the boys, who were unable to appreciate higher qualifications, could not fail to feel respect for these; though Digby had not thought about them, nor was he aware of the strength which he possessed, which, for his size, was considerable. He brushed his hair with the same sort of energy with which he had washed his hands, and then went to the drawer which had been awarded to him, to put away his things. He was rather disgusted than amused at seeing the dawdling way in which the boys put on their clothes, and the mode in which they dabbed their faces over with the cold water, and hurriedly dipped their hands in, though some only half dried them, after all. Paul and Farnham were an exception to the rule.
“Well, Heathcote, I hope that you have slept soundly in this, to you, strange place,” said Paul, in his usual brisk tone.
“As sound as a top. It is all the same to me, when I have my head on a comfortable pillow. It takes a good deal to keep me awake,” answered Digby, in the same tone. “I sleep fast, and get it over the sooner. I hate to be long about what can be well done quickly.”
“So do I,” answered Newland. “Slow coaches are apt to break down as often as fast ones.”
Another bell now rang loudly, and the boys all hurried away downstairs to the schoolroom. Digby accompanied Paul. He felt several fellows push against his back, to throw him downstairs, but he was on his guard; and one of them, to the fellow’s surprise, he lifted up on his shoulders, and, without difficulty, carried him down to the next landing-place, where he bumped him pretty hard against the wall. Another, not seeing what had occurred, tried the same trick. Digby, putting his hands suddenly behind his back, seized him, and had carried him down, holding the boy’s arms tight, and was beginning to bump him, when he felt his own ears pulled, and a voice exclaiming —
“Vat you do dat for? Is dat de way you new boy is going to behave here?”
Digby guessed that it was Monsieur Guillaume, the French master, who was thus addressing him.
“He tried to push me downstairs, sir; and I wish to show him that two can play at most games of that sort,” answered Digby, quietly.
“Ah, I do not tink you say de truth, you,” exclaimed the French master, angrily. “He is a good boy; my protégé; speak French well. Put him down, I say. Tommy Bray, come here; you not hurt, my poor boy?”
Digby put Tommy Bray on his feet, who accompanied Monsieur Guillaume into the schoolroom, where Paul and Digby followed.
“The Frenchman has given you a fair specimen of himself. He is the most uncertain, fickle little fellow I ever met. He bullies all the little fellows except his favourites, or protégés, as he calls them, and makes up to the older ones, who are big enough to thrash him, if they like. He spites those who don’t learn French, because he is not paid for them. He is always trying, therefore, to get new pupils. However, I do not believe that he is really bad tempered when he has his own way. He has been soured by loss of property; and having to live out of la belle France. And do you know, Heathcote, I really do believe that an usher at a school like this, when no one is exactly master, and the big boys have it much their own way, has a good deal to put up with.”
“I should think so,” observed Digby, as they entered the schoolroom.
They went to their desks. Mr Yates read prayers, and though everybody was cold and hungry, lessons began.
Mr Tugman had not yet had time to examine Digby, so he sat at his desk reading the Swiss Family of Robinson, which he confessedly preferred to lessons. Each master had a class up before him; there were some crying; a good deal of caning on the fingers – a particularly disagreeable punishment, in cold weather especially – and a considerable amount of blundering and hesitation. A few quick runs round the playground would have saved a great deal of suffering and discontent; but Mr Sanford never went out in the morning, and it never occurred to him that the blood in his pupils’ veins would circulate more freely with a little brisk exercise, and give vivacity to their intellects.
Breakfast was at last announced by the constant sounding bell. It varied little from tea, except that those who liked bread-and-milk might have it. It was served out in large basins.
Digby, however, preferred the tea. He kept his eye sharply on his mug, to see that it was not tampered with. He observed Tommy Bray take a pinch of salt, and then ask for a cup of tea, though he had a basin of bread-and-milk before him.
“Tommy Bray,” cried Digby, in an undertone, “you had better not. Susan, bring me that mug of tea, please. He does not want it.”
Susan, remembering John Pratt’s half sovereign, brought Digby the tea intact; and Tommy was disappointed of his trick.
Several other boys, however, commenced their jokes on the new comer as soon as their spirits had revived a little, by their appetites being satisfied; but none of those in his room attempted anything of the sort; and it soon became whispered about that the new boy was a plucky little cock, and that his arm had a great lump of muscle in it, as big almost as Scarborough’s, which he was so fond of exhibiting.
After breakfast, the boys went into the playground. It was cold enough to make everybody wish to run about as much as they could. Hoops were the order of the day; and Farnham came up and asked Digby if he had got a hoop.
“No; I never trundled one in my life, but I will try,” he answered. “I did not know that gentlemen used them. I have only seen the boys in the streets at Osberton play with them.”
Farnham thought that he was supercilious in his remark. “Oh, then, I suppose you would not condescend to trundle a hoop?” he exclaimed, turning away.
“But I would though, gladly,” cried Digby; “if you can lend me one, and just show me the knack of the thing, I shall like it very much.”
Farnham was satisfied, and brought him a good strong hoop which he had wished to offer him. His first attempts were not very successful; but he saw how Farnham pressed the stick against the hoop rather than beat it, and kept his eye on it and not on his stick, watching every deviation from the direct line, so he was soon able to drive it along at a fair rate, with tolerable satisfaction to himself.
Soon after returning into school, Mr Tugman called him up to undergo the threatened examination. It was not very severe, and he managed to get through it pretty well. He had a vague suspicion, indeed, that the usher himself was not an over-ripe scholar. He found afterwards that his suspicions were correct, and that poor Mr Tugman had to get up every night the lessons he had to hear his head class the following day. No wonder that his temper was not over-sweet, and that he was awfully afraid of the big boys, lest they should find out how much more they knew than he did. He was placed in Paul Newland’s class, but as it was Saturday he did not go up with it; so that, with Paul’s assistance, he was able to prepare his lessons for Monday. He determined to do his best, and set to work to get them up thoroughly.
Boys in a private school have an advantage over those at a public one. If they wish to study during school hours they can do so, under the eye of the masters, without any fear of interruption. In a public one, excellent as the system of most of the great ones is, the boys, working in their own studies with one or two companions only, are liable to the practical jokes and tricks of various sorts of the idly disposed, who may have resolved to prevent them altogether from getting up their lessons, and, of course, then it is very difficult work to do so. School was over at half-past twelve, and then for a short time they all rushed into the playground.
Spiller was on the watch for Digby at the door. “I am glad to find you, Heathcote,” he said, in a soft, quiet voice. “You remember what I told you about your play-box last night. If you come with me I will show you where to put it, and what to do with the things you have got.”
“Shall I call him spongy to his face, and so show him that I know his character?” thought Digby. “No; I don’t like to do that, it’s scarcely right. – Thank you, Spiller,” he said aloud, “I am not certain that I shall unpack my things to-day. I have nothing that won’t keep, I believe; and I want to become better acquainted with fellows before I cut up my cake.”
This was a poser for Spiller, who had never before received such an answer. He looked very hard at Digby, to try and find out whether he knew anything about his character; but Digby had said simply what he had intended to do, and Spiller was completely puzzled. Still he was determined to try again. “Most fellows like to open their boxes at once, to give away some of the good things they have got, to prove their generosity,” he observed. “A fellow can’t expect to have friends unless he does something to win them, you know. I only tell you this as a hint, just that you may know how to act.”
“I don’t fancy buying friends in that way,” answered Digby, laughing; “I should not trust much to a fellow who said he was my friend for a piece of cake or a spoonful of jam. If anybody else offered him a bigger piece, or more jam, he would very quickly leave me. I like fellows not for what they have got, but for what they are; and I want to be liked for the same reason myself.”
“Oh, I see that you are a radical,” said Spiller, sneeringly; “those are regular chartists’ sentiments; but they won’t go down with me, let me tell you.”
Digby burst out into a regular fit of laughter.
“Well, I never should have supposed that it could be considered radical to like a fellow with a number of good qualities who was poor, in preference to a bad fellow who happened to be rich. I must repeat it, that I hope to find friends among the boys here, whom I shall like for their good qualities.”
“As you please,” remarked Spiller; “of course I can’t force you to do as I recommend; but if, on thinking the matter over, you change your mind, come to me and I will help you. Those are my principles; I’m not ashamed of them, let me tell you.”
What Spiller meant by his principles, Digby could not tell. Perhaps he might have explained more clearly, but he saw Paul Newland approaching, and he knew that he must abandon his designs for the present on Digby’s strong box.
Digby told Paul how he had managed Spiller.
“Capital,” exclaimed Paul. “I wish that we could get rid of all the disagreeable fellows in the school as easily as you have, for the present, of Spiller; but I want to tell you to be on your guard against that big bully, Scarborough. The fellows were talking about you just now, and mentioning the plucky way in which you behaved last night; instead of saying, as I am sure he ought, that you acted very rightly, he sneered and vowed that he would very soon take the pride out of you.”
“Let him try, if he wishes,” answered Digby, not particularly alarmed, for he never had been imbued with any especial dread of big fellows; his fearlessness, however, in reality, arose from his want of experience of the evil they had the power of inflicting; “if he knocks my nose off, he certainly will prevent me from feeling proud of my face, but otherwise, I don’t see how he can very well alter my character.”
Paul thought Digby a perfect hero, and wished for the time when he would be big enough to be cock of the school. While they were speaking, Scarborough lounged by with his hand on the shoulder of another fellow, very much of his own character. There is a great similarity in the look of all bullies, not so much in figure as in expression of countenance; some are big, burly fellows, like Scarborough, others are tall and thin. Of course, they all have more or less physical strength; some are dark and some are fair, but they one and all have an inexpressible resemblance to each other. Scarborough passed close to Digby, and as he did so he put out his foot, and tried to trip him up; but Digby observed the action, and, guessing the intention, jumped off the ground, and escaped even being touched. He felt inclined to make some remark, but he restrained his temper, and left the bully without any excuse for picking a quarrel with him. Scarborough strolled to the end of the playground, and when he came back, he stopped, and looking hard at Digby, said —
“I suppose you are the new fellow who is going to do such mighty things in the school – well, I want you to understand that I shall not allow you to play any of your tricks with me; remember that.”
Digby looked at the bully very steadily; he felt that he ought to answer him, if he could do so, quietly, so he said —
“I don’t know of any tricks which I wish to play; but if you will just tell me what you don’t like of what I have done, or have been said to have done, I will do my best not to offend you.”
“It’s very well for you to talk in that way,” said the bully, disarmed for the moment; for even he could not venture to thrash a fellow without some pretext; “just remember to keep up to it, or you’ll find yourself in the wrong box with me, my lad, that’s all.”
With this ambiguous threat, the bully moved on.
“Well done again,” exclaimed little Paul, who had been trembling with alarm all the time for the result of the meeting; “he won’t let you off without many another attack; but manage him as you have already done, and I do not think that he will annoy you much.”
The moment the dinner-bell rang, there was another general rush into the dining-room. This was that the first comers might secure the best pieces of bread and mugs of beer, arranged up and down the tables. Digby found only half a mugful of beer and a very small piece of bread remaining to his share; but he was not at all put out, and made no remark, resolving another day to be earlier in the field.
Grangewood School had existed for a number of years, and things were carried on there very much in the old-fashioned style in most respects. Mr Sanford was a very good scholar and a gentleman, but he had no talent for the economical arrangements of a school. It is a favourite saying with some people, that boys are better fed than taught. He had resolved that, as far as he had the power, they should be well taught; but it did not occur to him, that it was incumbent on him to see that they were well fed and well looked after.
Mrs Pike was, fortunately for him, a conscientious person; but her notions were somewhat antiquated. She wished to attend to his interests, and she was not aware that they and those of the boys were identical; that is to say, that if the boys were thoroughly looked after, well fed as well as well taught, brought up as Christians and gentlemen, the school would flourish; and that if the boys were badly and coarsely fed and treated, and neglected, the school would go down-hill.
Digby was very hungry; the novelty of his position did not spoil his appetite. He turned his head in the direction of the table at which Mrs Pike, supported by Mr Yates, usually sat to superintend the serving out of provender, to see what was coming. Some huge dishes piled up with large white balls were brought in, and plates, containing half of one of the balls, were in succession thumped down before each of the boys. Digby turned over the mass with his fork to discover the contents, but finding nothing but a mass of dough and a strong smell of beer, he put it down; and when one of the maid-servants came by, held out his plate, and quietly said, that he would rather have meat before pudding. The maid-servant, who was not Susan, or she might have whispered a bit of good advice, seized his plate, and going up with it to Mrs Pike, said in a loud voice, so that all might hear: —
“The new boy, Master Digby Heathcote, marm, says that he likes meat before pudding.”
Mrs Pike cast a withering glance at Digby; such a piece of insubordination had not been met with for a long time to her authority.
“We here give pudding before meat, young gentleman, if it suits us,” she exclaimed, in a dictatorial tone; “if you do not choose to eat such excellent pudding as this is, you can have no meat. Take it back to him, Jane.”
Again the plate was placed before him.
“You had better eat it,” whispered Paul Newland. “It is very good yeast dumpling, and you will like it when you are accustomed to it.”
“With all my heart,” answered Digby, laughing. “I did not want to make such a fuss about the matter. I like duff very well, only I really thought that they had forgotten to put the meat on my plate.”
“Don’t touch the stuff, Heathcote, take my advice,” exclaimed Spiller, in a low tone, across the table. “You have got plenty of good things in your box to feed on, I dare say. All new fellows have; and there is nothing like holding out against injustice.”
“Thank you,” said Digby, pretty well guessing Spiller’s drift. “I had rather not lose my dinner. Very good stuff, though; capital duff; a little sugar and wine would make it perfect.”
He ate it all up.
“Here, Jane,” he exclaimed, holding out his plate; “say that I find it very good, and should like some more.”
Jane, who was pretty well up to the tricks young gentlemen were capable of playing, looked suspiciously at his pockets, and then under the table, to ascertain whether he really had eaten up the dumpling; but even she was assured by his ingenuous countenance, and so she went up to the head table, and said that Master Digby Heathcote liked the yeast dumpling and wanted some more.
Mrs Pike looked, also, very suspiciously at Digby.
“I’ll give him some,” said Mr Yates, who was assisting in serving out the provisions.
Mrs Pike, with feminine tact, would have given a small piece, not to disgust him; but he, whether with malice or from thoughtlessness, put very nearly a whole one on the plate. Some brown sugar, however, was added by Susan on its way to Digby; and when he got it, he liked the taste so much, that although not aware that Mrs Pike’s sharp eyes were on him, he sat manfully to work; and yeast dumpling being of a very compressible nature, he demolished the whole mass in a very short time.
It did occur to Mrs Pike’s economical mind that it was fortunate the new boy liked pudding, or he would be very expensive to feed.
Digby felt rather thirsty, so he drank up his beer. That was rather sour; but he was not easily put out, and he felt already very much as if he had dined. When a huge dish of salt beef, with carrots and turnips, did come, he could do but little justice to it; but he was grateful to Mrs Pike’s delicate attention, when, in a tone of which he did not discover the sarcasm, she pressed him to take a second helping.
He begged to have some more beer, though; but was told that one cupful was the allowance, and so had to quench his thirst with water.
“We have pudding first only twice in the week,” observed Paul. “I have got accustomed to it, and rather like the variety, though I thought it odd at first. One day we have yeast, and another suet-dumpling. Then two days we generally have pease-soup, or some fellows do call it pease-porridge. It is rather thick, to be sure, and on those days we have porter instead of beer. I seldom after it have an appetite, even for Irish-stew or toad-in-the-hole. On Wednesdays, Mrs Pike lets a cake-man come just before dinner with gingerbread and lollipops; and many fellows would rather spend their money on his grub than in any other way; and they are not so hungry on that day, and don’t care so much what they have. We call that scrap-and-pudding day, because we have hashes first and rice-dumplings afterwards. Mrs Pike, on that day, always talks about the immense sum she spends on currants and other groceries for the school.”
However, enough about eating; Paul and Digby were philosophers in their way, and had no wish to make grievances out of trifles.
Mr Sanford himself would have been horrified had he known the light in which the domestic arrangements of his establishment were regarded; and it told among the elder boys with very injurious effect to his interests. Some of the best left; and their parents, knowing him to be a gentleman – cruelly, certainly – did not explain the real cause, and so he let things go on as before. The worst remained; those whose friends knew that they were not likely to get on well anywhere, and perhaps would not believe their statements. They, of course, leavened the rest. The younger ones, by degrees, took up their notions and habits; and a first-rate school had not only diminished in size, but had deteriorated sadly in quality, by the time Digby went to it.
He, of course, did not find this out. The state in which he found things he supposed to be inseparable from schools in general, and he was disposed to make the best of them. However, he had resolved not to give in to the bad ways of others, when he once saw that they were bad. But he had yet to learn how insensibly a person may be drawn into the bad habits, and a bad style of thinking and speaking, and may adopt the erroneous notions of people among whom he lives. Digby was in a much more perilous position than he was aware of. He was of a dauntless disposition; he had always been accustomed to rely a good deal upon himself, and he was anxious to do his duty. More than that was wanted to preserve him. He had at home a pious mother and sisters, who never failed to offer up their prayers for his safety. Surely those prayers were not uttered in vain. It would have been doing, also, great injustice to the Squire of Bloxholme to say that he forgot his son, though those who knew him best might have supposed that his prayers might have been of a somewhat inarticulate nature. Still, certainly, there was fervency and sincerity in whatever ejaculations he uttered.
The subject is too serious to be touched on lightly. Only thus much may be said, that if more parents prayed for their children, and more children for their parents, the sacred ties of that relationship would not, as now is too often the case, be loosened or rudely torn asunder; and there would be more good parents and good children than are to be found.
Dinner was over; the boys rushed into the playground; neither the yeast dumplings nor the salt beef stuck in their throats. Most of them were hallooing, shoving against each other, trying to trip up those nearest them, slapping each other’s backs, and, indeed, playing every conceivable trick of the sort.
Digby was soon overtaken by Scarborough.
“Well, jackanapes, how are you?” said the latter.
Digby ran on without taking any notice of the address.
“Did you hear me speak to you?” exclaimed the bully, catching Digby by the collar of his jacket.
“I heard some one speak to somebody, but I could not possibly tell that you meant to say anything to me. There are big monkeys as well as little ones. You might have been wishing to say something to a fellow of your own size.”
Digby had shaken himself clear of the bully, whose face was livid with anger, and stood facing him.
Scarcely were the words out of Digby’s mouth, than he received several tremendous boxes on the ears. He felt a choking sensation in the throat; he had never before been struck unjustly. All the pugnacity in his disposition rose at once into his well-rounded knuckles, and springing forward before the bully had a conception of what he was about to do, he had planted two such heavy blows in his two eyes, that they flashed fire in such a way, that he could scarcely see what had become of his small opponent, while he himself absolutely reeled back with pain. When he did open his eyes, there stood Digby, his feet firmly planted on the ground, his fists clenched, his teeth firmly set, undaunted and ready to do battle, yet well knowing that he must inevitably get the worst in an encounter with so big an antagonist. He had not provoked the quarrel; he had justice on his side, and he was encouraged by the shouts of a number of boys, and cries of “Bravo, little cock!” “Well done, new boy!” “Give it the bully!” “Stand to your colours!” Digby felt like a martyr to a great cause. If Scarborough had been angry when merely spoken to, he now became furious at being thus unexpectedly bearded by so small an antagonist. If the new boy escaped without a severe punishment, he might become a most troublesome opponent in the school. He rushed at him, uttering terrific threats of vengeance, intending to seize him by the collar and to throw him down, and to bite his ears and kick him at the same time, more tyranni. Digby leaped nimbly aside, and hit his right arm a blow which made it tingle from the shoulder to the tips of the fingers. This, however, only put off the chastisement which was sure to be inflicted, where his antagonist was so vastly superior in strength.
It is not necessary to repeat the abusive epithets and oaths which flew from Scarborough’s mouth. Hitting Digby a terrific blow with his left hand, which knocked off his cap, and kicking at his legs, he brought him to the ground, when seizing him by the hair, he began to knock him about most unmercifully on the head and shoulders.
“Shame! shame!” cried many of the boys together; “a new fellow, and down on the ground. Shame, bully! shame!”
“Why don’t some of you come and help me?” cried Digby, in the interval of the blows, and trying to get on his legs.
“I will,” cried little Paul Newland, who had only just come into the playground, and had run up to see what was happening; “who’ll follow me? Farnham, you will, I’m sure.”
“That I will,” cried Farnham, all the generous emotions in his heart rising up; “he stood up bravely for us younger fellows. He is a gallant little cock. To the rescue! to the rescue!”
Farnham was a good-sized fellow, though young. A number of other boys, inspired by his address, joined him; and, without further concert, they made a bold dash at Scarborough, who little thought that they would really attack him. Some clung to his legs, others seized his arms, and clung round his neck and pulled him backwards, so that Digby had time to jump to his feet, and to shake himself to ascertain that no bones were broken.
“Thank you, thank you,” he exclaimed: “I am not much the worse for the way that big coward behaved; but take care, he will be hurting some of you; I don’t mind if he was to set on me again; I dare say I can stand his knocking about as well as anybody.”
The boys who had so gallantly come to Digby’s rescue had not thought of that, and Scarborough, struggling desperately to free himself, had thrown some of them off, and was in his fury striking, right and left, blows heavy enough to have maimed any of them for life; but at the same time he had his eye on Digby, on whom he was evidently longing to wreak his vengeance.
By this time most of the boys, big and little, were drawn round the scene of the contest. Scarborough had his friends, who urged him to annihilate his small opponents, but did not think it necessary themselves to interfere. Bad as were many of them, Digby’s gallantry had been remarked by one of the elder boys in the first class, who, though not so big or so old as Scarborough, was a person not to be trifled with. His figure was light, active, well-knit, and his countenance had a mild expression, at the same time that it possessed signs of peculiar firmness and decision.
Scarborough had freed himself from all those who surrounded him, except from Farnham and Newland, who were in vain trying to prevent him from once more seizing Digby, when Henry Bouverie, the boy spoken of, stepped up, and placing himself between Scarborough and Digby, exclaimed: —
“You shall not touch him; while I remain at this place, I will not, if I can help it, allow so thoroughly un-English and cowardly acts to be committed. That young fellow only came yesterday, and you must needs run foul of him and half kill him with your brutality to-day. Whatever others may think, I know that the sooner you leave the school the better it will be for all of us.”
