The Gentleman Cadet

The cadet answered that the body would come to rest.

“No,” replied the officer; “you forget the body is irresistible, and therefore cannot come to rest.”

“It would carry away the post,” said the cadet. “No,” again said the officer; “the post is immovable.”

After a little hesitation the cadet said he didn’t know what would happen.

“Quite right, sir,” said the officer, “neither do I, nor any one else, for the conditions are impossible. I only wanted you to say, ‘I don’t know.’ Some men would have attempted long explanations.”

When the cadets had been publicly examined, the various prizes were given, and, after one or two speeches by the senior officers, the Academy broke up.

I started for London that afternoon by coach, which was one of about forty four-horse coaches that used then to pass over Shooter’s Hill every day en route from London to Dover, slept at a friend’s, and on the following day was carried by coach to the New Forest, and once more found myself in the quiet of home.

The change that had taken place in me during my first half-year at the Academy was very great. Instead of being a raw country boy I was now a somewhat experienced young man. The knocking about I had received at the Academy had forced me to use my perceptive powers in every way to save myself from being thrashed for neglect; and I had thus cultivated my observational faculties, so that I noticed far more than probably I ever should had I remained at home.

Now that I was at home I found I was somewhat of a hero. All the countrymen round – the foresters – who knew me as quite a little boy, now touched their hats to me, for they called me a “sodger-officer!” and had heard I had done something wonderfully clever at an examination. I also found that among our friends I took quite a different position to what I had done four months before. In reality, I learnt now the advantage of being a soldier, for I was looked on as one; and I felt the benefit of this when I heard young ladies tell their brothers what a pity it was they had not been drilled, and taught to stand up, and walk like Mr Shepard!

I had been at home about a week when my father told me one morning that he had a letter from Howard, who would be in the neighbourhood shortly.

“I will write and ask him to stay here a night or two. You would like to compare notes with him about the Academy, I dare say.”

“Yes, that I should,” I replied, for I still looked, on Howard as a hero, and found my veneration for him by no means decreased when I remembered that he must have gone through all I had, and all I must go through before I obtained my commission; also that he was an old cadet when the present old cadets were only schoolboys. I wanted also to hear from Howard what used to go on when he was a cadet, and compare the bullying, fagging, etc, in his day with what I had myself experienced; for it was a doubtful point in my own mind whether or not I had been more bullied than other neuxes, and whether, if I had been, it was due to any peculiarity in myself, or was owing to the old cadets in my room being what was termed regular bullies.

When I met Howard he expressed his surprise at my improved appearance. “You’ve grown and filled out,” he said, “and before long you’ll be a formidable antagonist with your fists. And how do you like the shop?” he inquired.

I had a brief conversation with Howard then; but it was not till after dinner, when the ladies had left, and Howard, my father, and I were alone, that I became inquiring and confidential; and it was only then that my father became aware of the extent to which bullying was carried at the Academy thirty add years ago. His astonishment was great, for the tales I told were capped by Howard, and there was no margin left on which to place any doubts as regards the truth of our incidents.

After I had described the angle of forty-five, and the running round the table whilst the old cadets flipped me, Howard said, “Yes, all that’s pretty bad, but were you ever kept up half the night looking out for squalls, or has that gone out of fashion?”

“I’ve never heard of that. What is it?” I inquired.

“To look out for squalls a cadet was divested of nearly all his clothes, and was made to climb up the iron bars of the window and there hold on. If he came down without orders he received a tremendous thrashing, and it was supposed to be a trial of a cadet’s obedience to orders. I remember, when I was a neux,” said Howard, “I was sent up once to the top of the window, and told to remain there till further orders. After some time I heard both the old cadets snoring, so I thought I might as well come down and go to bed. I had scarcely gone down many inches when one of the old cadets called out, ‘By George, sir, you shall have a thrashing for that! You thought I was asleep, eh? I just pretended to snore, to see if you could be trusted to obey orders. Why, you ought to remain there till you dropped rather than leave your post!’ I went up again, and remained for above an hour, when I was so cramped I could with difficulty move. Both cadets were snoring, but I suspected another trap, so hesitated about coming down. At length, however, I could hold on no longer, and fell heavily to the ground, from which I was picked up insensible. But I soon got all right, and wasn’t much hurt after all.”

“But,” said my father, “these things are perfectly brutal. Don’t the authorities interfere?”

“Yes,” replied Howard, “they would if what was done was brought before them in any way; but it rarely happens that they hear of these things.”

“But don’t the boys – the fags – complain to the authorities about such ill-usage?”

“If they did, the life they would lead would be unendurable. Every cadet, old and young, would cut them, and they would be bullied to such an extent that I don’t believe any boy would stay at the Academy. He would be considered a sneak; and if a cadet once gained such a name it would be all over with him.

“A case once happened when I was a neux,” continued Howard, “where a cadet told his mother of some of the things he had to do as a neux. His mother foolishly wrote to the Captain of the Cadet Company about it, and said she hoped he would see her son was not put to perform menial offices. The captain of course had to treat the matter officially; there was an inquiry, and it resulted in the head of this cadet’s room being rusticated for a half-year. Well, the result was that the neux became a marked man; he was fagged, and thrashed, and sent to drill so often, that he could not stand it, and at last ran away from the Academy. It’s of no use for a cadet to attempt to go against the stream; he must grin and bear it.”

“I should think it would entirely break a boy’s spirit,” said my father, “and ruin him for life.”

“Not a bit of it,” replied Howard. “It is not that I advocate bullying; but I have never seen very much harm done by it. That it ought to be stopped I think there is no doubt, for I believe that of all the despotic tyrants in the world a boy is the greatest. To him there is a delight in tyrannising; and bully he will. Usually it is size and strength that makes the bully; and this is its worst form, and is known to exist everywhere. Now at the Academy it is not size or strength that gives the right to fag, but seniority only. The smallest old cadet may kick or fag a last-joined giant.”

“It is a bad, brutal system, and ought to be put an end to,” said my father. “If I had known the extent to which this system was carried at Woolwich I never would have let Bob go there.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t know then,” I replied, “for the worst is over now, and I’ve really only another half-year of it, and then I shall be tolerably free.”

“What I believe ought to be done,” said Howard, “is to separate fagging from gratuitous bullying. Nothing is more offensive in society than an unlicked cub, and you find many of these in places where men don’t belong to either service, or have never been to public schools. I believe, from what I have read in Marryat’s novels, that in the navy there is far more bullying with the youngsters than there ever has been at Woolwich; and I fancy also at our principal public schools there is plenty of it. The generality of boys are not so sensitive as we older people are, and we give them credit for feeling much as we should; whereas I know now that I look back with rather a sense of satisfaction to the bullying I went through, and the manner in which I stood it. You see, Mr Shepard,” continued Howard, “we men in the army have to lead a roughish life of it; we don’t always live in drawing-rooms, or mix with ladies; so a soft, delicate, sensitive sort of fellow, who can’t stand a little bullying without crying out for help, is not the sort of man we want for an officer. Now I can see that Bob there is twice the man he was when I first knew him, and he is more fit to battle with the world, than he would have been, if he had merely stopped at home translating Herodotus and catching butterflies.

“I’ll tell you another advantage there is in having fagging at Woolwich. When an officer gets his commission in either the Artillery or Engineers, his seniors never play tricks on him, or attempt skylarking – all that was done with when the officers were neuxes at the Academy. In the Line, how ever, unless an ensign joined from Sandhurst, and had passed through a phase of bullying, he was the victim of various practical jokes; and then there was no regular time at which these practical jokes ceased. Now it is not the right thing for a commissioned officer to be made the butt for the jokes of his seniors; still the ensigns are sometimes so raw, so self-sufficient, and require to be put in their proper places so much, that their seniors have no hesitation in bullying them for a time. It is far better, to my mind, that a cadet about fifteen should be subjected to a system of bullying – if you like to call it so – than that an ensign in her Majesty’s service should be. Fancy, too, what a set of fellows we might get in the service if they were not knocked into shape by their companions! Why, look at your neighbour’s son, Hynton, who may some day be a baronet! He’s nearly twenty, and is little better than a lout, because he has never been to school, but has always had a tutor at home. He is conceited, stupid, and thinks, because he is tall, stout, and strong, that he may do anything. He would have been made into a capital fellow by a little course of fagging when he was a youngster?”

“Ah!” replied my father; “you are a thorough advocate for the system, I can see; but I am dead against it. I think it brutalises boys, and makes bullies of them in afterlife.”

“I don’t think that,” replied Howard. “I believe men who are bullies will be so under any circumstances, and are not inclined to be so by being first fags and then having the power to fag. In my day, also, at the Academy downright bullying was discountenanced by all the old cadets, or at least nearly all of them, and any cadet known to be a regular bully was stopped from being allowed to fag.”

“That’s not the case now,” I remarked. “A cadet may bully as much as he likes.” I thought of Snipson and Brag as I said this, and the amount of suffering I had gone through on first joining came fresh to my memory.

“Then the Academy is degenerating,” said Howard; “and if what I may call wholesome fagging goes out, it will be because a bad style of men get to be old cadets, and carry things so far that the authorities will stop it altogether.”

On the following morning I took a walk with Howard, and took the opportunity of telling him of my having been obliged to hang by my arms whilst I was pegged at by racket-balls; and I asked if any such thing was done in his day.

“The fellow who did that must be a snob,” said Howard, “and deserves to be kicked by the old cadets! Unless you or the other neuxes had struck, or been cool in some way, that kind of thing ought not to have been done.”

Four days Howard stayed with us, and I had learnt much from him during that time. He advised me to work hard all next half, particularly in academy, so as to pass my probationary well, and to make friends with D’Arcy, who, he said, was a very good fellow, and had a brother who was a cadet with him. He also gave me some useful hints about examinations, and recommended a system of artificial memory for remembering formulae and various dates. He also told me I should find the advantage all my life of becoming skilled as a boxer and single-stick player, and that one of the Academy sergeants was a first-rate instructor at both.

“You’re not a fellow,” said Howard, “who would get into a row for the sake of showing off – a gentleman never does that sort of thing – so the knowledge of how to use your fists would not be likely to make you quarrelsome; but it is a pleasure to know that when you see some hulking lout who is a bully, and who is doing what he ought not to do, you can give him a thrashing if you like. I’ve always felt a sort of pleasure,” said Howard, “when walking through the streets of Paris, to think that I could thrash at least ninety-nine out of the hundred of the men one meets, for Frenchmen cannot use their fists. You should go in strong also for rackets and cricket; there is nothing more indicative of a muff than a fellow who is not good at some game or other. I remember hearing once of some general who said he would always select his staff from the men who were best across country, and you may depend on it that there’s great truth in the suggestion. I’ve generally found the best officers were men who were good at games. You can play chess well, I know, as your father told me you were within a pawn of him. So take my advice, and follow the maxim, that ‘what is worth doing at all is worth doing well!’”

My time passed pleasantly enough during the vacation, for I fully appreciated the quiet of the forest and its splendid trees, after having been crowded by my fellows and surrounded by houses during the past year. I did not look forward with much pleasure to my return to the Academy. I knew that some second-half cadets were fagged as much as if they were last-joined, and it was quite possible that such might be my fate; the novelty, too, of being a cadet and wearing uniform was departing, and I looked more to realities than I had at first. The prospect of being turned out at six o’clock a.m. to go and brush clothes in another room was not pleasant, nor did I relish the idea of being once more placed on a table as the target for boots and brushes. In fact, I was getting older rapidly; and as I grew very fast and became much stronger, a rebellious feeling came over me that was not favourable to my future obedience as a neux.

On comparing Brag and Snipson with Howard, or oven with several of the other old cadets I knew, I could not but feel that these two were very bad specimens of the cadet of that day. They were both bullies; they excelled in nothing, were low down in their class, and in spite of this were both very conceited. Their style of conversation, too, was inferior to what I had heard from other old cadets. Their ideas were cramped, and they seemed to take a mean or malicious view of everything, and to attribute to all other persons bad motives for what they did or said. I remarked, also, that neither Brag nor Snipson had a good word for any one. If any cadet’s name was mentioned, one or the other of these would commence with “Oh, yes! he’s all very well in his way, but then he’s not such a swell as he thinks himself, for I have good reason to believe that he,” etc, etc, etc; and here would follow some disparagement of the individual whose name was mentioned.

Brag and Snipson somehow got on well together. They were unpopular at the Academy, and perhaps that gave them some sympathetic feeling for each other; but the principal reason, I believe, was that they used to flatter one another very much. Whatever Brag did, Snipson said was “deuced well done;” and when Snipson did anything, Brag declared it was very clever. There was no use in concealing the fact, between myself and the two old cadets in my room there was a very great antipathy, and I can use no milder term to indicate with truth my feelings towards them than to say I detested them both.

To be at the mercy of a bully for whom you have a contempt, is a very trying position, and such had been my fate during the whole of the first term I was a cadet at Woolwich. As the time arrived for my return to Woolwich, I was anxious principally about the room in which I should live. It was quite a chance whether I had a nice or a disagreeable head of the room, but my comfort or misery for five months was dependent on the peculiar character of this cadet.

Chapter Ten

A “Second-Half” Cadet at Woolwich

Having made the journey from Hampshire to Woolwich in one day, I reported myself at the Academy at about six in the evening, and then found that I was appointed to No. 16 room, the head of which was a cadet named Forester. On going to this room I found I was the first arrival, and I also ascertained that the second of my room was Fenton. I was the third, and there was a vacancy for the fourth, who most likely would be a last-joined, and consequently the regular fag of the room. About eight o’clock Forester came, and was very civil to me; asked me if I had been winning any more races during the vacation, and told me I must always secure a racket-court for him. The securing the racket-court was by some cadet, either on coming out from the hall or being broken off at parade, racing to the court and being first in. He could then, if he liked, resign his claim to any one else; so it was not unusual for a neux who could run well to be employed for this purpose.

“You’ll find Fenton a very good fellow,” said Forester; “and I should think you are heartily glad to get out of Brag’s room.”

“Brag and Snipson both used to bully me a great deal,” I said; “but I suppose it’s the usual thing.” I did not yet know Forester well enough to speak freely about the treatment I had received, so I was cautions in my remarks.

About nine o’clock Fenton came in, and I at once took a fancy to him. He was short, stoutly built, and very dark. He and Forester were great friends, and were antagonists at rackets, and I also found they both played chess.

During the first few days of my second half I was very comfortable. I had little to do for either Forester or Fenton. I brushed them, and they did the same to me; and I brought books, etc, from the library for Forester, but there was no bullying from either of them. In a week after my return a last-joined cadet was appointed to our room, and to him was allotted the work which had hitherto fallen to my share. The last-joined was called Hampden, and was a wild Irishman. He was soon called upon to sing his songs of a night, and make his odes to the moon, but I was never sent for now, as the heads of rooms and old cadets in my division were contented in fagging the last-joined. Hampden could neither sing nor make speeches, and his strong Irish accent was very amusing, so that he was well laughed at, and pelted with boots and brushes, when he failed to make any speeches. He was, however, very good-tempered, and the more he was chaffed the more he seemed pleased.

It was about ten days after my return, that Snipson told me one day that he wanted to see me over at his room, which was in the “Towers.” On going there he informed me that he had now a single room, and therefore had not a fag, and as there was a last-joined in my room I couldn’t have much to do, so he should require me at his room every morning at seven to brush clothes, and look out for things he wanted.

This order was a great annoyance to me; I had been so quiet and comfortable in my room that I fancied the worst part of the fagging was over; but now having to turn out and dress by seven, and go over to the “Towers” where Snipson ordered me about, was, as I termed it, “disgusting.” I told Forester of the order, and he said I had better go, for it was the custom for one or two cadets of the second term to be fagged at the “Towers,” where no last-joined were quartered.

I soon found that Snipson seemed to dislike me as much as I did him; there was a natural antipathy between us, and we seemed to have nothing in common. He found fault with all I did, and complained that I mislaid everything and did not brush his clothes properly. I ground my teeth at his complaints and kicks, but I had to bear them nevertheless, for there was in those days the most rigid discipline used against a neux who “struck,” as it was termed, against an old cadet. I knew that of the two evils it was the lesser to bear the bullying of Snipson rather than to commit any act as bad for a cadet as mutiny for an officer or soldier. I found there were no other second-half cadets besides myself who were really fagged regularly, except where there was no fourth to a room, so I thought my case a hard one. However, there was no use in complaining, so I did my work and stood my bullying in as dogged a manner as possible.

When the idea had first seized me of becoming a soldier, I had taken as my model-man Howard. I was won and almost enchanted by the knowledge and apparent power he possessed. He seemed above what may be termed the little trivialities of life, and to have a wide and general view of everything. To him there seemed to be given a capacity for looking at all subjects with the power of an impartial judge, and at the same time he exhibited an enthusiasm for the service which, though toned down by experience, was yet shown in various ways.

When I had been some weeks in the room with Brag and Snipson, and had listened to their conversation, was conversant with their ideas and opinions, I could not but feel disappointed when I knew that two men with such mean sentiments, cramped ideas, and such disparaging views of others, should be so near to becoming officers in one or other of the scientific corps.

One of the charms of Howard was the readiness with which he bestowed praise on anything or anybody that deserved it. The beauty of the New Forest, for example, was a subject on which he used to dilate. I was once with him on a lovely autumnal afternoon, when the sun was lighting up the richly-tinted foliage of the forest, amidst which the dark green of the fir-tree was seen; the distant water of the Solent glittering like silver beyond endless waves of forest glades; the far and cloudy-looking hills in the island marking the distance, and presenting a lovely variety of scenery rarely obtainable in England.

Howard stopped and looked at the view, and, with a heartiness that showed how he appreciated it, exclaimed, “By Jove! that’s a lovely bit of scenery!”

“But,” I said, “abroad you must have seen far more beautiful views than this?”

“Of course I have; I’ve seen grand mountains rising twelve thousand feet direct from a plain, and I’ve seen tropical forests with their branches hung with wild vine, whilst gorgeous metallic-looking broad-leaved exotics were scattered about in profusion. But because I’ve seen that, it does not prevent this from being a perfect bit of English landscape.”

I compared these remarks of Howard’s with those of a gentleman who came to see us some time after Howard had left, and who, on seeing the same view, exclaimed, “Oh, I dare say you think it very fine, but it’s nothing to what I have seen in other places.”

I was young then, and did not know the world or the men comprising it; so, although an uncomfortable feeling came over when I heard this remark, I did not know how to account for the difference between the opinions expressed by Howard and by this visitor. Yet how often in the world do we meet with persons of both the types I have here referred to! We meet men with generous minds, ready to acknowledge merit and to admit its genuineness, who do not condemn that which is good merely because they have seen or heard that which they consider better. These men are usually those who have worked and won themselves, and who know that even mediocrity is not gained without great trouble. They are men whose praise or good opinion is worth having, for they judge of a matter on its merits, not by mere comparison.

Others, again, condemn everything which is not what they consider equal to the very best they have seen or heard. With them it is not the merit of a subject which is examined or considered, but the comparison between that and some other. These men are usually ungenerous and conceited, without the slightest cause for being so. They are men who would make the unaspiring believe that to work for success was a mere waste of time – that even if success were gained it would not be worth having. Such men, and women too, are met everywhere; they are the cold sheets of society, who do harm to the weak and infirm of purpose, and in almost every case have no merit of their own, and not one single point of excellence in their nature.