The Gentleman Cadet

“Here come the gentlemen cadets!” said some of the civilians, who by hundreds had assembled to see the Sunday march past. “Look how splendidly they march?”

“What a fine set of young fellows!”

I pushed myself into a front position as I heard these remarks, and saw advancing at a slow march a line of soldiers, moving as though they were part and parcel of each other. With heads erect, and shoulders well thrown back, this line advanced; the marching was perfect. As the leading company approached a flag, beside which were several officers, who I noticed were covered with medals, a tall cadet shouted, “Bear rank take open order!” and, coming out to the front, led the company onward. So new was the sight to me, so splendid did it all appear, and so imposing, that I felt a half-choking sensation as I looked at and admired every movement. As the leading cadet passed the flag I saw him go through some movement, which concluded with his raising his hand to his cap in what I knew must be a salute. I heard murmurs of applause among the bystanders, and the deep, decided voice of an old officer at the flagstaff exclaim, “Well marched, gentlemen; very well marched.”

There was a something, I don’t know what to call it, but it seemed like a flash of intelligence passed across the faces of the cadets as they heard these words. They marched on as rigidly as ever, not a cadet an inch before or behind his neighbour, but there was a sparkle in the eye of each cadet that showed the words spoken by the officer had been heard and appreciated by front and rear rank of the cadets.

“Who is that officer?” I heard a civilian ask.

“That is Lord Bloomfield, the commandant,” was the reply.

I looked at the commandant, and saw a handsome, soldierlike-looking man in a splendid uniform, but he was too far removed from me in years and rank to produce any special sympathy on my part; the hero of the day in my mind was the cadet who had given the order to open the ranks, whilst every one of the forty cadets forming the first company that had marched past was to me an object of admiration. At that moment I would have given much to have been one among that company, and to have marched past as they had marched.

As the cadets marched before us, I could hear some of my schoolfellows calling attention to several cadets who were known to them.

“There’s Duckworth, who passed third last Christmas,” said one of them. “He’s second of his batch now, and is sure of the Engineers, they say.”

“There’s Hobson in the rear rank, with the brass collar; he got second-class mathematical prize; and see how well Jackson marches; he’s an awful swell now since he got sixty runs and carried out his bat in the last match with the officers. Look at that brute Tims,” exclaimed another; “I hope he’ll be spun at his probationary, or he’ll be an awful bully as an old cadet when I am a neux.”

These and other similar remarks I heard near me, just as a feeling of utter misery came over me as I realised the fact that it was impossible I could ever be a cadet. What I had seen on that parade had instilled into me military ambition, and if I had then and there been offered the option of a peerage or of being a gentleman cadet, I am perfectly certain I should have jumped at the chance of being a cadet. I now fully realised the absurdity of my having said at Mr Hostler’s that I was going to be an engineer, for I had already discovered that I was, compared to other boys, a dunce, and that it required a boy to be not only very clever, but to have been thoroughly well prepared, to stand any chance of being among the first flight in the intellectual race at the Academy. Consequently my remarks about being an engineer, though uttered in all simplicity and ignorance by me, appeared to others as conceited and vain-glorious, as though it were announced that a screw of a horse was going to Epsom to win the Derby. I was now not surprised that I had been, and still remained, a laughing-stock to my schoolfellows on account of my ignorance.

A third of a century has passed since that Sunday morning on which I was first a witness of a military display. During the interval, many strange and wonderful scenes have passed before us, and we have seen a large portion of our globe; but we cannot recall any pageant that has produced upon us half the effect that was produced by a simple marching-past parade, in which the gentlemen cadets, as the first company of the Royal Artillery, marched at the head of the regiment.

Since those days years have produced their effect upon our mind and body, but we are convinced a far greater effect has been produced on society than on us individually. Formerly any man or boy, who by labour, gallant deeds, intellectual power, or skill, had distinguished himself, and had thereby, even temporarily, gained a position of eminence, received the deference considered then due to him.

To the Woolwich schoolboy the gentleman cadet was a being so far above him that he was to be approached only with bated breath and whispering humbleness. To the cadet the officer was an emblem of authority and rank far above criticism, and to be treated only with respect, and obeyed without murmur. To the last-joined cadet the old cadet was an object of mingled fear and admiration – fear because, in the days of which we write, fagging was at its height, and too often was abused, and degenerated into bullying; and admiration because the old cadet had surmounted difficulties which it had yet to be proved the young cadet could surmount. What may be described as “veneration” for rank and seniority was then at its height, and impressed its influence even on the members of a cram-school such as Mr Hostler’s.

He himself, as master of the school, used his best endeavours to keep this sentiment alive. The career of those boys who had done well at the Academy was often referred to by Hostler, and comparisons made between what had been accomplished by other and former pupils, and what was likely to be done by those now at the school. Amongst those whose reputation stood highest at Hostler’s I found the name of my friend Howard was well known. He had done well at the Academy, had gained several prizes, and had left behind him a reputation that was not likely to die out soon.

In those days a boy at school used to look with a mingled feeling of respect and fear at a cadet; to be seen speaking familiarly with a cadet was enough to give a boy a position in a school, whilst an officer was regarded as belonging entirely to another order of being, whose sayings and doings were merely to be quoted as examples for future guidance.

A change, however, has taken place in these things. Now it is no unusual thing for the visitor to Woolwich to see four or five young men at school lounging down the common arm in arm, each with his pipe in his mouth, jostling off the pavement an officer covered with medals, or puffing their tobacco-smoke in the faces of ladies, whom they almost force into the road, and eye in a half sneering, half patronising manner. To them a cadet is nothing superior in any way to themselves; an officer they imagine to be a man behind his time, and one to whom they could give lots of useful hints. Let people only wait till they become officers, and (so they believe) then they will show how things should be done.

Others, again, in the present day, stand on what they imagine their rights, and will not admit that any deference is due to either age, rank, or experience – a sentiment largely demonstrated during the reign of the Paris Commune, a sort of “down with everything that’s up” style, that is more dangerous to a country than are the armies of her enemies.

Thirty years ago such sentiments had little hold in England, and none whatever among those who were candidates for Woolwich, or who wore the coveted uniform of a gentleman cadet; and we cannot but think that much of that military devotion which so characterised every branch of the army during the earlier part of the present century was due to the esprit de corps felt by all officers at that time, when soldiering was not so much a business as an honourable profession. That men of the Anglo-Saxon race should ever fail in courage, or in a sense of duty, is not likely, but there is a marked difference between work done from a sense of duty and that done con amore; and where discontent is not unknown, we too often find mere duty is most irksome.

During four months that I remained at Mr Hostler’s, previous to a brief vacation, I made very slow progress; it seemed to me that there was a disinclination on the part of the masters to push me forward. I was kept over and over again at the same things, whilst other boys were pushed on to more advanced subjects. I had obtained a reputation for being stupid and having no capacity for mathematics, and this case seemed an example of giving a dog a bad name, and you may as well hang him. The neglect with which I was treated produced its effect on me, for I failed to use all my powers to advance, as it seemed a useless effort on my part; so I only did as much as would save me from the whalebone cane, and this I often failed to escape.

I hailed with delight the day that I left Mr Hostler’s for a three weeks’ holiday, for I hoped I should never return, as I intended to explain to my father how matters were, and to get him either to send me to another school, or to withdraw me entirely from the proposed competition for Woolwich. I had a keen sense of the discredit that would attach to me if I went up for my examination and failed, for I knew slightly a boy near Salisbury, who had been prepared for Woolwich, had gone up to the Academy, and been, as it was termed, “spun.” Many persons who knew nothing of the difficulty of the examination, or were unacquainted with the fact that out of forty who went up for examination it was rare for more than twenty or twenty-five to be taken, yet pitied the friends of this boy on account of his “discreditable failure,” as they termed it. Believing that it was no question of probability, but a certainty, that I could not qualify for my examination, I considered it would be more prudent to withdraw under some excuse, rather than go up and fail. I was also assured by several boys that Mr Hostler would not allow me to go up unless he was tolerably certain I should pass, as it would bring discredit on his school if I failed.

It was late in the evening when I reached my father’s lodge, and was welcomed by all my relatives. The change that had taken place in me was marked, and was noticed by all. I was thinner, and the care and thought of the past four months had given me an aged appearance, that made me look a year older than I was. I could scarcely conceal my feelings as my sisters hoped I was getting on splendidly, and would soon be an engineer, like Howard. To enter into all the details of my difficulties with them would, I knew, be useless, and so I avoided answering them, and made up my mind to wait till I could have a quiet talk with my father, and explain matters to him.

After dinner that evening I found my opportunity of speaking to my father when we were alone. I was most eager to open my heart to him, and let him know how things really stood. Without any preface I suddenly said, “I want to tell you, there’s no possible chance of my passing for a cadet.”

“No chance! What do you mean? Why, it’s nearly ten months to your examination! Don’t you mean to try?”

“I may try all I can, and yet it’s impossible; it would take me two years to get into the class that goes up for examination.”

“Mr Hostler thinks differently, Bob, for he says that he hopes you will pass, if you will work; but that up to the present time you have been very idle.”

I listened with astonishment to my father’s remarks, and could hardly believe it possible that Mr Hostler had written such words. My doubts, however, were soon removed, by the production of Mr Hostler’s letter, in which were the very words quoted. I knew that what I had stated was correct, and that Mr Hostler knew, even better than I did, that there was no chance of my success; but at the time I had no idea of the reason for his sending such a letter to my father. It was, I found, the intention to send me back to Hostler’s at the termination of my three weeks’ vacation, and I began to count the days and hours of liberty previous to that, to me, unpleasant period.

On the following morning I received an invitation from Howard, asking me to go over and pass a few days with him, and, having obtained my father’s consent, I started for his lodgings, which were at a farm-house near Lyndhurst.

Howard was now to me even a greater hero than he had formerly appeared. I looked on him as one who had passed a distinguished career at Woolwich, and had also been abroad, and I felt somewhat afraid of him now that I knew how much he had done. He was, however, so kind and friendly that I was soon at my ease, and as we sat at our tête-à-tête dinner I found myself telling him all my disappointments, hopes, and fears at Mr Hostler’s, and my difficulties as regarded the future.

Howard seemed much amused at all I told him, and said that the first thing he must teach me was to be a good “mill,” – that meant, how to use my fists. He did not mean to bother me with work, as he believed I wanted rest more than anything; but he promised to write to Hostler, and ask him to push me on, and he thought that, although it was difficult, yet it was by no means impossible I might pass.

On the following morning, soon after breakfast, Howard produced a pair of boxing-gloves, and, taking a seat on a chair, gave me instruction in what he called “the noble art of self-defence.” He first showed me how to stand, how to raise and hold my fists, how to strike out and make the foot and hand work together. He pointed out the danger of an open guard by giving me light taps in the face, and then explained how to guard them.

“We’ll have an hour a day at this fun,” he said, “while you are here, and I’ll back you to lick Fraser when you go back to Woolwich. There’s nothing that can’t be done by thought and work.”

During the week I passed with Howard I changed from a condition of despondency to one of Hope. I learnt from him the power to be derived from thought and work. He explained to me his own difficulties, and how he had overcome them, and encouraged me by saying that, although I was backward, he believed I had brains enough to come to the front after all. By constant practice I had become, as he said, quite a “dab” with my fists, and ought to hold my own with heavier weights than myself. “Don’t you ever seek a fight,” he advised, “if you are even sure to win, because that’s bad style; but, if a boy tries to bully you, never avoid a fight, and you’ll soon find you’ll lead an easier life, even though you get licked.”

I returned home from my visit to Howard with a lighter heart than I had gone there, for hope now took the place of despair. If I could only manage to pass into the Academy, I thought, what a triumph it would be! but then the knowledge of the work before me cropped up, and it seemed as impossible I could accomplish what I had to do as that I could accomplish flying, or any other impossibility. Any way, I would try hard on my return to Hostler’s, and perhaps he would now push me on faster than he had done before.

My three weeks soon passed, and I once more joined Hostler’s school at Woolwich. There were two new boys, who had, however, been to other schools, and were fairly forward both in Euclid and algebra, and got on very well after the first few days. I soon became better friends than I had been with Strong and two or three other boys; but Fraser, who was the bully of the school, was still very uncivil to me, and more than once had threatened to thrash me if I interfered with him.

Remembering the advice that Howard had given me, I told Strong one day that if Fraser gave me any reason for doing so, I intended to challenge him to fight. Strong warned me against doing anything so rash, for he assured me he knew a case where Fraser had completely cut a boy’s cheek open in a fight, and that I should not be able to stand up against him for five minutes.

Chapter Six

My First Victory

It was about a month after I had returned from my vacation that Mr Hostler gave us a holiday, and arrangements were made for our playing a match of cricket on Lessness Heath, a piece of open ground near Belvedere. Each boy took out his lunch, and the whole school turned out for the day, Mr Monk being in charge of us. We walked to Belvedere, and soon arranged sides and commenced our match – Mr Monk leaving us to take care of ourselves whilst he went down to Erith to see some friends.

After my side had been in and scored forty runs, the other eleven, of which Fraser was one, went in, and had scored thirty-six runs, when Fraser, who had retained his bat during the whole match, was “stumped,” and given out by the boy who was umpire. Fraser disputed the decision, and refused to go out, although even his own side owned that there was no doubt about it. At this Fraser became very angry, and declared he would not give in as he had never gone out of his ground. I stood “point,” and saw he was more than a foot out of his ground when stumped by the wicket-keeper, and, on being appealed to, said there was no doubt about it. No sooner had I said so than Fraser dropped his bat and rushed at me, striking me on the side of the head. In an instant I returned the blow, and a fight commenced.

Several of the older boys, seeing there was to be a fight, suggested we should go into a gravel-pit near the heath, as we should not be seen there, and if Mr Monk came back we should be able to see him from a distance, before he saw us. We both went to the gravel-pit, and a ring was formed – Strong acting as my second, whilst the majority of the boys, feeling that Fraser was in the wrong, were on my side. The reputation, however, which Fraser had obtained as a “mill” caused several of the smaller boys to stand by him for fear of future punishment if they excited his displeasure.

We were soon opposite to one another, with our coats off, and our shirt sleeves rolled up, ready to commence, most of the boys looking upon my defeat as certain, and half afraid lest I should be severely punished by my opponent. Fraser was confident of success, and exclaimed, “I’ll soon stop your cheek for you; now look out!”

He made a rush at me, hitting out vigorously, but I remembered Howard’s advice, and determined to keep my head, and try to put in practice what he had taught me. I guarded myself against Fraser’s blows, and succeeded in twice giving him straight hits in the face without receiving a touch from him in return.

The first round seemed to astonish every one, but none more than Fraser himself. When he had thrashed me before, I knew no more about the use of my fists than a girl, and simply stood up to be knocked about. Now, however, I made use of my legs as well as my fists, and jumped away from Fraser’s rushes and blows as expertly as a cat; whilst I instantly recovered myself, and, making my hand and foot keep time, dealt two or three such staggering blows that Fraser was quite bewildered.

There is nothing that so soon puts off a bully, or a man accustomed to easy victory, as being “collared.” The effect is not unusually to make the too confident man lose his head, forget his skill, and fall an easy victim to his opponent. This was the case with Fraser. In the second round he hit wildly and unskilfully at me, and exposed himself to my blows several times, opportunities which I did not neglect, and, finally, I gave him a fair knock-down blow. There were now cries of “Bravo, Shepard!” whilst several small boys who had been quietly watching the fight, and who had been bullied by Fraser on former occasions, jumped about outside the ring with a delight that they did not attempt to conceal.

Three more rounds were fought, during each of which I became more and more confident, as my fear of my adversary’s skill and strength was gradually dispelled, and at the sixth round I commenced the attack and completely knocked Fraser out of time.

Cheers greeted my victory, whilst I was patted on the back by nearly all the boys, and looked at with admiration by the smallest. Even the older boys looked at me with surprise, for, excepting one blow on the cheek, I was unmarked, and seemed untouched.

Strong helped me on with my jacket, and seemed quite delighted at my victory.

“This is a great day for you,” he said. “There’s no one in the school can lick you now; but I’m astonished to find what a mill you are, for six months ago you knew nothing about it.”

“Ah,” I replied, “I did know nothing then but I determined to learn something, and so I got a friend to teach me. Who do you think gave me lessons?”

“I can’t guess.”

“Why Howard, who was at the Academy some years ago.”

“Howard!” exclaimed Strong. “Why, he was the best boxer that was ever at the Academy, and it was he who licked the prizefighter at Charlton Fair. No wonder you thrashed Fraser so easily.”

Fraser took his defeat with a very bad grace. He was a good deal punished, and I was surprised myself at the effect of my blows. It was my first experience of the result of skill in opposition to brute force, and of the advantage of practice before attempting any performance. It was a small thing, it was true, to merely thrash the bully of a school, but the means by which I had achieved this performance gave me a lesson that has never been forgotten. Labour and thought were the means by which I had gained this victory, as they are the means by which nearly every successful result in life is achieved.

From that day I took quite a different position in the school, and led a life free from quizzing or bullying. Fraser hated me, but he feared me too, and to make up for his dislike I found the generality of the boys now sought my society, and always tried to walk with me when we went out for our daily constitutionals. It is a small thing at a school or in afterlife that makes the difference between popularity and unpopularity.

Four months passed after my return from my vacation, and my life at Mr Hostler’s had grown into a sort of routine. I went through the various daily works there much as did the other boys; but I was not advanced as were the other pupils, and as the time went on and drew nearer to the limit of age at which I could go up for examination I felt more and more certain that my chances of being prepared grew less and less. There were now only six months to the date of my examination, and I had not commenced algebra, yet I had to take up cubic equations and three books of Euclid. In this difficulty and anxiety I wrote to Howard, and told him all my fears and anxieties. As I penned my letter to him I felt ill, and out of health and unfit to do anything; but I sent off the letter, and then hoped I should be more at my ease.

On the following morning, when the “quarter” was shouted as usual, I tried to get up, but was unable to stand, and I knew I was very ill. I asked one of the boys to tell Mr Hostler I was too ill to get up, and in an hour a doctor came and immediately ordered me to be removed to a separate room, where I was physicked and attended by an old servant, who acted as nurse to the establishment. I became worse during the day, and at night was delirious, and it was then known that I had a bad attack of measles.

During three weeks I was confined to bed, and of course made no progress towards qualifying for my examination, and at the end of that time was only able to walk about my room.

It happened that the room in which I had been ill was separated by only a thin partition from a room in which Mr Hostler usually saw visitors, and what was said in the next room could be easily heard in mine. I was sitting one evening looking out of my window and wondering what my future would be, when I heard Mr Hostler’s voice in the next room, and my own name mentioned. I listened eagerly to what was said, for I fancied it might be Howard come to see me; but I was soon undeceived, for the second person I ascertained was Monk.

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