  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover THE HUMAN BOY BY New York All rights reserved Copyright 1916 Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1916 CONTENTS THE HUMAN BOY THE BATTLE OF THE SAND-PIT After the war had fairly got going, naturally we thought a good deal about it, and it was explained to us by Fortescue that, behind the theory of Germany licking us, or us licking Germany, as the case might be, there were two great psychical ideas. As I was going to be a soldier myself, the actual fighting interested me most, but the psychical ideas were also interesting, because Fortescue said that often the cause won the battle. Therefore it was better to have a good psychical idea behind you, like us, than a rotten one, like Germany. I always thought the best men and the best ships and the best brains and the most money were simply bound to come out top in the long run; but Fortescue said that a bad psychical idea behind these things often wrecks the whole show. And so I asked him if we had got a good psychical idea behind us, and he said we had a champion one, whereas the Germans were trusting to a perfectly deadly psychical idea, which was bound to have wrecked them in any case--even if they'd had twenty million men instead of ten. So that was all right, though, no doubt, the Germans think their idea of being top dog of the whole world is really finer than ours, which is "Live and let live." And, as I pointed out to Fortescue, no doubt if we had such a fearfully fine opinion of ourselves as the Germans have, then we also should want to be top dog of the world. And Fortescue said:-- "That's just it, Travers major. Thanks to our sane policy of respecting the rights of all men, and never setting ourselves up as the only nation that counts, we do count--first and foremost; but if we'd gone out into the whole earth and bawled that we were going to make it Anglo-Saxon, then we should have been laughed at, as the Germans are now; and we should dismally have failed as colonists, just as they have." So, of course, I saw all he meant by his psychical idea, and no doubt it was a jolly fine thought; and most, though not all, of the Sixth saw it also. But the Fifth saw it less, and the Fourth didn't see it at all. The Fourth were, in fact, rather an earthy lot about this time, and they seemed to have a foggy sort of notion that might is right; or, if it isn't, it generally comes out right, which to the minds of the Fourth amounted to the same thing. The war naturally had a large effect upon us, and according as we looked at the war, so you could judge of our opinions in general. I and my brother, Travers minor, and Briggs and Saunders--though Briggs and Travers minor were themselves in the Lower Fourth--were interested in the strategy and higher command. We foretold what was going to happen next, and were sometimes quite right; whereas chaps like Abbott and Blades and Mitchell and Pegram and Rice were only interested in the brutal part, and the bloodshed and the grim particulars about the enemy's trenches after a sortie, and so on. In time, curiously enough, there got to be two war parties in the school. Of course they both wanted England to win, but we took a higher line about it, and looked on to the end, and argued about the division of the spoil, and the general improvement of Europe, and the new map, and the advancement of better ideas, and so on; while Rice and Pegram and such-like took the "horrible slaughter" line, and rejoiced to hear of parties surrounded, and Uhlans who had been eating hay for a week before they were captured, and the decks of battleships just before they sank, and such-like necessary but very unfortunate things. I said to Mitchell-- "It may interest you to know that real soldiers never talk about the hideous side of war; and it would be a good deal more classy if you chaps tried to understand the meaning of it all, instead of wallowing in the dreadful details." And Mitchell answered-- "The details bring it home to us and make us see red." And I replied to Mitchell-- "What the dickens d'you want to see red for?" And he said-- "Everybody ought to at a time like this." Of course, with such ignorance you can't argue, any more than you could with Rice, when he swore that he'd give up his home and family gladly in exchange for the heavenly joy of putting a bayonet through a German officer. It wasn't the spirit of war, and I told him so, and he called me "von Travers," and said that as I was going to be a soldier, he hoped, for the sake of the United Kingdom in general, there would be no war while I was in command of anybody. Gradually there got to be a bit of feeling in the air, and we gave out that we stood for tactics and strategy and brain-power, and Rice and his lot gave out that they stood for hacking their way through. And as for strategy, they had the cheek to say that, if it came to actual battle, the Fourth would back its strategy against the Sixth every time. It was a sort of challenge, in fact, and rested chiefly on their complete ignorance of what strategy really meant. When I asked Mitchell who were the strategists of the Fourth, he gave it away by saying-- "Me and Pegram." Well, he and Pegram were merely cunning--nothing more. Mitchell was a good mathematician, and in money matters he excelled on a low plane; while Pegram was admitted to be a master in the art of cribbing, but no other. His bent of mind had been attracted to the subject of cribbing from the first, and while I hated him, and knew that he could never come to much good, I was bound to admit the stories told about his cribbing exploits showed great ingenuity combined with nerve. By a bitter irony, theology was his best subject, but only thanks to the possession of a Bible one inch square. He had found it when doing Christmas shopping with his aunt, who was his only relation, owing to his being an orphan, and when he asked her to buy it for him as one of his Christmas presents, she did so with pleasure and surprise, little dreaming of what was passing in his mind. I never saw the book, nor wished to see it, but Briggs, who did, told me it contained everything, only in such frightfully small print that you wanted a magnifying glass to read it. Needless to say, Pegram had the magnifying glass. And, thus armed, he naturally did Scripture papers second to none. He also manipulated a catapult for the benefit of his friends in the Lower Fourth, of whom he had a great many, and with this instrument, such was his delicacy of aim, he could send answers to questions in an examination through the air to other chaps, in the shape of paper pillets. He could also hurl insults in this way, or, in fact, anything. Once he actually fired his Bible across three rows of forms to Abbott. It flew through the air and fell at Abbott's feet, who instantly put one on it. But Brown, who was the master in command on the occasion, looked up at the critical moment and saw a strange object passing through the air. Only he failed to mark it down. "What was that?" said Brown to Rice, who sat three chaps off Abbott. "A moth, I think, sir," said Rice. "Extraordinary time for a moth to be flying," said Brown. "Very, sir," said Rice. "Don't let it occur again, anyway," said Brown, who never investigated anything, but always ordered that it shouldn't occur again. "No, sir," said Rice. Then Abbott bent down to scratch his ankle, and all was well. And this Pegram was supposed to have strategy as good as ours! I never thought a real chance of a conflict would come, but it actually did in a most unexpected manner just before the holidays. The weather turned cold for a week, and then, after about three frosts, we had a big snow, and in about a day and a night there was nearly a foot of it. And, walking through the West Wood with Blades, I pointed out that the sand-pit, under the edge of the fir trees, would be a very fine spot for a battle on a small scale. I said-- "If one army was above the sand-pit, and another army was down here, trying to storm the position, there would be an opportunity for a remarkably good fight and plenty of strategy; and if I led the Fifth and Sixth against the sand-pit, or if I defended the sand-pit against attacks by the Upper and Lower Fourth, the result would be very interesting." And Blades agreed with me. He said he believed that it would give the Upper and Lower Fourth frightful pleasure to have a battle, and he was certain they would be exceedingly pleased at the idea. In fact, he went off at once to find Pegram and, if possible, Rice and Mitchell. The school was taking a walk that afternoon, as the football ground was eight inches under snow; and some were digging in the snow for eating chestnuts, of which a good many were to be found in West Wood, and others were scattered about. So Blades went to find Mitchell, Rice, and Pegram, and I considered the situation. The edge of the sand-pit was about eight feet high, and a frontal attack would have been very difficult, if not impossible; but there was an approach on the left--a gradual slope, fairly easy--and another on the right, rather difficult, as it consisted of loose stones and tree roots. On the whole, I thought I would rather defend than attack; but as, if anything came of it, I should be the challenger, I felt it would be more sporting to let the foe choose. Then Rice and Mitchell came back with Blades, and they said that nothing would give them greater pleasure than a fight. They had heard my idea, and thought exceedingly well of it. They examined the spot and pretended to consider strategy, but, of course, they knew nothing about the possibilities of defence and attack. What they really wanted to know was how many troops they would have, and how many we should. We counted up and found that in the Fifth and Sixth, leaving out about four who were useless, and Perkins, who would have been valuable, but was crocked at footer for the moment, we should number thirty-one, while the Upper and Lower Fourth would have thirty-eight. I agreed to that, and Rice made the rather good suggestion that we should each have ten kids behind the fighting line to make ammunition. And I said I hoped there would be no stones in the snowballs, and Mitchell said the Fourth didn't consist of Germans, and I might be sure they would fight as fair as we did, if not fairer. So it was settled for the next Saturday, and Brown and Fortescue consented to umpire the battle, and Fortescue showed great interest in it. There were a good many preliminaries to decide, and I asked Mitchell what chap was to be general-in-chief for the Fourth, and, much to my surprise, he said that Pegram was. And, still more to my surprise, he said that Pegram wished to attack and not defend. This alone showed how little they knew about strategy; but I only said "All right," and Mitchell actually said that Pegram backed the Fourth to take the sand-pit inside an hour! And I said that pride generally went before a fall. Then I saw Pegram--which was at a meeting of the commanders-in-chief--and we arranged all the details. He asked about the fallen, and I said that nobody would fall; but he said he thought some very likely would; and he also said that it would be more like the real thing and more a reward for strategy if, when anybody was fairly bowled over in the battle and prevented from continuing without a rest, that that soldier was considered as a casualty and taken to the rear. This was pretty good for Pegram; but as our superior position on the top of the sand-pit was bound to make our fire more severe than his, and put more of his men out of action, I pointed that out. But he said that if I thought our fire would be more severe than his, I was much mistaken. He said the volume of his fire would be greater, which was true. So I let him have his way, and we each selected ten kids for the ammunition. Travers minor didn't much like fighting against me, but, of course, he had to, though it was rather typical of Mitchell and Pegram that they were very suspicious of him before the battle, and wouldn't tell him any of the strategy, or give him a command in their army, for fear of his being a traitor. And they felt the same to Briggs, though, of course, Briggs and Travers minor were really just as keen about victory for the Fourth as anybody else in it. And the only reason why my brother didn't like fighting against me was that, with my strategy, he felt pretty sure I must win. The generals--Pegram and I--visited the battlefield twice more, and arranged where the wounded were to lie and where the umpires were to stand, in comparative safety behind a tree on the right wing; but, of course, we didn't discuss tactics or say a word about our battle plans. The fight was to last one hour, and if at the end of that time we still held the sand-pit, we were the victors. And for half an hour before the battle began, we were to make ammunition and pile snow and do what we liked to increase the chances of victory. I, of course, led the Fifth and Sixth, and under me I had Saunders, as general of the Sixth, and Norris, as general of the Fifth. As for the enemy, Pegram was generalissimo, to use his own word, and Rice and Abbott and Mitchell and Blades were his captains. It got jolly interesting just before the battle, and everybody was frightfully keen, and the kids who were not doing orderly and red-cross work, were allowed to stand on a slight hill fifty yards from the sand-pit and watch the struggle. And on the morning of the great day, happening to meet Rice and Mitchell, I asked them what was the psychical idea behind the attack of the Fourth; and Rice said his psychical idea was to give the Sixth about the worst time it had ever had; and Mitchell said his psychical idea was to make the Sixth wish it had never been born. They meant it, too, for there was a lot of bitter feeling against us, and I realised that we were in for a real battle, though there could only be one end, of course. They had thirty-eight fighters to our thirty-one, and they had rather the best of the weight and size; but in the Sixth we had Forbes and Forrester, both of the first eleven and hard chuckers; and we had three other hard chuckers and first eleven men in the Fifth, besides Williams, who was the champion long-distance cricket ball thrower in the school. We had all practised a good deal, and also instructed the kids in the art of making snowballs hard and solid. The general feeling with us was that we had the brains and the strategy, while the Fourth had rather the heavier metal, but would not apply it so well as us. When a man fell, the ambulance, in the shape of two red-cross kids, was to conduct him to a place safe from fire in the rear; and when he was being taken from the firing-line, he was not to be fired at, but the battle was to go on, though the red-cross kids were to be respected. I should like to draw a diagram of the field, like the diagrams in the newspapers, but that I cannot do. I can, however, explain that, when the great moment arrived, I manned the top of the sand-pit with my army, and during the half hour of preparation threw up a wall of snow all along the front of the sand-pit nearly three feet high. And along this wall I arranged the Fifth, led by Norris, on the right wing. Five men, commanded by Saunders, specially guarded the incline on the left, which was our weak spot, and the remaining ten men, all from the Sixth, took up a position five yards to the rear and above the front line, in such a position that they could drop curtain fire freely over the Fifth. I, being the Grand Staff, took up a position on the right wing on a small elevation above the army, from which I could see the battle in every particular; and Thwaites, of the Sixth, who was too small and weak to be of any use in the fighting lines, was my adjutant to run messages and take any necessary orders to the wings. As for the enemy, they made no entrenchments or anything of the kind, though they watched our dispositions with a great deal of interest. Pegram studied the incline on our wing, and evidently had some ideas about a frontal attack also, which would certainly mean ruin for him if he tried it, as it would have been impossible to rush the sand-pit from the front. They made an enormous amount of ammunition, and as they piled it within thirty yards of our parapet, they evidently meant to come to close quarters from the first. I was pleased to observe this. They arranged their line rather well, in a crescent converging upon our wings; but there was no rearguard and no reserve, so it was clear everybody was going into action at once. The officers were distinguished by wearing white footer shirts, which made them far too conspicuous objects, and it was clear that Pegram was not going to regard himself as a Grand Staff, but just fight with the rest. Needless to say, I was prepared to do the same, and throw myself into the thickest of it if the battle needed me and things got critical. But I felt, somehow, from the first that we were impregnable. Well, the battle began by Fortescue blowing a referee's football whistle, and instantly the strategy of the enemy was made apparent. They opened a terrific fire, and their one idea evidently was to annihilate the Sixth. They ignored the Fifth, but poured their entire fire upon the Sixth; and a special firing-party of about six or seven chosen shots, or sharpshooters, poured their entire fire on me, where I stood alone. About ten snowballs hit me the moment Fortescue's whistle went, and the position at once became untenable and also dangerous. So I retired to the Sixth, and sent word to the Fifth by Thwaites to very much increase the rapidity of their fire. Which they did; and Pegram appealed that I was out of action, but Fortescue said I was not. It was exceedingly like the Great War in a way, and the Fourth evidently felt to the Fifth and Sixth what the Germans felt to the French and English. They merely hated the Fifth, but they fairly loathed the Sixth, and wanted to put them all out of action in the first five minutes of the battle. Needless to say, they failed; but we lost Saunders, who somehow caught it so hot, guarding the slope, that he got winded and his nose began to bleed at the same moment, which was a weakness of his, brought on suddenly by a snowball at rather close range. So he fell, and the red-cross kids took him out of danger. This infuriated us, and, keeping our nerve well, we concentrated our fire on Mitchell, who had come far too close after the success with Saunders. A fair avalanche of snowballs battered him, and he went down; and though he got up instantly, it was only to fall again. And Fortescue gave him out, and he was conducted to a ruined cowshed, where the enemy's ambulance stood in the rear of their lines. I had already ordered the Sixth to take open formation and scatter through the Fifth; and this undoubtedly saved them, for though we lost my aide-de-camp, Thwaites, who was no fighter and nearly fainted, and was jolly glad to be numbered with those out of action, for some time afterwards we lost nobody, and held our own with ease. Once or twice I took a hand, but it wasn't necessary, and when we fairly settled to work, we made them see they couldn't live within fifteen yards of us. They made several rushes, however, but, by a happy strategy, I always directed our fire on the individual when he came in, and thus got two out of action, including Rice. He was a great fighter, and I was surprised he threw up the sponge so soon; but after a regular battering and blinding, he said he'd "got it in the neck," and fell and was put out with one eye bunged. Travers minor also fell, rather to my regret; and what struck me was that, considering all their brag, the Fourth were not such good plucked ones when it came to the business of real war, as we were. It made a difference finishing off Rice, for he had fought well, and his fire was very accurate, as several of us knew to our cost. I felt now that if we could concentrate on Pegram and Blades, who were firing magnificently, the battle would be practically over. But Blades, owing to his great powers, could do execution and still keep out of range. He was, in fact, their seventeen-inch gun, you might say; and though Williams on our side could throw further, he proved in action rather feeble and not a born fighter by any means. As for Pegram, he always seemed to be behind somebody else, which, knowing his character, you would have expected. At last, however, he led a storming party to the slope, and, leaving the bulk of my forces to guard the front, I led seven to stem his attack. For the first time since the beginning of the battle, it was hand-to-hand; but we had the advantage of position, and were never in real danger. I had the great satisfaction of hurling Pegram over the slope into his own lines, and he fell on his shoulder and went down and out. He was led away holding his elbow and also limping; but his loss did not knock the fight out of the Fourth, though in the same charge they lost Preston and we nearly lost Bassett. But he got his second wind and was saved to us, though only for a time, for Blades, who had a private hate of Bassett, came close and scorned the fire, and got three hard ones in on Bassett from three yards; and Fortescue had to say Bassett was done. Blades, however, was also done, and there was a brief armistice while they were taken away. We now suddenly concentrated on Mitchell, who was tiring and had got into range. I think he was fed up with the battle, for, after a feeble return, he went down when about ten well-directed snowballs took him simultaneously on the face and chest, and then he chucked it and went to the ambulance. At the same moment one of their chaps, called Sutherland, did for Norris. Norris had been getting giddy for some time, and he also feared that he was frost-bitten, and when Sutherland, creeping right under him, got him well between the eyes with a hard one, he was fairly blinded, though very sorry to join our casualties. I had a touch of cramp at the same moment, but it passed off. We'd had about half an hour now, and five of the ammunition kids were out of action with frozen hands. Then we got one more of the enemy, in the shape of Sutherland, and their moral ought to have begun to get bad; but it did not. Though all their leaders were now down, they stuck it well, while we simply held them with ease, and repelled two more attempts on the slope. In fact, Williams wanted to go down and make a sortie, and get a few more out of action; but this I would not permit for another five minutes, though during those exciting moments we prepared for the sortie, and knocked out Abbott, who, much to my surprise, had fought magnificently and covered himself with glory, though lame. On their side they got MacAndrew, owing to an accident. In fact, he slipped over the edge of the sand-pit, and was taken prisoner before he could get back, and we were sorry to lose him, not so much for his own sake, as because his capture bucked up the Fourth to make fresh efforts. And then came the critical moment of the battle, and a most unexpected thing happened. With victory in our grasp, and a decimated opposition, a frightful surprise occurred, and the most unsporting thing was done by the Fourth that you could find in the gory annals of war. It was really all over, bar victory, and we were rearranging ourselves under a very much weakened fire, when we heard a shout in the woods behind us, and the shout was evidently a signal. For the whole of the Fourth still in action made one simultaneous rush for the slope, and of course we concentrated to fling them back. But then, with a wild shriek, there suddenly burst upon us from the rear the whole of their casualties! Mitchell and Rice and Pegram came first, followed by Travers minor and Preston and Blades and Sutherland and Abbott. They had rested and refreshed themselves with two lemons and other commissariat, and then, taking a circuitous track from behind their ambulance, had got exactly behind us through the wood. And now, uttering the yells that the regular Tommies always utter when charging, they were on us with frightful impetus, just while we were repelling the frontal attack on the slope, and before we had time to divide to meet them. In fact, they threw the whole weight of a very fine charge on to us and fairly mowed us down. There was about a minute of real fighting on the slope, and blood flowed freely. We got back into the fort, so to say; but the advancing Fourth came back, too, and the casualties took us in the rear. Then, unfortunately for us, I was hurled over the sand-pit, and three chaps--all defenders--came on top of me, and half the snow-bank we had built came on top of them. With the snowbank gone, it was all up. I tried fearfully hard to get back, but of course the Fourth had guarded the slope when they took it, and in about two minutes from the time I fell out of our ruined fortifications, all was over. In fact, the Fourth was now on the top of the sand-pit and the shattered Fifth and Sixth were down below. One by one our men were flung, or fell, over, and then Fortescue advanced from cover with Brown and blew his whistle, and the battle was done. We appealed; but Pegram said all was fair in war, and Fortescue upheld him; and in a moment of rage I told Pegram and Mitchell they had behaved like dirty Germans, and Mitchell said they might, or they might not, but war was war, anyway. And he also said that the first thing to do in the case of a battle is to win it. And if you win, then what the losers say about your manners and tactics doesn't matter a button, because the rest of civilisation will instantly come over to your side. And Blades said the Sixth had still a bit to learn about strategy, apparently, and Pegram--showing what he was to a beaten foe--offered to give me some tips! Mind you, I'm not pretending we were not beaten, because we were; and the victors fought quite as well as we did; but I shall always say that, with another referee than Fortescue, they might have lost on a foul. No doubt they thought it was magnificent, but it certainly wasn't war--at least, not what I call war. We challenged them to a return battle the next Saturday, and Pegram said, as a rule, you don't have return battles in warfare, but that he should be delighted to lick us again, with other strategies, of which he still had dozens at his disposal. Only Pegram feared the snow would unfortunately all be gone by next Saturday; and the wretched chap was quite right--it had. Mitchell, by the way, got congestion of his lungs two days after the battle, showing how sickness always follows warfare sooner or later. But he recovered without difficulty. THE MYSTERY OF FORTESCUE My name is Abbott, and I came to Merivale two years ago. I have got one leg an inch and three-quarters shorter than the other, but I make nothing of it. A nurse dropped me on a fender when I was just born, owing to a mouse suddenly running across her foot. It was more a misfortune than anything, and my mother forgave her freely. When I was old enough I also forgave her. In fact, I only mention it to explain why I am not going into the Army. All Abbotts do so, and it will be almost a record my going into something else. Many chaps have no fighting spirit, and, as a rule, it is not strong in schoolmasters; yet when the call came for men, three out of our five answered it and went. Two, who were well up in the Terriers, got commissions, and the other enlisted, so we were only left with Brown, who can't see further than a pink-eyed rat and isn't five foot three in his socks, though in his high-heeled boots he may be, and Fortescue. You will say this must have had a pretty bright side for us, and, at first sight, no doubt it looks hopeful. In fact, we took a very cheerful view of it, because you can do what you like with Brown, and Fortescue only teaches the Fifth and Sixth. On the day that Hutchings cleared out to join the Army, and we were only left with Fortescue, Brown, and the Doctor, we were confronted with serious news. In fact, after chapel on that day, we heard, much to our anxiety, that old Dunston himself was going to fill the breach. Those were his very words. He talked with a sort of ghastly funniness and used military terms. He said-- "Now that our valued and honoured friends, Mr. Hutchings, Mr. Manwaring, and Mr. Meadows have answered their nation's call, with a loyalty to King and Country inevitable in men who know the demands as well as the privileges of Empire, it behoves us, as we can and how we can, to fill their places. This, then, in my contribution to the Great War. I shall fight in no foreign trenches, but labour here, sleeplessly if need be, and undertake willingly, proudly, the arduous task that they have left behind. I shall confront no cannon, but I shall face the Lower School. Henceforth, after that amalgamation of class and class which will be necessary, you may count upon your head master to answer the trumpet call and fill the breach. But I do not disguise from myself that such labours must prove no sinecure, and I trust the least, as well as the greatest, to do their part and aid me with good sense and intelligence." Well, there it was; and we saw in a moment that you can't escape the horrors of war, even though you are on an island with the Grand Fleet between you and the foe. When it came to the point, the Doctor was fairly friendly, but there was always something about him that was awful and solemn and very depressing to the mind. You could crib easily enough with him, for he had a much more trustful disposition than Hutchings, or Brown, or Fortescue, and was also short-sighted at near range; but the general feeling with the Doctor was a sense of weariness and undoubted relief when it was over. It was as near like being in church as anything could be. Beginning at the beginning of subjects bored him. In fact, he often found, when he went back to the very start of a lesson, he'd forgotten it himself, moving for so many years on only the higher walks of learning; and then, finding that he had forgotten some footling trifle on the first page of a primer, he became abstracted and lost heart about it, and seemed more inclined to think than to talk. Another very curious habit he had was to start on one thing--say Latin--and then drift off into something else--say geography. Or he might begin with algebra and then something would remind him of the procession of the equinoxes, or the nebula in Orion, and he would soar from earth and wander among the heavenly bodies until the class was over. And if he happened to be very much interested himself, he wouldn't let it be over; and then we had to sit on hearing the Doctor maundering about double stars, or comets perhaps, while everybody else was in the playground. I think he got rather sick of the Lower School after about a month of it, and Fortescue took over a good many of the classes in his normal style, which was more business-like than the Doctor and more punctual in its working. Fortescue was cold and hadn't much use for us in school or out, but he was just, and we liked him pretty well until the mystery began. Then we gradually got to dislike him, and then despise him, and then hate him. He was rather out of the common in a way, being an Honourable and related to the famous family of Fortescue, which has shone a good deal in history off and on. And, of course, when the war broke out, we naturally expected that the Honourable Howard Fortescue would seize the opportunity to shine also, which he could not do as an undermaster at Merivale. He was a big, fine man, six feet high, with a red complexion and a Roman nose. Certainly, he did not play games, but he was all right in other ways, and had been a lawn-tennis player of the first-class in past times at Oxford, and, in fact, got his half-blue for playing at that sport against Cambridge. So it seemed to us pretty low down that he didn't join Kitchener's Army. As a matter of fact, he didn't even try to. He was a very sublime sort of man and not what you might call friendly to us, yet if anybody appealed to him in any sort of way, he generally thawed a bit and responded in quite a kind manner. We argued a good deal about him, and Travers major said it was natural pride, because, being of the family of Fortescue, he knew there was a gulf fixed between him and us. And Travers did not blame him, and more did I, or Briggs. But Rice, who is Irish, and who had got sent up on the report of Fortescue for saying, as he thought, something disrespectful about the British Army, hated Fortescue with a deadly hatred. Which was natural, because Fortescue had misunderstood, and Rice had really said nothing against the Army, but against Protestants, which, being a Roman Catholic himself, was merely his point of view and no business of Fortescue's. And when Fortescue wouldn't become a soldier, Rice left no stone unturned, as they say, to worry him about it. At that time Milly Dunston, the Doctor's youngest daughter, had just come back from a school where she had been finished, and Rice's sister was at the same school, so she took notice of Rice. And it soon turned out that Milly Dunston also hated Fortescue. I believe he had snubbed her in some way over English literature, at which Fortescue was said to be a flyer, but Milly Dunston was not. She had, in fact, praised a novel to him, and he had laughed and told her it was quite worthless, and advised her to read some novels by people she had never heard of. And then he had slighted the school where she had finished, and so, when Rice explained that Fortescue was a coward and preferred the comparative comfort of Merivale to the manly business of going to Salisbury Plain and living in mud and becoming useful to the Empire, Milly Dunston quite agreed with Rice, and said something ought to be done about it. We helped because we thought the same. In fact, everybody seemed to be of one opinion, and little by little Fortescue began to see signs of great unpopularity growing up against him. At first he ignored these signs, being evidently unprepared to take what you might call a delicate sort of hint. For instance, he smoked a pipe and kept a Japanese vase on the mantelpiece of his study full of black crows' feathers, which he was in the habit of picking up on Merivale Heath, where he often went for lonely walks. With these feathers he cleaned out the stem of his pipe. Well, Milly Dunston bought a white fowl for the Doctor's dinner, and told the man at the shop to send it without plucking the feathers off. Which he did do, and she got them and gave them to Rice, who dexterously took away Fortescue's black feathers and substituted the white ones. But Fortescue went on just as though he hadn't noticed it, and when Saunders was with Fortescue, having his special coaching lesson for a Civil Service exam., he said that Fortescue took a white feather and cleaned his pipe with it as though quite indifferent to the colour. Then Milly Dunston got a ball of knitting wool and four knitting needles, for all of which she paid herself, and Rice once more did the necessary strategy and arranged them on Fortescue's desk, where his eyes would fall upon them on returning to his study. But they merely disappeared, and Fortescue gave no sign. Then Travers major started a very interesting theory on the subject, and he said there must be some reason far deeper than mere cowardice behind the mystery of Fortescue. He said that it was impossible for a Fortescue to be a coward in the common or garden sense of funking danger, but he admitted that he might be a coward in some other way, such as not liking discipline, or living in a tent, or wearing uncomfortable clothes, or getting up early to the sound of a bugle. And Briggs said that he thought perhaps Fortescue was keeping a widowed mother and sisters, or an old aunt, or some such person by his exertions at Merivale, in which case, of course, he couldn't go. But Rice didn't see why not, even if it was so; and more did I, because the Government gives full compensation for women relations in general; but Briggs said I had got it all wrong, and that if Fortescue had an aunt, she wouldn't gain a penny by his going to the war, however old and poor she was. In fact, he believed that only a wife who was going to have a baby got anything at all, owing to the great need for keeping up the race. Then Rice said that it didn't make any difference to his deadly feeling against Fortescue, and he also said that he was going on rubbing it into Fortescue, and leaving no stone unturned to make his life a burden to him until he enlisted; and Travers major said that Rice was feeling the instinct of pure revenge, and Rice said he might be, but that was what he intended to do. Anyway, he was sure the War Office and Admiralty didn't care a button about aunts. Then we divided into two factions on the subject of Fortescue, and one faction decided to leave him to his conscience and mind its own business, which wasn't driving Fortescue to war; while the other side took the opposite course, and decided to work at Fortescue with the utmost ingenuity until in sheer despair he was driven to do his duty. And Briggs and Travers major and Travers minor and Saunders and Hopwood abandoned the pursuit, so to say; while I and Rice and a chap called Mitchell, all ably assisted by Milly Dunston, continued in our great attempt to wake Fortescue to the call of his country and storm his lines, as Rice said. As for Mitchell, he came into it rather curiously, and it shows how an utter accident will sometimes reveal anybody in their true colours, and surprise other people, who thought they knew them and yet didn't. Mitchell was a mere rabbit in character and nothing in learning. And, in fact, he only had one feature besides his nose, and that was his love for money. Money, you might say, was his god, and his financial operations in the matter of loans to the kids were a study in themselves. But over Fortescue he came out in a most unexpected manner, and much to our surprise, made up a bit of poetry about him! Which shows nothing happens but the unexpected, and nobody was more astonished in a sort of way than Mitchell himself, because he never knew he could do it. How to use the poem to the best purpose was a question that Milly solved. She typed it by night on her own typewriter, and then directed Rice, at the first opportunity, to put it on Fortescue's desk when his study was empty. And he did so, and this is what Fortescue found awaiting him when he returned:
We didn't much envy Fortescue his feelings when he read these stirring lines, and in fact, I, in my hopefulness, believed they would actually win our object and start Fortescue on the path of duty and rouse him from his lethargical attitude to the war; but, strange to say, they went off him like water off a duck's back. Not a muscle moved, so to speak, or if it did nobody saw it do so. He went on his way for all the world as if civilisation was not in its death throes. And then Rice--to show you what Rice still felt about it--offered Mitchell a week's pocket-money if he would write yet another poem of even a more fiery and stinging character. And Mitchell gladly agreed, and took enormous trouble and burnt the midnight oil, as the saying is, and produced certainly a poem full of rhymes and great abuse of Fortescue, yet not nearly such a fine poem as the first. And Rice said it wasn't up to the mark and wouldn't pay for it, and Mitchell said it was a contract and written on commission and must be paid for by law. But Rice knew no law and he showed the poem to Travers major, who instantly tore it up and kicked Mitchell next time he met him and told him he was a dirty little cad. So Mitchell cooled off to Rice, and, in fact, his next poem was actually about Rice--not written to order, but for pure hate of Rice--and it was undoubtedly a bitter and powerful poem; but Rice, being far stronger than Mitchell, made him eat it and swallow it in front of his class, though it was written in red ink. And Mitchell said if he died, Rice would be hung. But he felt no ill effects, though he rather hoped he would. At this season, however, a far greater and more splendid poem than any Mitchell could do had appeared in England. In fact, it was set to music and England rang with it--also Ireland. At least, so Rice said, because his mother had told him so in a letter. There was a special mention of Ireland in it, and Rice's mother told him that it had made more recruits in Ireland than Mr. Redmond and Sir Edward Carson put together. Rice never does anything by halves, and he actually learnt the poem by heart, and also found out the tune somehow and sang it when possible. Once, in fact, he woke up in the night singing it from force of habit, as the saying is, and his prefect, who happened to be Mactaggert, said there was a time for everything, and threatened to report Rice if he did it again. I asked Rice why he had made such a great effort and learnt anything he wasn't obliged to learn, and he said, firstly, because it was the grandest poem he had ever heard, and, secondly, because he had a great idea some day to sing it to Fortescue, as it applied specially to him by dwelling on the fearfulness of hanging back when the Empire cried out for you. The poem said the Empire was calling to every one of her sons of low and high degree, and so, of course, it was also calling to Fortescue; and Rice thought that as it was pretty certain Fortescue wouldn't read it, and, no doubt, fought shy of patriotic poetry in general just now, he meant to wait for some happy opportunity when Fortescue was not in a position to get out of earshot and sing it to him. But the opportunity did not come, so Rice adopted the former plan of leaving the poem in Fortescue's room. He had plenty of printed copies of the words, because the poem, after first appearing in a London newspaper of great renown, had been copied, at the special wish of the author, into hundreds and thousands of other papers; and to show you the tremendous liking people had for it, even the Merivale Weekly Trumpet printed it and Milly Dunston found it there. She, by the way, had another pretty bitter cut at Fortescue, which cost more money, and she told Rice she had paid five shillings and sixpence for her great insult. In fact, she sent Fortescue a shawl and a cap, such as is worn by aged women, with red, white, and blue ribbons in it. Which, of course, meant that Fortescue was an old woman himself. It was frightfully deadly if you understood it, and Rice said that only a girl could have thought of such a cruel thing. The parcel was sent by post, but once more we were doomed to disappointment, as they say, for nothing came of it except slight advantage to the matron in Fortescue's house. In fact, he gave her the five shilling shawl, but the cap we never saw again, and doubtless it was burnt to a cinder in Fortescue's fire. Then Rice tried the patriotic poem, and so as there should be no mistake he covered the back of it with paste, and in this manner fastened it very firmly to the looking-glass, just behind the spot where Fortescue kept his pipes on the mantelpiece. We didn't hope much from it, and expected he would merely scrape it off and take it lying down in his usual cowardly manner. But imagine our immense surprise when we found he had sneaked to the Doctor! And even that was nothing compared to the extraordinary confession that he had made to the Doctor. And it all came out, and, as Mitchell said, a bolt from the blue fell on him and me and Rice. After stating the facts of the case, which were that Mr. Fortescue had been from the beginning of the term subject to a great deal of annoyance from boys, who laboured under the offensive delusion that he ought to go to the Front, the Doctor said-- "It is my honoured friend, Mr. Fortescue's wish that I inform you of the circumstances which prevent an action which he would have been the first to take did his physical welfare permit of it. But unhappily he suffers from an enlarged aorta and it is impossible for him to take his place in our line of defences, though that impossibility has caused him the sorrow of his life. It happens, however, that Nature has blessed Mr. Fortescue with abundant gifts while denying him his health, and in the pages of that work of reference known as 'Who's Who'--pages that I fear few among you will ever adorn--may be found the distinguished name of the Honourable Howard Fortescue in connection with notable achievements. For Mr. Fortescue is a votary of the Muses. Already he has two volumes of verse to his credit and three works of fiction; while in a subsequent edition of the volume, it will doubtless be recorded that he was the author of a certain admirable poem which has recently stirred the United Kingdom to its depths and sent more young men to the enlisting stations than any other inspiration of the time. But it was, it seems, left for one of my pupils to combine idiocy with insolence and affix a copy of his own immortal composition to Mr. Fortescue's looking-glass! This was positively the last straw, and my esteemed colleague who, up to the present time has allowed his sense of humour to ignore your insufferable impertinences, felt that it was bad for yourselves to proceed further upon so perilous a path. Very rightly, therefore, he called my attention to a persecution I should have thought impossible within these walls. He has no desire to give me the names of the culprits, and it is well for them that he has not; but having placed the whole circumstances in my hands, I cannot permit the outrage to pass without recording my abhorrence and shame. I may further remind you that Wednesday next is our half-term whole holiday, and if before that date no private and abject apology is committed to the hands of Mr. Fortescue by those who have disgraced themselves and put this affront upon him--if that is not done, and if I do not hear from him that he is thoroughly satisfied with the nature of that expression of regret, then there will be no half-term whole holiday and righteous and guilty alike will suffer." Needless to say this tremendous speech made a very great impression on me and Rice and Mitchell. Milly Dunston did not hear it, but it made a great impression on her too, when she heard the facts, and we felt, in a way, that she was a good deal to blame, because she could easily have looked up "Who's Who," being free of the Doctor's library, which we were not. Of course, there was no difficulty about the apology, which I wrote with help from Mitchell; but, showing what girls are, though she had invented most of the things we did to Fortescue, she calmly refused to sign the apology and said she should apologise personally to him. No doubt she didn't, and Rice chucked her afterwards. Rice was the most cut up. He said he should never feel the same again after being such a simple beast, and he changed over from hating Fortescue to thinking him the most wonderful and splendid man in the world, and far the best poet after Shakespeare. And to show how frightfully Rice feels things and the rash way he goes on, I can only tell you that when we signed the apology, he cut himself on his arm, just above the wrist, and got two drops of blood and signed with them. And after his name he wrote the grim words "his blood," so that Fortescue shouldn't think it was merely red ink. The apology went like this: |
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