CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE.
When a big school like Saint Dominic's is gathered together within thecomparatively narrow compass of four walls, there _is_ some possibilityof ascertaining how it prospers, and what events are interesting it.But when the same school is scattered to the four winds of heaven duringthe holidays, it would require a hundred eyes and more to follow itsmovements.
It would be impossible, for instance, at one and the same time toaccompany Raleigh and his sisters up Snowdon, and look on at Bramblecatching crabs on the rocks at Broadstairs; nor, while we follow DrSenior among the peaks and passes of Switzerland (and remark, by theway, what a nice quiet boy Tom Senior is, when he has only his fatherand his mother to tempt him into mischief) can we possibly expect toregard very attentively the doings of Simon, as he gapes about beforethe London shop-windows, and jerks off a score or more stanzas of his"Hart's Earnings," which is now about a quarter done.
So the reader must imagine how most of the boys spent their holidays,how they enjoyed them, and how they behaved themselves during theperiod, and be content to be told only about two groups ofholiday-makers, about whom, as they are destined to figure prettyconspicuously in next term's doings at Saint Dominic's, it will beinteresting to hear rather more particularly now.
And the first group--if we can call a single person a "group"--is Loman.
Loman began his holidays in anything but cheerful spirits. No one hadseemed particularly sorry to say good-bye to him at Saint Dominic's, anda good many had been unmistakably glad. And he had quite enough on hismind, apart from this, to make his home-coming far less joyous than itmight have been. It ought to have been the happiest event possible, forhe was coming home to parents who loved him, friends who were glad tosee him, and a home where every comfort and pleasure was within hisreach. Few boys, indeed, were more blessed than Loman with all theadvantages of a Christian and happy home; and few boys could have failedto return to such a home after a long absence without delight. But toLoman, these holidays, the surroundings of home afforded very littlepleasure. His mind was ill at ease. The burden of debt was upon him,and the burden of suspense. He had tried hard to assure himself thatall would come right--that he would certainly win the scholarship, andso wipe off the debt; but his confidence became less and lesscomfortable as time went on.
He dared not tell his troubles to his father, for he feared hisupbraiding; and he would not confess them to his mother, for she, heknew, would tell all to his father. He still clung to the hope that allwould come right in the end; and then what would have been gained bytelling his parents all about it?
The one thing was hard work--and Loman came home determined to work.His parents saw him out of spirits, and were concerned. They did whatthey could to cheer him, but without much success.
"Come, Edward, put away your books to-day," his mother would say; "Iwant you to drive me over to Falkham in the pony-chaise."
"I really can't, mother; I must work for the scholarship."
"Nonsense, boy; what is a scholarship compared with your health?Besides, you'll work all the better if you take some exercise."
But for a week nothing could tempt him out. Then, instead ofaccompanying his father or mother, he would take long solitary rides onhis own pony, brooding all the while over his troubles.
One day, when in the course of one of these expeditions he had taken thedirection of Maltby--which was only fifteen miles distant from hishome--he became suddenly aware of an approaching dog-cart in the roadbefore him, and a familiar voice crying, "Why, if it ain't young SquireLoman, riding a bit of very tidy horseflesh too, as I'm a Dutchman!"
It was Cripps. What evil spirit could have brought him on the scenenow?
"Well, I never reckoned to see you now," said he, in his usual jauntymanner. "Fact is, I was just trotting over to see _you_. I wanted totry what this here cob was made of, and, thinks I, I may as well killtwo birds with one stone, and look up my young squire while I'm aboutit."
"Coming to see me!" exclaimed Loman, horrified. "I say, Cripps, youmustn't do that. My father would be very angry, you know."
"Nice, that is! As if I wasn't as good company as any one else!"
"Oh! it's not that," said Loman, fearing he had given offence. "What Imean is--"
"Oh, I know--about that there rod. Bless me! I won't let out on you,my beauty--leastways, if you come up to scratch. He'd like to hear thestory, though, the old gentleman, I fancy. Wouldn't he now?"
"I wouldn't have him know it for worlds. It'll be all right, Cripps,indeed it will about the money."
Mr Cripps looked very benignant.
"All right, young swell, I hope it will. Funny I feel such an interestin you, 'specially since that young greeny friend of yours put in a wordfor you. He's a real nice sort, he is--he owes you one, and nomistake."
"What!" said Loman, in surprise; "who do you mean? Young Greenfield?"
"To be sure. Regular young chum of mine, he is. I know all about you,my master, and no mistake!"
"What--the young sneak? What has he been saying about me?"
"Eh!--what ain't he been saying! In course you didn't half murder him,eh? In course you ain't a good hand at cheatin' all round up at theschool! What? In course you ain't saying nice things agin me all overthe place--and in course some of us wouldn't like to see you get areg'lar good hiding, wouldn't we? Bless you, I knows all about it; butI'm mum, never fear!" Loman was furious.
"The young liar!" he exclaimed. "I did owe him one; I'll pay him whenwe get back!"
"Hold hard, young gentleman," said Cripps, coolly. "To be sure, heain't downright sweet on you; but I ain't a-going to have him smashed,mind, all to bits. Well, never mind that. I'll turn back with you,young gentleman, if I may. We're only three miles from Maltby, andmaybe you'll honour a poor chap like me by having a look in at theCockchafer."
Loman did not know how to say "No," much as he disliked and feared hishost. He returned with him to Maltby, and there spent an hour in theCockchafer. He was introduced to several of Mr Cripps's low friends,in whose society he found it easy enough to become low himself. Cripps,by a judicious mixture of flattery and sly threats, managed to keep theboy well in hand, and when at last he rose to go it was with a promiseto return again before the holidays were over--"to prevent Cripps havingthe trouble of calling on him," as that virtuous gentleman significantlyput it.
Loman kept his promise, and visited Maltby once or twice, becoming eachtime more familiar with Cripps and his low friends, who made a greatdeal of him, and flattered him on all possible occasions, so that theboy presently found himself, as he imagined, quite a young hero at theCockchafer.
Meanwhile, naturally, his reading fell behindhand. His parents, onlytoo glad to see their boy taking more regular exercise, never suspectedor inquired as to the direction of his frequent solitary rides. To themhe seemed the same quiet, clever boy they fondly believed him. Littleguessed they of the troubles that filled his breast or the toils thatwere daily enwrapping him!
Thus Loman's holidays came to an end. The farewell was once more said,parents and son parted, and on the first day of an eventful term the boyfound himself once more within the walls of Saint Dominic's.
Oliver and Stephen, meanwhile, had been spending a very different sortof holiday at home. There was high feast and revelry when the two boysreturned once more to the maternal roof. Stephen for once in a way hadthe satisfaction of finding himself a most unmistakable hero. He nevertired telling of his adventures and discoursing on the whole manner ofhis life since the day he left home for Saint Dominic's. To his sisterhe recounted in all the slang phraseology he had at his command, thefamous cricket matches in which he had borne a part; and she, though itwas exactly like Greek to her, drank in every word with interest. Andto his mother he narrated his various fights with Bramble, and theterrific adventures through which he had passed, till the good lady'shair nearly stood on end, and she began to think a
public school was aterrible place to send a small boy to.
Oliver, of course, had his stories to tell too, only in a more sobermanner.
There was a great scene when, on the first day of the holidays, theelder brother produced his books and announced that he must study atleast two hours a day in prospect of the Nightingale Scholarshipexamination. But every one knew how much depended on his winning thatscholarship, and in a few years being able to go to the university, sothat the family gave in in the end, and Oliver was allowed his twohours' study, but not a second more, every day. Stephen, meanwhile,taught his sister round-arm bowling, and devoted himself mind and bodyto the bicycle.
The two brothers, during these holidays, became very great cronies. Atschool Oliver had seen comparatively little of his young brother, butnow they were daily and hourly thrown together, the brotherly instinctsin each blossomed wonderfully, and a mutual attachment sprang up whichhad hardly been there before.
It had been arranged, before breaking-up, that Oliver and Wraysfordshould spend the last week of the holiday together in rowing down theThames from Oxford to London.
Great was Stephen's joy and pride when one morning, near the appointedtime, Oliver said to him, "Look here, Stee. How would you like to comewith Wray and me next week?"
"Like! wouldn't I rather!" shouted the small boy in ecstasy. "Thanks,Noll, old man! I say, it will be a spree." And the youngster became soriotous over the prospect that his elder brother had to threaten not totake him at all, and give him a thrashing into the bargain, before hecould be reduced to order.
They were to take a tent with them, and cooking utensils, so as to bequite independent of inns, and each voyager was to contribute his shareof provender. Quite a Robinson Crusoe business, even down to the desertisland, for on desert islands the boys had declared they intended everynight to take up their quarters, and, come hail, snow, or lightning,there to sleep under their waterproof tent.
Mrs Greenfield didn't half like the idea, and became very pathetic onthe subject of ague and rheumatic fever. But the boys carried the dayby promising faithfully that they would catch neither malady. Thelooked-for day came at last, and to Oxford they went, where the familiarsight of Wraysford, in boating costume, at the railway station stillfurther elated their high spirits. The boat was ready. The tent, theprovender, the blankets, were snugly stowed away on board. The weatherwas fine, the river was charming, everything promised well; andpunctually that Monday afternoon the three adventurers loosed from theirmoorings and turned the nose of their boat towards London.
I wish I could tell the reader all the events of that wonderful voyage:how they paddled down merrily with the stream; how they found theirdesert island covered with nettles, which they had to mow down withtheir oars; how the soup-kettle wouldn't act, and the stew-pan leaked;how grand the potted lobster tasted; how Stephen offered to make teawith muddy water, and how the paraffin oil of their lanterns leaked allover their plum-cake and sandwiches; how Stephen was sent up inland toforage, and came back with wonderful purchases of eggs and milk; howthey started off one day leaving their tent behind them, and had to rowback in a panic to recover it; how it rained one night, and a puddleformed on the roof of the tent, which presently grew so big that itoverflowed and gave Wraysford a shower-bath; how each morning they alltook headers into the stream, much to the alarm of the sleepy ducks; howthey now and then ran foul of a boat, and now and then were turned offtheir camping ground by an indignant keeper! It was glorious fun. Butit would take a volume to recount all that happened to them.
They were coming near the end of their cruise. They had paddled downpast the magnificent woods of Cliveden, and under the pretty bridge ofMaidenhead; they had watched the boys bathing at "Athens," and they hadrowed through the gloomy shadow of Windsor Castle and on past Eton.
Here the river is broken by a string of islands, which in many partsmake the stream narrow; and the river being full of boats and barges,our three adventurers found themselves called upon to exercise more thanordinary precautions in keeping their course. This responsibilitybecame at last so irksome that Oliver said, "I say, can't we get out ofthis rabble anyhow? Why shouldn't we take the other side of theislands?"
"I don't know. It would be a good deal quieter. I wonder none of theboats do it."
"Let's try, anyhow. We can't be far from the lock, and then the riverwill be wider. Take us up inside the next island, Stee, and mind youdon't foul any one while you're about it."
Stephen did as he was bid. The stream was pretty strong just there, andthe two rowers had to pull pretty hard to get round without drifting onto the island.
Once out of the main stream, they were delighted to find the courseclear. Indeed, they had the channel all to themselves.
"What a jolly pace the stream is going at!" said Stephen; "why don't youdrift, you fellows, instead of pulling like that?"
"Good idea for you, young 'un," said Wraysford, pulling in his oar.Oliver followed his example.
"Keep a look-out ahead," said he to Stephen, "and sing out if anything's coming."
Stephen said, "All right," but (careless pilot that he was) beganpulling on his socks and shoes, which he had dispensed with during themorning.
Thus occupied, and the other two sitting with their backs to the prow,the unnatural pace at which the boat flew along did not for a moment ortwo become apparent. Suddenly, however, Wraysford started up.
"Get out your oar, Noll--quick!"
"What's the row?" said Oliver, proceeding leisurely to obey the order.
"The weir! Quick, man, quick, or we shall be on to it!"
They had indeed got into the race leading to the weir, and every momentthe stream, swelled by recent rains, rushed faster.
"Pull your right--hard!" cried Wraysford, backing water while Oliverflew to his oar.
There was just time, by a tremendous effort, to save themselves; butOliver's oar was caught under one of the seats, and before he couldextricate it the precious opportunity was lost.
No one said a word. Stephen, with pale face, pulled his rudder string;and Wraysford, with his one oar, tried desperately to arrest theheadlong progress of the boat.
There was a shout from the bank, and a nearer and louder one from thelock. They became conscious of a great half-open gate on their right,and a rush of footsteps beside them. Then, in far shorter time than ittakes to write it, the boat, side on to the weir, lurched and dashed fora moment in the troubled water, and the next instant turned over, andthe three boys were struggling in the water.
In an ordinary current such an adventure would have been of littlemoment, for the boys could swim. But in a torrent like this it was anawful peril. The swift flood sweeps on and sucks under its prey withfearful force. To resist it is impossible--to escape being dashedagainst its stony bottom is almost as impossible.
Mercifully for Oliver, he did escape this latter peril, and, being coolalways in the presence of danger, he offered no resistance to thestream, but struck out hard under the water for as long as his breathwould permit.
When at last, exhausted and unable to swim farther, he rose to thesurface, he was in calm deep water many yards below the weir. Help wasat hand, or he could never have reached the bank. As it was, when atlast friendly arms did drag him ashore, he was too exhausted even toutter his brother's name.
Where was Stephen? and where was Wraysford?
Wraysford had been more fortunate even than Oliver in his first capsize.He was swept over the weir, indeed, but into a side eddy which broughthim up violently against a projecting branch, to which he clung wildly.Here he would have been safe, and even able to help himself to shore.But at the moment when he began to draw himself up from the water on tothe branch, there was something--an arm cast wildly up--in the waterbeside him. In an instant Wraysford quitted his hold and plunged oncemore into the rapid. How, he knew not, but he just reached the haplessboy. It was too late to recover the friendly branch. All he could dowas to cling to Stephe
n and trust to reaching calm water safely. Many abruise the two received in that terrible passage, but the elder boynever once quitted his hold of the younger.
At last--it seemed an age--calm water was reached, providentially nearthe bank. Still clinging to one another, they were pulled ashore,bruised, stunned, but safe.
Thus ended this famous holiday cruise. The three boys kept their ownsecret, and talked little about the adventure, even to one another.
In due time the holidays ended, and the Dominicans reassembled once morein their venerable Alma Mater. Need I say there were three within thosewalls who, whatever they were before, were now friends bound together bya bond the closest of all--a bond which had stood the test of life anddeath?
The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story Page 19
