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.
That which struck me most forcibly during my first half-year, and my acquaintance with Snipson and Brag, was this “nil admirari” style. Neither of them had a good word for anybody. The cadet who was head of his batch before I joined was once discussed by these two, and the following was the conversation: —
“Some fellows say that London is so awfully clever,” said Snipson, “and got a higher decimal than any fellow has since, about four years ago. Now, I don’t think him a bit clever – in fact, I think him rather stupid, for he was a most awful ‘mug.’ I don’t suppose any fellow swatted harder than he did his last two terms in order to be head of the batch.”
“Oh, any fellow who mugged as he did could be head of a batch!” replied Brag. “Besides, I don’t think passing examinations well is any great proof of being very clever. I dare say if I set to work I might pass well, but it’s not worth the trouble.”
“Hopkins of that batch thinks a deal of himself too,” said Snipson, “because he’s third of the batch. Why, I remember the time when I could beat him at everything; but then I didn’t choose to slave away as he did. There’s Dawkins, too, who is fifth; he got to be that I believe merely by sponging; he was always sneaking about the octagon, pretending he was hard at work. I hate a fellow doing like that.”
Young as I was, I could perceive that neither Brag nor Snipson would have made such remarks unless they had imagined themselves superior to all those whom they had mentioned; and the latent belief thus revealed is, we believe, one of the reasons why the slanderer or even scandal-monger of society is agreeable to some natures, and produces abhorrence in others. To the honest, straightforward, hard-working man, who judges of things by their merits, and who loves the truth and detests the sham, this system of disparaging is offensive and painful. To such a nature it is more pleasant to hear the excellence and the good qualities of people referred to than it is to hear only their defects, supposed or real, or their evil deeds, or those attributed to them, referred to.
The thoroughly noble woman who is herself true, and who possesses the gift of charity, finds no pleasure in the society of a person whose conversation consists mainly in slandering her neighbours.
The woman who is herself false, and who endeavours to pervert the truth, finds her vanity gratified when she can hear anything related which drags her neighbour’s name into the mud. As a corollary, therefore, it may be stated that, given the woman who paints her eyebrows, blackens her eyelids, powders and tints her face, and there you find to a certainty the character whose delight is intense when she can glean any intelligence about her dear friends of such a nature as to damage their characters, and to retail such intelligence with additions is to her a luxury.
Having experienced four months of the society of Brag and Snipson, I could not avoid feeling that they were inferior men, who would never by fair means make a mark in the world, and who were not desirable either as friends or enemies.
I had been but a very brief time in Forester’s room before I became deeply interested in him. He used to read a great deal, and had at that time the rare accomplishment of being able to talk about other matters beside “shop.” He was devoted to soldiering, and had studied carefully “Napier’s Peninsula” and other similar books, and used to talk of a night, when lights were out, with Fenton about various actions and their results.
As I look back on those days, I can recall many of the remarks that Forester made, and have been struck with the value of these, and of their practical application even now. One, in particular, I remember was, “that all the extensive theory that we learnt at the Academy would probably never be of use to one in twenty of the cadets in afterlife, whilst we should know nothing about certain practical matters when we became officers, which every non-commissioned officer would be acquainted with.”
“An officer’s head,” said Forester, “ought to be like a soldier’s knapsack – have a few useful things in it always handy and ready for use – just the things required for every day.”
Once, after a long game of chess with Fenton, Forester remarked that people said chess and war were very much alike.
“They would be,” he said, “more alike if, when playing chess, you were bound to move within one minute after your adversary, and also if you had a drum beating in your ears and a fellow shying racket-balls at you. I believe,” he said, “that the men who make the best leaders of troops are usually hard, strong men, without too much brains, whilst the great generals and planners of campaigns are quite different men. These should be careful thinkers, and men with great nervous power, and it is such men who are most upset by disturbing causes. I have often thought,” continued Forester, “that we ought to have a thinking general and a working one – the first to think out the moves, the other to execute them.”
Before I had been long in this room, Forester expressed his opinion about keeping up lights. He said, —
“I think taking away our lights at half-past nine, and leaving us to undress and go to bed in the dark, is absurd; but when I have said to the officer on duty that ‘I have no lights concealed, and no intention of procuring a light,’ I feel bound in honour to act up to what I say.”
“But no one really looks upon the usual report about lights as given on honour,” said Fenton.
“I’ve nothing to do with what other fellows think,” said Forester. “I only know what I state to an officer, and if I keep up lights after having stated I will not do so, I consider I have ‘smashed.’”1
I here learnt for the first time the great effect produced on us by the society in which we mix, and the influence that such society has on our opinions. When Snipson wished to keep up lights, Brag did not object from a moral point of view, but because it was not safe. I also turned my attention to a plan of keeping a light burning without reflecting on its being dishonourable. Now, however, when Forester expressed his views about it, I felt I agreed with him, and was ashamed of having aided Snipson to commit an act which I now looked on as dishonourable.
There were very curious ideas among the cadets in those days. One of these was, that it was rather a smart thing to get very nearly tipsy – that is to say, “screwed.” If a cadet could prove that he had arrived at this state through drinking champagne or “old port,” he thought himself a man of judgment and taste. This peculiar opinion was confined to only a few cadets, a sort of clique, and was much condemned by Forester.
“There is no doubt,” said Forester, “that of all men in the world who should never be the worse for what they have drunk, a soldier is the one. He and a driver of an engine, if drunk, may cause the death of hundreds of men. Besides, a fellow who gets drunk I look on as a fool, for he must know so little about himself that he cannot tell how much of anything will make him tipsy. I don’t know a more disgusting sight than to see a man drunk and incapable, and why some fellows here think it fast I cannot imagine.”
In our division was an old cadet named Marsden, who was always boasting of the wine he had drank when on leave, or when he had been home. It happened that Marsden’s father was an officer retired on full pay; but, like most officers, he was poor, and, though occasionally he asked cadets to dinner, he never produced any wines besides sherry, and, as cadets declared, his sparkling wine was gooseberry. Saumer in those days was unknown.
More than once Marsden had returned from leave and made a great shouting in the division, asserting that “the Moët’s champagne was so strong.”
Forester had more than once made remarks about this proceeding, and at length, with three or four other cadets who thought the same as he did, organised a plot against Marsden, which turned out a most amusing affair, but one somewhat unpleasant to Marsden.
It wanted about half an hour to roll-call one Sunday evening, when Marsden came into the division shouting.
“There’s Marsden again?” said Forester. “Now for a lesson for him!”
Forester got up and went into the passage, where he was joined by three other cadets, who seemed to have turned out by signal.
“What’s the matter, Marsden?” said Forester.
“Beastly screwed on guv’nor’s champagne!” said Marsden as he leant against the wall.
“It’s close on roll-call,” said Forester, “and the officer will see you!”
“Blow officer!” muttered Marsden.
“We mustn’t let him be discovered,” said Forester in a compassionate tone. “Let’s help him out of it.”
At a signal, Forester and the other cadets seized Marsden, lifted him off his legs, and carried him to the back yard – he shouting and struggling in a half-drunken way. Suddenly, however, he seemed to foresee what was in store for him, for he called out in quite a sober tone, “I’m not drunk, Forester; I was only humbugging. I’m not drunk; I’m not!”
Forester and his companions, whom I had followed, were silent, but very determined. They paid no attention to these shouts, but took off Marsden’s coattee, and reduced his dress to a pair of trousers and a shirt. Three cadets then held him, whilst Forester, seizing the handle of the pump, sent a powerful stream of water over Marsden’s head and down his back.
“Nothing like a cold bath to set a fellow right when he’s screwed?” said Forester, as he worked vigorously at the pump-handle and deluged Marsden with a cold stream.
“I’m not drunk?” shouted Marsden. “Let me go! I’m not drunk!”
Not the slightest attention was paid to Marsden till he had been fully a minute under the pump, when he was released with the inquiry as to his feeling better and more sober.
“I’m not drunk, you confounded donkeys!” shouted Marsden again, in a great rage.
At this instant the officer on duty, having from his quarters heard the shouting, came through the division, and, seeing Marsden with his hair and clothes all wet, and hearing his shouts of “I’m not drunk?” at once said, —
“Mr Marsden, you’re tipsy! You’ll be in arrest, sir, till further orders?”
“I’m not drunk, sir?” said Marsden. “Go to your room, sir, in arrest!” said the officer, as he walked off from the division.
When Forester came into his room he was in fits of laughter. “If that won’t cure Marsden of shamming I don’t know what will!” he said. “It serves him quite right for humbugging as he does?”
On the following morning Marsden asked Forester to give evidence as to his not being drank the night before, “for,” said Marsden, “you know I wasn’t.”
“What?” said Forester; “when you told me you were beastly screwed on guv’nor’s gooseberry – champagne, I mean? You don’t mean to say you told a lie? I was bound to believe you, and did what I thought was best for you to save you from being seen in the state you were by the officer?”
“But I wasn’t screwed!” said Marsden.
“Not when the officer came,” replied Forester; “that’s very likely. A powerful shower-bath is a wonderful soberer; and next time you come in screwed and shouting from the effects of champagne, you’ll find it just as good a cure! No, I can’t say you were not screwed; you looked like being so, and you said you were?”
There was an audible titter on parade that day when the officer on duty read out, among other orders by the Captain of the Cadet Company, that Mr Marsden, having been under the influence of drink when returning from leave on Sunday evening, was to be in arrest for seven days!
Forester’s cure was effective. Marsden was never the worse for his governor’s wine after that evening.
Chapter Eleven
Outbreak to Charlton Fair
Towards the middle of my second half-year two very stirring events occurred at the Academy, in each of which I played a subordinate part. The singular experiences I had in these two affairs are worthy of being recorded.
In the neighbourhood of Woolwich is a small village, called Charlton, which at that time was a thoroughly rural place. An old blacksmith’s forge stood in the middle of the village, and two old-fashioned-looking inns. At the entrance of this village was a field, termed “The Fair-Field,” where a large fair was annually held. This fair was termed “Horn Fair,” and was one of the sights of the time.
Fairs have now degenerated, and have lost their glory; but thirty years ago Horn Fair day was a kind of Derby day, at which all the élite of the neighbourhood were to be seen from about two till five on one particular day out of the three that the fair lasted.
From the entrance to the fair to the branch roads, where the cemetery is now situated, the carriages used to stand two deep during the time their occupiers strolled about the fair. Since those days, however, the railway has given such facility for the East-end of London to send down its unwashed hundreds, that first the fair was deserted by the ladies of the neighbourhood, next by the gentlemen, and finally was done away with as being detrimental to the neighbourhood.
During the three days that the fair lasted the cadet company were confined to the enclosure, and were not allowed to visit the village of Charlton. Such a restriction was ordered on account of a row which some years previously had occurred between the cadets and some of the fair people; but it was very obnoxious to the old cadets, and particularly to one who had been reduced from the rank of corporal to that of cadet. This individual had a great deal of influence among the seniors, and on the morning of the second day of the fair he paid a visit to the majority of the rooms, in order to ventilate his ideas and organise a plan he had in his mind for the evening.
The cadet, who was named Prosser, came to our room to see Forester, and said, “Don’t you think it’s an awful shame to confine us to barracks like a set of schoolboys, instead of trusting us to go to the fair? I want your opinion about it, Forester.”
“Well,” replied Forester, “I think it’s bad taste, and a mistake, for it seems to say, ‘If you go to the fair you will get into a row,’ but I don’t see what’s the use of complaining.”
“I’ll tell you what the use is,” said Prosser. “I’ve got a lot of fellows who are game to fall in after tea, and go straight away to the fair – that is, if every one will go. You see, if everybody goes, they can’t break a few fellows only, and they can’t pitch into everybody, and I believe they will see it won’t do to shut us up like sheep, but that we shall get more liberty.”
“I won’t join,” said Forester, “if I can help it, and I think it’s not the right way to go to work to remedy a grievance.”
During that afternoon a paper was passed round the Academy, saying that the whole of the first and second class would fall in on the centre parade at half-past eight, and double off to the fair, and the third and fourth class were to fall in at the same hour and place. This came as a kind of order from the old cadets, and we all signed our names as willing to agree to go.
Everything was kept very quiet during the afternoon, for fear the authorities might hear of the plot, and at half-past eight every cadet fell in quietly on the grass inside the Academy, and, the words of command being whispered from file to file, we broke into a double, and ran across the common towards Charlton.
There were present on that occasion every cadet except the eight corporals on duty, who thought they were bound in honour not to leave their posts. This was a sort of compromise with duty, for these eight corporals were perfectly aware that the breakout of barracks was going to be attempted, and had they done their duty they would have reported this, and put a stop at once to the affair; but the moral courage to do so was wanting. Still, none of these cadets liked to leave their posts – an indication of the right feeling that prevailed at that time in many things at the Academy, and at the same time a proof of the inconsistency in the ideas of the cadets.
Forester declined to join the “mutiny,” as it might be termed, on principle, but he left Fenton and myself to do as we liked, and we both went.
The “Cadet Company,” as I might term it, having got well clear of the Academy and across the common, came to a quick march, and the word was then passed down the ranks as to our proceedings at the fair. On nearing the fair we were to form four deep and double through the fair. We were then to enter one of the large dancing-booths, and clear it of its occupants, and finally to “pitch into” any persons who opposed us.
Under the influence of the excitement and companionship of the senior cadets, I thought the proceeding a brilliant one. The effect of charging through the fair would be grand, something like a real battle, and the people of the fair would see what a fine set of daring fellows the cadets were. With such ideas I approached the fair-field, little dreaming that three days would not elapse before I had come to the conclusion that a more foolish, stupid, and ridiculous proceeding could not have been proposed or carried out than this one, and that even the most enthusiastic of the party would admit that it was a contemptible and childish display.
Most rows or street fights, when looked upon calmly, may be classed under the same head. They arise usually from the combatitive stupidity of some individual or individuals who want excitement, or who imagine that they will exhibit their powers before an admiring audience during some fight in which they may be engaged. Two of the original promoters of the raid to the fair were the two biggest and most powerful cadets at the Academy, and were tolerably sure to hold their own in any row that might take place. For us smaller bodies the prospect was not so promising.
On nearing the entrance-gate we formed closely in fours, and at a double charged down between the booths. Men, women, and children were knocked over right and left, and sent sprawling on the ground, whilst we were saluted with stones, sticks, and other weapons seized impromptu by the indignant public.
Having made our way down the fair we entered the largest dancing-booth, which was immediately deserted by the occupants. Seizing the chairs, a few of these were smashed, and shots were then taken at the many-coloured oil-lamps, the majority of which were knocked down, but not broken. There was then a shout to extinguish all the lamps in the fair, whilst one or two of the most reckless cadets shouted, “Turn out the menagerie!”
By this time, however, there was an organised ’stance to us. The sticks used for knock-’em-downs were seized by a number of men, who commenced using these very freely, and we were soon compelled to retreat, which we did in tolerably good order; not, however, without those in rear receiving some very heavy blows.
At the Academy matters had not been idle. The cadets having left the Academy, there was a silence that, to the experienced ears of the officer on duty, at once indicated that something was up. Coming out of his quarters he found the divisions deserted, and, on entering the library, found the corporal on duty, who informed him the cadets had left the enclosure. The assembly was immediately sounded, and was obeyed only by the corporals on duty and two cadets who were ill, having just left hospital. Taking with him the corporals on duty the officer at once started for the fair, giving orders that each cadet seen was at once to be placed in arrest. Now, as a cadet was bound in honour to obey an arrest, this plan would have been effective for sending home the company. When, however, the officer was within a hundred yards of the fair-field he met the cadets returning, and at once ordered the whole of them in arrest to their rooms.
For many hundred yards from the fair we were followed by a rabble, which delighted in pelting us with various missiles and abusing us, as they now could do with impunity.
On reaching the enclosure we all went to our rooms, relating our individual experiences, escapes, and performances.
One cadet had exchanged blows with a supposed prizefighter, and had held his own; another had knocked down a burly rough who was just going to smash the head of a cadet with a life-preserver. This cadet had tripped up a Peeler who was trying to collar a cadet; that cadet had rescued a snooker who was actually in the grasp of two roughs. The feats performed were really marvellous – at least in their accounts – and for that night we were well pleased with ourselves.
Forester listened to Fenton’s account of the affair, and put a few questions, and then pronounced his verdict, that we had all made a set of fools of ourselves, and that probably the company would be decimated, every tenth cadet being discharged.
During the next two or three days there were endless speculations as to what would be the punishment given us for our conduct, and as the excitement of the affair wore off, the corporals and seniors began to get anxious for their prospects, for it was feared a severe example would be made of at least the corporals and under-officers who had gone to the fair. The whole company was confined to barracks, and could not therefore go beyond the “Ha-ha” so that groups of twenty or thirty cadets used to assemble every day and walk about arm-in-arm discussing the proceedings at the fair, and the probable results.
About ten days after the breaking out the whole company was assembled on parade, and the decision of the Master-General made known. It was to the effect that every under-officer and corporal present at the fair was to be reduced to the rank of a cadet, all leave stopped till the end of the half, and the question left open whether or not the commission of these should be delayed six months. By many this punishment was considered slight, for they had expected to be rusticated, and to lose, consequently, a term; so that, as soon as the order had been read out, there was a subdued murmur of satisfaction among those who had been the ringleaders of the affair, and whose position as the seniors rendered them responsible.