CHAPTER X.—THE TRIBUNAL OF JUSTICE.
It cannot be a pleasant thing to be going to be hanged—however thoroughly you may be aware that you deserve it—however clearly you may perceive that it will be for the good of society, nay, possibly, looking beyond the present moment, for your own good also; yet the stubborn fact must ever remain the same—it cannot be a pleasant thing to be going to be hanged!
Now, although as the law at present stands they do not exactly hang refractory or disobedient schoolboys, yet there is a process analogous thereunto, though milder in degree, termed flogging, to which such juvenile offenders are occasionally subjected; and this process it was which, as Hugh Colville sobbed forth his penitence and remorse on his brother’s neck, loomed large in the distance, and hung over him, and weighed upon him, and crushed him down into a very abject and desponding condition indeed. It was not simply the pain (though that constituted a large and uncomfortable item in his depression) that frightened him, but the publicity, the exposure, the disgrace, were more than he could bear to contemplate;—while Percy, cut to the heart by his brother’s misconduct, yet sympathising with a bitter intensity in his dread of the probable consequences, could only comfort him with feeble hopes of commutation of punishment, which his reason belied.
Poor little Hugh! how deeply did he repent having yielded to the temptation; how bitterly did he reproach himself for having deceived Percy; what vows of amendment did he register, if only he should escape that dreaded flogging; and how pale did he turn, and how sick at heart with apprehension did he feel, when the bell rang for morning school, and he knew that, before it broke up, his fate would be decided!
As the boys assembled in the great schoolroom, it was evident by their eager, excited faces, and by a general amount of subdued whispering, that the news of the escapade of the previous night had transpired, and all eyes were fixed on Norman, Stradwick, and Terry (Biggington did not appear); even Hugh Colville came in for a degree of observation which served still more to embarrass and distress him.
As the clock struck eight, the Doctor, followed by the other masters, entered; and the cloud that hung upon his brow was-without the smallest vestige of a silver lining, and appeared so awful and portentous as to strike terror into the stoutest hearts The moment prayers were ended, the head-master rose and said, in a clear, stern voice—
“Before school commences, I have a painful duty to perform. Regardless of my express prohibition, certain scholars of the sixth form have ventured to break through the regulations of the school—which do not permit any of the boys to be out at night—and have been to the theatre, taking with them one of the younger boys, who, on their return, was put through a window, and made to unbolt the school-room door, in order to admit them, How they employed their time after they quitted the theatre, I have yet to discover; but they did not return till two o’clock in the morning—one of them in a disgraceful state of intoxication. As the whole school is aware of my orders, and the manner in which they have been disobeyed, I consider it salutary that they should also be witnesses of my method of dealing with the culprits, so as at once to vindicate my authority, and to mark my disapprobation of their rebellious and ungentlemanly conduct.”
The Doctor then resumed his seat, and continued—“Let those whose names are mentioned step forward—Biggington!”
There was a moment’s breathless silence, and then, with trembling knees, downcast eyes, and guilty, sheepish manner, Stradwick replied, that “Biggington was too ill to leave his bed.”
“I am not surprised,” was the reply. “Let Norman, Stradwick, Terry, and the younger Colville stand forward.”
With a proud, haughty bearing, Norman advanced, and placed himself immediately in front of the head-master’s desk. Crestfallen and sulky, Stradwick shambled after him. A moment’s delay took place ere Hugh could muster sufficient physical strength to tear himself from his brother’s side: while Percy was near him, he felt some degree of security; but Terry put his arm round him, and whispering, “Cheer up, young’un, flogging’s nothing when you’re used to it, and I dare say the Doctor will let you off easy—never say die!” half led, half carried him to the tribunal of justice.
“You are the eldest, Norman,” observed the Doctor, fixing his stern glance upon him; “and I will therefore deal first with you. Whatever faults you may possess, I have never known you tell me an untruth, and therefore I shall, for the satisfaction of myself and of those around me, ask you one or two questions, which you are at liberty to answer or not, as you may prefer. In the first place, do you admit the truth of the accusation brought against you?”
“Yes, sir,” was the quiet self-possessed reply, in a tone neither disrespectful nor penitent.
“Have you any objection to give me an account of the expedition, especially how you passed the evening after you quitted the theatre?” was the next inquiry.
Norman paused for a moment, in thought, ere he answered, “My only objection, Doctor Donkiestir, would be the possibility, of betraying my companions; but it appears to me that as you saw and recognised us on our return, and are acquainted with the main facts of the case, the little I shall have to add will tend rather to help than to injure them. For private reasons of my own, I proposed to Biggington to go to the theatre last night, and devised a scheme by which we might accomplish our purpose; but the loft window being too small to admit the passage of a man’s body, I bribed little Colville to accompany us by a promise of taking him to the play, which he had missed the other morning, forbidding him to tell his brother lest he should prevent him. We slipped out after five o’clock school, Stradwick and Terry accompanying us; went to the theatre, and supped afterwards at a tavern with some of the actors and actresses; towards the end of the evening, Biggington insulted and struck me; I returned the blow, and we fought; in the last round, a hit I made stunned him, and it was some little time before he recovered sufficiently to walk back; as soon as he was able to do so, we returned—of the rest, you are yourself aware, sir.”
When Norman had left off speaking, Doctor Donkiestir paused for a moment ere he replied.
“Your account completely agrees with all the facts I have been able to acquire in regard to this disgraceful affair. You admit the truth of the accusation brought against you, and by your own statement confess that you were the originator of the scheme; you have also demeaned yourself so far as to quarrel with a youth in a state of partial intoxication, and as it appears to me, availed yourself of his incapable condition to punish him most severely. It has always been a chief object with me, and one in which I have been in many instances most successful, to induce the elder scholars to set a good example to the younger ones; up to the present time, I have been well satisfied with you upon this point; I am the more surprised and disappointed at your late gross misconduct. My duty is clear. No kind of subordination could be kept up in the school if I were not to visit such an offence as that of which you have been guilty, with the most severe punishment it is in my power to inflict—I have, therefore, resolved to expel you and Biggington. You may now resume your seat, and, when school is over, come to my study, where I shall acquaint you with the arrangements I propose to make for your immediate departure. Stradwick, have you anything to say in your defence?”
Stradwick, thus appealed to, remained uneasily shifting from leg to leg, until at last he bleated forth, in a half-crying tone of voice—
“If you please, sir, I went because Biggington went.”
As the abject parasite uttered these words, a furtive smile went the round of the school, but the Doctor’s face relaxed not’ a muscle as he said sternly—
“I have long observed with displeasure the weak and servile manner in which you have imitated the worst points in Big-gington’s character; I, therefore, cannot do better than afford you a practical lesson how, by participating in his vices, you must also share in the punishment they entail. You I shall also expel—sit down. Now, Terry, how came you to be of this party? Heedless and imprudent I have long known you to be, but disobedient I have never before found you.”
For a moment Terry hung his head, and a tear glistened in his clear, blue eye; dashing it away, he raised his face to that of the Doctor, as he replied earnestly—
“It was the fun and excitement of the thing tempted me, sir; and I never thought about how wrong it was, till it was too late for thinking to be of any use. I am most of all sorry to have disobeyed you and forfeited your good opinion, and, if you will but give me a chance of regaining it, I’ll cheerfully bear any punishment you like to inflict.”
The head-master paused ere he answered—
“I will take you at your word; I shall not expel you, but degrade you to the lower school. On every holiday and halfholiday during this half-year, you will remain in, and employ your time in construing and learning by heart six hundred lines of Greek tragedy; and, lastly, you are forbidden to contend for any of the prizes before the holidays. If it were not against my rule to administer corporal punishment to boys in the fifth and sixth forms, you would scarcely have escaped so easily. Resume your place, sir. Now, Hugh Colville, tell me the truth: did the elder boys force you to accompany them, or merely induce you to do so by promising to take you to the play?”
Poor Hugh! all eyes were turned upon him as, hastily swallowing his tears, he replied—
“Biggington promised me a thrashing if I refused to go; but it wasn’t that, sir; it was the play did it, sir: I did so want to see a play.”
For a moment a faint gleam of pity passed over the Doctor’s face, but had vanished ere he resumed—
“I am sorry that I feel it impossible to look over this, your first offence;—you are so young a child that I believed and hoped you had scarcely been in a position to exercise your own free will in this instance; that, in fact, you had been merely a passive instrument in the hands of your elders; but this does not appear to have been the case—you evidently, being aware of my orders to the contrary, were persuaded to share in this expedition in order to witness a play; and you studiously concealed your intentions from your brother, because he, being older and steadier than yourself, might have interfered to prevent you from going, which you well knew that he would disapprove of. I consider this so reprehensible that, in justice, I am bound to punish you for it, and the only punishment likely to make much impression on one of your age and character, and to inspire you with a salutary dread of, and respect for properly constituted authority, is a flogging, which will be administered to you in private, as soon as morning-school breaks up.”
Hugh, who had listened to the Doctor’s address as if life or death hung upon his words, clasped his hands together in an agony of supplication as his worst fears became realised; the head-master, however, who had hurried over the latter part of his speech, as though he had mistrusted in some degree his own resolution, turned hastily away, and began arranging the papers on his desk; and poor Hugh, finding all hope shut out from him, crept back to his brother’s side, and burying his face on Percy’s shoulder, gave way to a burst of passionate but silent weeping.
During the Doctor’s address to Hugh, Norman, who during the whole of his own examination and sentence had appeared perfectly cool, self-possessed, and almost indifferent, began for the first time to evince symptoms of uneasiness:—when the decree for the flogging was promulgated, he unconsciously bit his lip, and clenched and unclenched his hand convulsively; but when Hugh burst into tears, he rose and said in an eager, excited voice—
“I beg your pardon, Doctor Donkiestir, but I believe, in fact I am certain, this poor child was assured that if the affair came to your knowledge, he should be protected from the effects of your displeasure.”
“By those who, for their own selfish purposes, were leading him into evil, I presume?” inquired the Doctor. Norman making no reply, he continued:—“Did you tell this little fellow such an untruth—pledging yourself to that which you knew you were unable to perform?”
“If I did not actually say so, I allowed it to be said in my presence without contradicting it, which amounts to the same thing, sir,” replied Norman, colouring.
“I am glad to see that you have sufficient right feeling left to be ashamed of your heartless and unmanly conduct,” resumed the head-master; “and I can devise you no more fitting punishment, than to show you by practical experience, how powerless you are to counteract the evil consequences of the wrong you have committed. Your appeal only confirms my decision in regard to little Colville.”
Norman had hitherto succeeded beyond his expectations in his cleverly-devised scheme. His object had been to secure two points: first, to wreak his revenge on Biggington, by forcing him into a struggle, for which he had been for some weeks past privately training himself under the auspices of a retired pugilist, who kept a public-house in the neighbourhood; and, secondly, to be expelled for so doing, by which event he should be enabled to join the regiment to which he had been appointed, and upon which all his hopes and wishes were just now centred, four months sooner than he otherwise could have done. Accordingly, till Hugh Colville, for whom he had taken a decided liking, was sentenced to be flogged, Norman had been inwardly congratulating himself on his success; but the fact of being unable to protect this child, to whom he had by implication pledged himself, wounded his pride and self-respect to such a degree, that, as the Doctor had truly observed, no more effective punishment could have been devised for him.
In the meantime Percy had been working himself up into a dreadful state of mind. The reflection that Hugh, his lost father’s darling, who had scarcely had a cross word spoken to him in his lifetime, and even since he had been at school (owing to his own watchfulness, and the rough good-nature of their cousin Wilfred Goldsmith), had never received an angry blow—the reflection that Hugh, his pet, everybody’s pet, was sentenced to be flogged, was more than he could bear with equanimity. What could be done to save him? He glanced inquiringly towards Wilfred, but that knowing young gentleman shook his head despondingly—the case was beyond his skill; determined to risk a last appeal, he half rose from his seat, but the Doctor’s quick glance detected the movement, and he said in a decided, but not an unkind tone of voice—
“Sit down, Percy Colville; I am doing what is best for your brother’s future interests, and my decision is irrevocable. I will not hear another word on this subject from anybody,” he continued angrily, perceiving that Percy still seemed inclined to remonstrate.
Ernest Carrington’s desk was so situated that he could not only see each movement of the two Colvilles, but could actually hear every word they spoke to each other; thus he became aware that, at the moment in which the Doctor addressed Percy, Hugh started, and made a manful effort to subdue his tears.
“Hush, Percy,” he said, in a broken whisper, “hush, dear, he will be angry with you. I daresay I can bear it; it’s only the disgrace I’m thinking of, and that somebody may tell mamma of it, and make her unhappy, perhaps.” And here, despite his efforts, a sob choked his utterance.
Ernest caught the import of the whisper, and at the same moment he became aware of a timid and appealing glance from Percy, which Hugh also observing, a new light broke in upon him; for the first time,—believing equally in Ernest’s will and power to assist him,—a hope of deliverance suggested itself to him; and, with a piteous, expressive little face, in which every passing thought and emotion could be read as in an open book, he also fixed his large tearful eyes imploringly upon Ernest’s countenance.
And Ernest?—in his own private mind, he had all along considered the Doctor injudiciously severe in regard to Hugh—he had duly estimated the strength of the temptation, and the poor child’s weakness—he had also perceived the depth and sincerity of Hugh’s repentance; and now his promise to do his best to befriend the orphan boys, and the recollection of the fact that he had been the involuntary instrument of Hugh’s detection, recurred to him with a force that was irresistible, and springing from his seat, he said—
“Doctor Donkiestir, I fear the petition I am about to urge may be opposed to the etiquette of the school, but I ask, as a personal favour, that Hugh Colville may not be flogged.”
The Doctor’s brow grew dark, but self-restraint in speech had long since become habitual to him.
“I believe,” he said, “I believe I have clearly signified my wish that no further attempt to influence me in Hugh Colville’s favour should be made.”
“I am aware of your prohibition, sir,” returned Ernest, completely carried away by feeling, “but I have pledged myself to befriend these orphan boys, and I will not fly from my word; I therefore again ask as a personal favour that Hugh Colville shall be let off.”
The Doctor’s lips worked convulsively, but by a great exertion of self-control he a second time restrained himself from any outward expression of anger.
“I grant your request, Mr. Carrington,” he said gravely, “your position as second master in this school necessitates my doing so. How far your having urged it proves you to be unfitted for that position, is a question which I have yet to consider. Hugh Colville, you may thank Mr. Carrington for your escape from a well-deserved flogging: I hope the narrowness of this escape may impress you for the future, and that, while under my tuition, you may never again merit so severe and disgraceful a punishment. And now let the sixth form come up to me in mathematics.”
And so the scene ended. Ernest had redeemed his word, and saved Hugh from a flogging, but at what amount of personal sacrifice remained yet to be proved.