Saying this, I unlocked the door and rushed out of the room, and went to my own, which I luckily found empty. I closed the door and sat down to consider what I had better do.
I had heard that, shortly before I joined the Academy, a neux had struck an old cadet, and had in consequence been tried by a sort of court-martial by the old cadets, and had been severely thrashed. Not content with this, the body corporate of the old cadets had ordered that no neux should speak to the culprit, and, in addition, he was daily placed in arrest and turned out to drill.
The neux could not stand this ordeal, and ran away from the Academy to his friends. An inquiry into the matter afterwards took place, but a case of cruelty could not be brought home to any particular individual, and the cadet’s friends not having any interest, the affair was dropped. I anticipated that some such treatment would be meted out to me, for, in spite of Snipson’s proceedings, I knew that the offence of striking an old cadet was looked on as so heinous, that no extenuating circumstances would be allowed to outweigh the crime. My threat to report Snipson I did not intend to carry out, but made it with the hope that it would prevent him from telling the old cadets that I had knocked him down. After some minutes’ consideration I went off to D’Arcy’s room to tell him all about the fight, and consult as to what should be done.
When I described to D’Arcy how I had knocked Snipson down, and had escaped his attack on me with the poker, he was delighted. He told me also that the old cadets detested Snipson, and he did not believe they would back him up if he told them what I had done. “I’ll bet any money,” said D’Arcy, “that unless Snipson goes at once now he is in a rage, and tells some of the seniors, he won’t say a word about it.”
“Why not?” I inquired.
“Well, because he knows for your own sake that you won’t say anything, and he would probably be ashamed to own that a fellow so much smaller than he is gave him a licking. I’d advise you to keep quiet, and don’t tell anybody else.”
When we went into dinner I saw Snipson, who showed no signs of the recent set-to; he took no notice of me, and I could tell that as yet he had made no mention to the old cadets of my performance. The day also passed, and the next, without anything occurring, and I began to think Snipson meant to keep quiet; but on the following morning, after breakfast, Fenton, on returning to our room, said, “So Snipson gave you a thrashing the other day?”
I was so taken aback by this remark that I said, “Who told you so?”
“Snipson did,” replied Fenton. “He said you had been cheeky about him, and he had you over and licked you. He said you seemed disposed to show fight, but he soon took that out of you.”
I listened with amazement at this speech of Fenton’s; it was my first experience of the gross misrepresentation of facts which was possible when only two people were present, and I was astonished and amused at the absurdity of the report. It was my first experience of the wilful perversion of truth possible when two persons were together without witnesses. I wish it had been my last. There will probably be many among the readers of this book who have themselves had similar experiences, for, if they have not, their career must have been singularly limited and lucky. There are men—ay, and women too—who from an inability to represent facts correctly, or from interested motives, or from vanity, will misrepresent occurrencies and make out that black was white, and yes, no. There are men and women whom it is dangerous to speak to or be with without witnesses, and we believe that when all secrets are revealed it will be found that more perjury has been committed in connexion with tête-à-tête interviews than with any other event in life, from the days of Joseph to the present time.