I Come out as a Runner.
I may now devote a few lines to the description of the cadets of my own batch who joined with me, and with whom I was to compete during my career at the Academy.
There were among the class some amusing characters, and others who had marked individualities. Boys (for we were boys at that time, being between fifteen and seventeen) have a singular peculiarity of being turned out in similar patterns—that is, two boys belonging to different families, who have never met and never been in similar conditions, yet very often have exactly similar peculiarities. There was Kirk, who never would rub up Indian ink or Prussian blue for himself, but would always take dips from the saucers of other cadets. Then Sykes usually began to work fearfully hard just when it was time to turn out; and Pagner, another cadet, prided himself on being above Swat, and never seemed to work at all—the fact being that he drove off all his half-year’s work till the last fortnight, and then tried to make up the leeway by cramming night and day. He, however, could not manage this, and, as the event proved, was spun at his probationary.
One of my greatest friends was D’Arcy. He was next above me in the batch, and had been prepared for Woolwich by a private tutor. We found that we had in common a taste for natural history, and whenever we had a chance we used to go out in the Shooter’s Hill woods and look for the various grubs or insects that we were interested in. The way we used to race up the hill and back again revealed to me a fact about myself that I was before unacquainted with, viz, that I was a very fast runner for about one hundred and fifty yards.
A boy who had been brought up as much alone as I had could not judge of himself by a fair comparison, and though at Hostler’s I was considered a good runner, running was not much practised or thought of there. D’Arcy, however, told me that he had been thought a very fast runner by a boy who was a crack runner at Eton, and he was surprised to find how easily I beat him.
In those days, at the Academy, there were no annual athletic sports as there are now, for which the cadets regularly trained, and which made a pleasant break during the half-year; and the only use of being a good runner was in securing the first bat at cricket; for this was considered to be the prize of the cadet who first touched the lodge when the parade was broken off. This first bat I had frequently secured, and, though I had not put out all my speed, I found I could beat some of the cadets whose running I had heard spoken of as very good.
The subject of running having been discussed one day at our squad at dinner, the head of the squad said he thought Horsford, a cadet in his third term, the fastest hundred-yards’ runner he had ever seen. Now, on two occasions that I had run for the first bat I had tried against Horsford, and on each occasion his position in the line had given him at least three yards’ start of me; still I had gained on him so that only a yard separated us at last. From these trials I believed I could beat Horsford, and, remembering the advice Howard had given me about being prepared for any contest, I determined to keep up my running, and so I generally ran one or two hundred yards at speed each day.
No one besides D’Arcy had noticed that I was very fast in running, so I was what may be called “a dark horse,” and I had a certain amount of ambition in wishing to try my speed against Horsford.
One evening, when Brag was in a good temper, I said, “Who do you think the fastest runner in the Academy?”
“For a hundred and twenty yards Horsford is. He has won nearly every race he has run at that distance,” replied Brag.