Percival Keene. Фредерик Марриет
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is quite a different sort of road; because, you see, the two first give us little trouble, and we trot along almost whether we will or not: the third and grand road is the head itself, which requires the eye and the ear to help it; and two other assistants, which we call memory and application; so you see we have the visual, then the aural, and then the mental roads—three hard words which you don’t understand, and which I shan’t take the trouble to explain to such an animal as you are; for I never throw away pearls to swine, as the saying is. Now, then, Mr. Keene, we must come to another part of our history. As there are three roads to larning, so there are three manes or implements by which boys are stimulated to larn: the first is the ruler, which you saw me shy at the thick skull of Johnny Target, and you see’d what a rap it gave him; well, then, the second is the ferrule—a thing you never heard of, perhaps; but I’ll show it you; here it is,” continued Mr. O’Gallagher, producing a sort of flat wooden ladle with a hole in the centre of it. “The ruler is for the head, as you have seen; the ferrule is for the hand. You have seen me use the ruler; now I’ll show you what I do with the ferrule.”
“You Tommy Goskin, come here, sir.”
Tommy Goskin put down his book, and came up to his master with a good deal of doubt in his countenance.
“Tommy Goskin, you didn’t say your lesson well to-day.”
“Yes I did, Mr. O’Gallagher,” replied Tommy, “you said I did yourself.”
“Well then, sir, you didn’t say it well yesterday,” continued Mr. O’Gallagher.
“Yes I did, sir,” replied the boy, whimpering.
“And is it you who dares to contradict me?” cried Mr. O’Gallagher; “at all events, you won’t say it well to-morrow, so hold out your right hand.”
Poor Tommy held it out, and roared lustily at the first blow, wringing his fingers with the smart.
“Now your left hand, sir; fair play is a jewel; always carry the dish even.”
Tommy received a blow on his left hand, which was followed up with similar demonstrations of suffering.
“There sir you may go now,” said Mr. O’Gallagher, “and mind you don’t do it again; or else there’ll be a blow-up. And now Master Keene, we come to the third and last, which is the birch for the tail—here it is—have you ever had a taste?”
“No, sir,” replied I.
“Well, then, you have that pleasure to come, and come it will, I don’t doubt, if you and I are a few days longer acquainted. Let me see—”
Here Mr. O’Gallagher looked round the school, as if to find a culprit; but the boys, aware of what was going on, kept their eyes so attentively to their books, that he could not discover one; at last he singled out a fat chubby lad.
“Walter Puddock, come here, sir.”
Walter Puddock came accordingly; evidently he gave himself up for lost.
“Walter Puddock, I just have been telling Master Keene that you’re the best Latin scholar in the whole school. Now, sir, don’t make me out to be a liar—do me credit—or, by the blood of the O’Gallaghers, I’ll flog ye till you’re as thin as a herring. What’s the Latin for a cocked hat, as the Roman gentlemen wore with their togeys?”
Walter Puddock hesitated a few seconds, and then, without venturing a word of remonstrance, let down his trousers.
“See now the guilty tief, he knows what’s coming. Shame upon you, Walter Puddock, to disgrace your preceptor so, and make him tell a lie to young Master Keene. Where’s Phil Mooney? Come along, sir, and hoist Walter Puddock: it’s no larning that I can drive into you, Phil, but it’s sartain sure that by your manes I drive a little into the other boys.”
Walter Puddock, as soon as he was on the back of Phil Mooney, received a dozen cuts with the rod, well laid on. He bore it without flinching, although the tears rolled down his cheeks.
“There, Walter Puddock, I told you it would end in a blow-up; go to your dictionary, you dirty blackguard, and do more credit to your education and superior instruction from a certain person who shall be nameless.”
Mr. O’Gallagher laid the rod on one side, and then continued—
“Now, Master Keene, I’ve just shown you the three roads to larning, and also the three implements to persuade little boys to larn; if you don’t travel very fast by the three first, why you will be followed up very smartly by the three last—a nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse, any day; and one thing more, you little spalpeen, mind that there’s more mustard to the sandwiches to-morrow, or else it will end in a blow-up. Now you’ve got the whole theory of the art of tuition, Master Keene; please the pigs, we’ll commence with the practice to-morrow.”
My worthy pedagogue did not address me any more during that day; the school broke up at five, and I made haste home, thinking over all that had passed in the school-room.
My granny and mother were both anxious to know what had passed; the first hoped that I had been flogged, the second that I had not, but I refused to communicate. I assumed a haughty, indifferent air, for I was angry with my mother, and as for my grandmother, I hated her. Aunt Milly, however, when we were alone, did not question me in vain. I told her all that had passed; she bade me be of good heart, and that I should not be ill-treated if she could help it.
I replied, that if I were ill-treated, I would have my revenge somehow or another. I then went down to the barracks, to the rooms of Captain Bridgeman, and told him what had occurred. He advised me to laugh at the ruler, the ferrule, and the rod. He pointed out to me the necessity of my going to school and learning to read and write, at the same time was very indignant at the conduct of Mr. O’Gallagher, and told me to resist in every way any injustice or tyranny, and that I should be sure of his support and assistance, provided that I did pay attention to my studies.
Fortified by the advice and protection of my two great friends, I made up my mind that I would learn as fast as I could, but if treated ill, that I would die a martyr, rather than yield to oppression; at all events, I would, if possible, play Mr. O’Gallagher a trick for every flogging or punishment I received; and with this laudable resolution I was soon fast asleep, too fast even to dream.
Chapter Six.
When my aunt Milly called me in the morning, that I might be up and have my breakfast in time for school, I felt as if two years had passed over my head during the last twenty-four hours. I had never witnessed tyranny until the day before, and my blood was heated with indignation: I felt myself capable of anything and everything.
My anger was about as great towards my mother and grandmother for having sent me to such a place, as it was against Mr. O’Gallagher. Instead of going up and kissing my mother, I paid no attention to either her or my grandmother, much to the mortification of the former and surprise of the latter, who said, in a very cross manner, “Where’s your manners, child? why don’t you say good morning?”
“Because I have not been long enough at school to learn manners, granny.”
“Come and kiss me before you go, my child,” said my mother.
“No, mother; you have sent me to school to be beat, and I never will kiss you again.”
“Naughty, good-for-nothing boy!” exclaimed my granny; “what a bad heart you must have.”
“No, that he has not,” cried my aunt Milly. “Sister should have inquired what sort of a school it was before she sent him.”
“I made every inquiry,” replied my granny; “he can’t play tricks there.”
“Won’t I?” cried I, “but I will; and not only