The Gentleman Cadet

At the receipt of this letter I was at a loss what to do. It seemed as if there was a plot against me, and I was helpless to make the truth known. As a last resource I wrote to Howard, and begged of him to come and see me.

Three days after posting this letter, my old nurse came into my room and said a gentleman had come to see me, and I was to go into the dining-room. Upon entering the dining-room I saw, to my delight, Howard, who shook hands with me like an old friend. We drew our chairs together, and I told him how I had been kept back, and how I had heard Mr Hostler’s remarks about me, and, lastly, how my father had been prejudiced about me.

When he had heard all I had to say, he thought for a minute and then said, “I don’t believe Hostler is a bad fellow at heart, and he, no doubt, fully believed that you could not pass. He has his regular routine of cramming, and won’t go out of it; and, if you stop here, there is no doubt you won’t pass. Now I’m thinking of a plan that may succeed: it is just possible, though not probable. You’ve four months in which to do twelve months’ work; but if it is to be done, I know the only way. There’s a man in London who takes only four or five pupils; he is the cleverest fellow I know, for I worked with him half a vacation once, and he got me on wonderfully. His name is Rouse. Now I’ll try to persuade your governor to send you there, and that’s the only chance I see. I shall be back in Hampshire to-morrow, and will see your governor about it.”

On the fourth day after Howard’s visit I received a letter from my father, telling me to have my trunk packed, as he proposed removing me from Mr Hostler’s that day, and transferring me to Mr Rouse’s. I bade my schoolfellows good-bye, most of whom were sorry I was going, and I received their condolence in being withdrawn from Hostler’s, as having no chance of passing my examination.

At about mid-day my father came, and, after a short interview with Mr Hostler, sent for me.

“I’m sorry you’re obliged to be taken away,” said Hostler; “but it wouldn’t be fair to your friends to keep you any longer on the chance of your passing. You’ve only four months now, and it would take the cleverest boy I know a year to pass. If you’d been very quick, I might have done it at first, but now it’s too late! But what you’ve learnt at this school will be of use to you all your life.”

A steamer was in those days the quickest mode of conveyance from Woolwich to London, and by this means we reached London Bridge, and from thence drove to Trinity Square, Tower Hill, where Mr Rouse lived.

On entering Mr Rouse’s drawing-room we were soon joined by a clergyman, who was Mr Rouse himself.

My father stated the case to Mr Rouse, and informed him of the short time before me, and of Hostler having stated the impossibility of my being able to qualify in a year. “The question now is,” said my father, “do you think you can qualify him for the next examination?”

Mr Rouse smiled, and said, “You set me rather a difficult task, asking me to accomplish in four months what the celebrated Mr Hostler says can’t be done under a year. I can only say it is not probable I can do it, but it is not impossible. It depends entirely on your son’s genius and on how well he knows what he has already learnt. I shall be able to tell in a week what he is made of, and what chance there is for me.”

I had watched Mr Rouse carefully from the time I had entered the room. He was rather tall and stout, with a clear dark eye and a half-bald head. There was a sparkle in his eye that at once indicated quickness and thought, whilst his calm, decided manner spoke of a confidence in himself that was not easily shaken. In ten minutes after entering my father left me, and I was installed as a pupil of Mr Rouse’s.

“Come upstairs,” said Rouse; “I will introduce you to your companions.”

I followed my new tutor upstairs, speculating on who the boys might be that I should meet, and was shown into a room that looked more like a drawing-room or study than a schoolroom. In it were three young men, whose ages might be about twenty. One was reading the Times, another was lounging against the fireplace, and the third helping himself to a sandwich from a plate on a tray at the sideboard.

“Let me introduce a new pupil to you,” said Mr Rouse, “Mr Shepard, who is going up for Woolwich. Mr Robinson, Mr Welton, and Mr Wynn, Addiscombe cadets. Will you have some lunch, Shepard?” continued Mr Rouse. “There’s a sandwich and a glass of ale. We dine at six.”

I helped myself to a sandwich and a glass of ale, for I had now a tremendous appetite, as I was recovering from my late illness, and I then looked round at my companions. I felt I had come to a very different place to that I had left; my fellow-students were men, and I saw gentlemen, whilst Mr Rouse’s manner put me at my ease at once; there was none of the bullying, blustering style there used to be in Hostler, and I felt that I had made a good exchange as far as comfort was concerned, though I feared the manner of the cadets did not seem much like hard work.

After about ten minutes’ conversation on politics, the performances at the various theatres, and the last good thing in Punch, Mr Rouse looked at his watch and said, “Well, shall we commence work again?”

The three cadets took chairs beside the table, and commenced reading books. Mr Rouse gave me a slate and said, “I must find out to-day what you know, so that we may go on safe ground. How far have you gone in mathematics?”

“I have just commenced addition in algebra,” I replied.

“Very well, I will give you a couple of questions in rule-of-three, in decimals, in fractions, and in square and cube root, and be careful about your answers.”

I was soon busily employed at these questions, and found little difficulty in solving them, for they seemed particularly easy questions. After a time I told Mr Rouse I had finished, and at once gave him the answers of each. To my surprise I found not a single answer was correct. Something must be wrong I knew, but where it was I did not know. Mr Rouse smiled, and said, “Now, have a careful look at each question, and don’t be in too much of a hurry about them, for sometimes there are difficulties you may not see.”

I once more carefully examined the problems, and then found I had made a mistake at the very first, and had misread the questions in almost every case. I then reworked these, and eventually brought out the right answers.

By the time I had completed my work the hour had arrived for leaving off study.

“This evening,” said Mr Rouse, “you can work out these questions in this paper and have the answers ready by to-morrow morning.”

We all dined together that evening like gentlemen. The scramble and noise that used to prevail at Hostler’s prevented me from ever enjoying a meal there, so that it was a luxury to sit down to a quiet dinner and to listen to the anecdotes and conversation of Mr Rouse. At no time, either during study hours or at meals, was there anything of the schoolmaster about Mr Rouse; he acted the part of a companion to perfection, and I believe it was as much by his pleasant manner, giving confidence to his pupils, and inducing them to ask his help in every difficulty, as by his knowledge, that he gained the successes he had gained at examinations.

After dinner the three cadets went out. I found that my three companions were Addiscombe cadets, who were going into the Indian army, and who were working during the vacation to get either the Artillery or Engineers. They were so much older than I was, that they seemed like men to me, but they had none of the bullying manner about them that the elder boys had at Hostler’s.

When I found myself alone in the study, at Rouse’s, after dinner, I felt I could work and think; everything was so quiet that I was able to get on without interruption, and the time passed rapidly and pleasantly. Question after question I worked out, and by the manner in which the solutions seemed to agree with the questions, I believed I was nearly, if not quite, correct in my work. I continued thus occupied till about ten o’clock, when, having a room to myself, I went to bed, with no fear of being disturbed by a “cold pig,” or the miserable cry of “Quarter?” that used to awake me at Hostler’s.

Before going to sleep, however, I thought over the problems I had worked out, and fancied I had made a mistake in one, which I at once determined to re-examine, and soon found my second thoughts were correct, and that I had made an error.

This was the first time I had ever worked out a problem in my head, when in bed, and the room was dark, but after this I regularly used to think over the various things I had done during the day, and try to recall each portion, and endeavour to repeat to myself what I had done. By this means I soon acquired a habit of thought quite new to me; instead of what I learnt seeming to rest only on the surface of my mind, as it had at Hostler’s, it seemed to impress itself on the brain, and to leave a mark so distinctly as never to be forgotten. I soon realised the fact that I was passing through a phase of mental development, produced, as I believed, by the quiet, calm, and reasonable manner in which I was now treated.

Night after night I used to work out the questions given me, and in the morning handed the solutions to Mr Rouse. In the majority of cases I was correct, but if I were wrong Mr Rouse would go over the work with me, giving me hints as regards the way of arranging my figures or doing portions of the work. I often smiled to myself as I compared this system of teaching with the cramming practised by Hostler, and the reasonable manner in which Mr Rouse pointed out mistakes or want of care, with the three-cuts-on-the-hand system of Hostler. I found, after a week at Rouse’s, I had really learnt more than I should have done at Hostler’s in many months; and it was not only what I had learnt, but the additional power which seemed to have come to my mind, and the consequent ease with which I grappled with problems, that a month before, in the confusion at Hostler’s, would have been to me unintelligible.

I discovered, too, at this time, how problems that perhaps for half an hour would appear impossible of solution, if put by for a day and re-tried, would often be found practicable. This, to me, important discovery led me to never give up anything that at first I could not accomplish, but I waited day after day, till I usually found I grew up as it were, so as to surmount the difficulty.

Remembering what Mr Rouse had said relative to forming an opinion in a week, I was very anxious, as the week elapsed, to hear the result of his experience. He did not, however, mention a word to me, and I had not the courage to ask him whether he believed I had a chance of success. I worked steadily on, hoping to defer the evil day, when perhaps it would be pronounced that I had no chance.

It was after I had been a fortnight at Rouse’s that one morning, as I read out the answers to my night’s work, Mr Rouse said, “Number six question is one you must look at carefully, for when you are at the Academy you will have many such questions in your half-yearly examinations there.”

“Do you think I have a chance of passing, then?” I exclaimed.

“Certainly; every chance, if you continue going on as well as you have done.”

These words were long remembered; they gave me hope, and they excited my ambition. If I could only pass, what a blow it would be for Hostler! and what a surprise for many of the boys there, who had put me down as not only a dunce, but as too stupid to learn! I could not, however, believe there was more than a chance of success, though I had hopes now, especially when I found how easily I could solve many of the most difficult questions that Mr Rouse set me.

Week after week passed, and I was pushed on with a rapidity that surprised me. I passed through the earlier rules of algebra, came to simple equations, understood them; passed on to quadratics, and at length came to cubics. Mr Rouse’s method of teaching was perfect. To him there was no such thing as a difficulty; if he found that I was puzzled at anything, he at once came to the rescue, and asserted that “it was a very simple thing.” In a few words he would give an explanation which made the problem thoroughly clear, and often caused me to wonder how I could have been so stupid as not to see clearly before he explained the difficulty to me.

On several occasions Mr Rouse had willingly consented to my going to the theatre, his object seeming to be to give all the liberty he could, and to impress on his pupils the importance of self-dependence.

Three months after joining Mr Rouse I was working at subjects that only the first and most advanced class attempted at Hostler’s. I could scarcely believe that all this was real. It had been so impressed on me at Hostler’s that I was intensely stupid, and that even a clever boy could not reach the first class from where I had been in less than a year, that I began to fear I must be cramming and had not a thorough sound knowledge of the subjects I was supposed to have learnt.

One day I suggested this difficulty to Mr Rouse, telling him how slowly boys went on at Hostler’s, compared to the rate at which I had advanced.

Mr Rouse replied that, instead of cramming, he hoped I had thought carefully over and thoroughly understood what I had done, and he believed I was less crammed than Mr Hostler’s boys, whom he knew learnt most things by rote like parrots.

As regards their Euclid I knew this opinion was correct, for I understood now far more of geometry than I felt certain any of Hostler’s boys did. I could turn problems upside down, and prove principles as well as mere cases, this proficiency being due to the clear and quiet way in which Mr Rouse would explain the various propositions.

Nothing could be more satisfactory than my progress up to within a month of the examination. I felt considerable hope myself, although I could not get over the feeling that the head boys at Hostler’s must know much more than I knew. One morning, however, on waking, I had a very bad fit of coughing; during the day it became worse. I scarcely slept the following night, and on the next day I learnt that I had a bad attack of hooping-cough.

Mr Rouse looked very grave at the intelligence given him by the doctor, for he knew that I had to pass a medical as well as a mental examination, and that the doctor would not allow me to pass if I had the hooping-cough.

I had now to keep my bed, and was soon leached and blistered, but the cough clung to me most obstinately, and so shook me that I felt too ill to work. I was in this state to within a week of the examination, but I had made up my mind I would take my chance at Woolwich, and well or ill I would go up.

It has often since those days occurred to me that there is in the human mind and human will some power which, if exercised, has the effect of driving off or overcoming sickness; men, it is said, often sink and die from despondency, whilst others, by pure energy as it were, get well. To give in, as it were, to sickness often seems to increase the disease, whilst to fight against it staves it off.

Whether the will to get well was the cause or the effect of the improvement I cannot state, but I suddenly improved wonderfully, and three days before the examination I scarcely coughed at all, though I was weak and felt barely able to walk.

The evening before the examination I started with Mr Rouse for Woolwich, and we took up our quarters at the King’s Arms Hotel. There were several other candidates staying in the house, who, I understood, were going up for the examination on the morrow.

Previous to going to bed Mr Rouse sat chatting with me in our sitting-room, giving me hints about the examination. “You must remember,” he said, “that your success or failure does not depend on what you have done or what you have learnt either with me or at Hostler’s, but it depends solely on what you write on your paper to-morrow. I have known boys fail at examinations merely on account of carelessness at the examination. They knew a problem well, but they wrote so carelessly, and described so loosely, that the examiner concluded they knew nothing about the matter. After you have finished a paper, read over slowly and patiently what you have written, and you will almost always find you have made some absurdly simple mistake. I have known men go to an examination as it is said a Dutchman did at a ditch. He ran a mile to get up his speed, and was then so done that, instead of jumping over, he jumped into the ditch. Concentrate all your power on the work in hand; take the easiest questions first, and when you find a difficulty you can’t get over, go on to another question; then you will sometimes find, on going back, that you can at once get over what before defeated you. Above all things, keep quite calm and thoughtful, and do not lose your head or get into a funk.”

These and other similar precepts Mr Rouse gave me, as modern youths would style them, as “straight tips,” and I thought over them before I went to sleep, and impressed them on my memory.

I woke early on the following morning, and though I tried hard to avoid feeling anxious, yet I could not forget that the whole of my future career hinged on what I did on that and the following days of examination. If I failed, a slur would be on me for life, though perhaps undeserved. If I succeeded, I believed I should accomplish what many considered, if not impossible, at least improbable.